“How come?”
“I’ll tell you for why. Because of one, very important, very big factor, which we must at no cost, underestimate the importance of.”
“What’s that?”
“The cause of many men’s downfall.” A dramatic pause. “Pride.” He sat back in his chair. “Doesn’t always serve our cause, in fact in some cases, it is the very scourge of our entire business, but in this case, I think it might be just what we need.”
“How come?”
“Well, let me explain.” He pondered his explanation for a moment before speaking. “This guy,” he said slowly to his rapt audience, “is a moron.”
The two men grinned.
“This man,” he continued, “could not find his own arse in a blackout. And that is no small arse.” The men grinned again. “The truth of the matter is,” went on the man, “that he has basically made a mess of his business. As you yourselves have pointed out, he has consistently failed to make key improvements to it and failed to jump at the market’s movements. Which is why his accounts are so shit and you two shmucks, excuse my French, can afford to buy him out.”
The two men nodded. This much they knew.
“But,” the man leaned forward in his chair, “history has shown us over the years that having the brain of a dishcloth does not stop someone from being proud. He is, in fact, your dream come true. A proud shmuck. Excuse my French.”
Another pause.
“Sorry, I don’t understand,” said the appointed speaker, finally.
“What I’m trying to say, in plain English, is that this is a man who will not, to my mind, want to sell his business—his failing, pathetic business—to any chain, particularly—particularly—to a growing, local one.”
“You think—”
“Unless,” he interrupted, “unless they make it impossible—even for a moron like him—to say no.”
“Right.”
“Which means we have to think very, very hard about our offer. It can’t be too low, it can’t be too high—”
“Well, it really can’t be too high—”
“I know, I know. You have a ‘ceiling.’ But,” the man sat forward. “I want you to do something for me.” More nods. “For us.” He eyed them under short, thick, straight eyelashes. “You think you can do that?”
They nodded.
“Here’s what I want you to do. Two things. One” (he held up a short finger) “—I want you to re-think your ceiling and, Two” (he held up two short fingers) “—I want you to have a meeting with this guy, quick. Before the others get in there.” He let this sink in for a moment. “You see, the truth is, he’s impatient. He wants to get out fast. The others may have the money and the know-how, but you two have the one thing that may swing it—the personal factor. You’ve got good faces. Not my type if you get my drift, but it works for him. You’re polite, you’re clean, you’re keen. So! Keep yourselves in the picture. And move fast.” He let the pause linger for a moment. “Meanwhile,” he cut in, when it looked dangerously like his silence might be interrupted, “let me remind you that businesses like this do not grow on trees. Especially in an area like this.” He spoke over their nodding, “and I would hate for you two to miss out on this opportunity just because the chain has more money than it knows what to do with.”
The estate agent had finished. He drained his coffee. He looked at his watch.
“Right,” he said, standing up. “And now I must love you and leave you.”
The two men stood up too and shook his hand and watched him put on his coat and saunter out of the restaurant. Then the shorter, fairer of the two turned to his partner, his mule-like face now registering some concern. “Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“What shall we do?”
“I haven’t got time to go to the café now,” said his taller friend. “I’ll pop into the bank on my way back to the office. You’ll have to go to the café.”
“Right,” said Mule. “What’s your plan of action at the bank?”
“I thought I’d beg.”
“Excellent.”
“What are you going to do at the café?”
Mule scratched his head. “Be charming.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Meanwhile, Katie, Matt and Sukie were having an emergency meeting. Sukie had important news to impart. They all knew that Alec had a soft spot for Sukie. Most men did: there was not one straight line on Sukie’s body. There had been a stage a while back, when Alec had pestered her—not sexually, he was far too big a coward for something like that, but just for inane pleasantries. A nice smile from her, the odd bit of physical contact; that was enough for him—and now, as his parting shot, instead of a fumbling grope at a farewell party, he had given her a handy hint. He had asked her, in a cozy little chat on their own in the kitchen, if she wanted to keep her job. When she’d told him that she did, but only if her friends kept theirs too, he had replied that all everyone had to do was treat him with respect, especially when he was with potential buyers, and he’d put in a good word for his staff.
They took this in.
“I don’t think I can do it,” said Katie.
“Of course you can,” said Sukie.
“I’m too young to lose my ideals,” said Matt.
“And I’m too beautiful,” added Katie.
Sukie sighed. “Don’t say I didn’t try to help you both,” she warned and went to get on with her work.
They exchanged grim glances. The sobering truth was that it had taken the possibility of them losing their jobs to realize just how much they wanted them. There was only one thing worse than having a shit job and that was losing it, so Matt and Katie promised to help each other in pretending to respect Alec. Luckily he was hardly in all day and Katie discovered that it was far easier to respect Alec if a) he wasn’t there and b) she could disrespect everyone else—and anyway, she was having fun being rude to all the customers. It was a new perk. By that afternoon, after two full hours of being respectful to Alec while he was there, she was nearly at bursting point. She needed to be rude, and fast. So when a regular came in with a friend, she was ready for action.
“Don’t you have a home to go to?” she demanded as soon as the regular got near.
The woman gave a brave smile. “I thought you could do with the custom.”
Katie opened her eyes wide in mock astonishment. “Bloomin’ cheek!” She turned to the friend. “Is she always like this?”
The friend smiled. “Oh yes,” she said. “She’s mad, her.”
“You see?” the regular grinned, “I told you it was hysterical in here.”
Blimey, thought Katie. You should get out more. She started making the regular her favorite drink and told them to sit down and behave while she got them a menu.
Just then, the sound of a strangled cat announced a new customer. Everyone looked round as a young man came warily in. He carried a leather portfolio under one arm. Katie watched him walk slowly toward her and wondered where on earth she’d seen him before. He looked strangely familiar, in an almost bovine way, and yet she was fairly sure she’d never talked to him. He must be an actor. That was happening more and more nowadays. The area was up and coming, so up-and-coming actors loved it. But because it hadn’t quite arrived yet, it was only actors with bit parts on Casualty or Holby City. It meant she kept bumping into people she was sure she knew from somewhere but for the life of her couldn’t place.
He was still looking vaguely round him.
“Are you lost?” she asked.
“Pardon?” asked the man, giving her a quick shy glance, as if from behind a veil.
“You look lost.”
“This is The Café, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid it is.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because it is.”
The man looked puzzled.
A commuter chose this minute to arrive.
“What time do you call this?”
asked Katie, looking at her watch.
The commuter smiled. “Day off.”
“So you thought you’d ruin ours?”
“That’s right,” grinned the commuter. “Wanted to see if you were this rude all day long.”
“Of course I am,” said Katie. “Why should you get preferential treatment?”
The earlier regular who had sat down was now a bit over-excited in front of her friend. She called out. “She was horrid to me too!”
“Were we talking to you?” demanded Katie. The woman and her friend laughed uproariously. Jesus, thought Katie. They’re all mad.
“Now look,” she told them all firmly, “I’m busy trying to serve this poor man who’s lost.”
“I’m not lost,” said the young man.
The commuter turned to the man and grinned.
“She’s like this to all of us,” he explained.
“Is she?” said the man.
“Oh yes,” said Katie. “No extra charge.”
The commuter laughed even more and gave her a two-pound tip.
“Why thank you sir,” said Katie, taking it and biting it. “Now I can put my children through school.”
More laughter.
After the commuter left, she turned to find the young actor studying her with a disturbing intensity.
“Have you decided what you want now?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Would you like to tell me or shall we do Twenty Questions?” she asked pointedly. “I warn you though, I’m good.”
“What do you recommend?” he asked.
Ooh, this was her favorite question. “I recommend you buy yourself a cafetière,” she said. “The coffee’s rabbit droppings, you know. And I’d change that suit.”
The man’s face lengthened in surprise and she gave him a big wide beam of a grin.
“I’m only teasing,” she confided. “It’s a lovely suit. C&A have really found their niche haven’t they?”
His jaw dropped, while behind him the sound of laughter from regulars and non-regulars was now filling the café. She gave him another smile, not so wide this time.
“Shall I do you a nice latte?” she whispered sympathetically. Teasing time was over.
He nodded.
“Anything else?” she asked.
“Yes,” said the man. “Can you tell me if…” he looked at a piece of paper inside the portfolio, “Alec’s here please. We’re having a meeting about the purchase of the café. I’m a little early.”
Katie stared at him.
“Well?” asked the man. “Is he here?”
She shook her head.
“Oh. Right. Well, when he comes back can you tell him I’m here?”
She nodded.
“I’ll have that latte while I’m waiting. Thanks.”
She nodded again. When she took his latte over to him, she couldn’t help but notice that the regular was talking to him. The regular beamed up at her. “I was just telling him how you’re always like this.”
Excellent.
Twenty minutes later, when Alec came in, she watched them from behind the counter. They shook hands and Alec was all smiles. She went into the kitchen, where Sukie was on her ten-minute break. Technically, she wasn’t meant to have a break at the same time, but she didn’t see what she had to lose any more, seeing as tomorrow she’d be spending the first day of the rest of her life under her duvet. She explained to Sukie and Matt what had happened and they did their best to convince her that all wasn’t lost. He could be another estate agent—or a buyer who failed to go through with the sale. Or the meeting could be totally unrelated to the sale of the café and he just wanted to get his own back for her teasing. She was just beginning to believe that possibly, just possibly, she wasn’t the most unfortunate person in the world, when the kitchen door opened and they turned to see Alec standing proudly in its center.
“I thought I’d find you all in here,” he said, his thin lips forming the widest smile they’d ever seen. He could barely suppress his glee. “You’ll be pleased to know I’ve just shaken on the sale of the café.”
There was silence.
“I asked him to save your jobs,” he was almost laughing, “but I can’t promise anything.” He turned to Katie. “Especially for you, Katie.”
“Why?” she croaked.
“Because your new owner asked if the obnoxious waitress was always this rude to everyone.”
“What did you say?” asked Sukie.
He shrugged. “I told him the truth,” said Alec. “Not when she wanted to go home early.”
He laughed at his joke for a while.
Chapter 8
THERE WERE NOW EIGHT WHOLE SHOPPING DAYS TO GO BEFORE Christmas, which, considering Matt had only one present to get for his mother, was plenty of time. More than a week to build up to Christmas Eve shopping.
The only thing Matt liked about Christmas was that life was put off until the new year. It was a procrastinator’s paradise. College had gone mad on this last day of term and, quite frankly, he was glad to see the back of it. If he hadn’t been depressed before, he really was now. Two of his friends, Daz and Si, were dating two of the most fit girls in college. This should have helped his status as, by proxy, he had now leapfrogged most of the boys in college, but it hadn’t. It just made him feel self-conscious every time the girls came and sat with his crowd, humiliated that he was still single when the girls seemed so much more experienced than he, excruciated when his mates showed off in front of them, and downright angry at the looks of utter surprise at the girls’ choice from the rest of the college. It had just added extra piquancy to the normal bleakness of his world.
Not only that, but what on earth did these girls see in Daz and Si? They were tossers at the best of times. He only tolerated them because beggars couldn’t be choosers. But these girls? They could have their pick. He just didn’t understand it. Times had changed since the days of eternal loyalty toward one’s fellow boyhood companions and, a man of his time, Matt was the first to point out that his mates lacked a je-ne-sais-quoi in the eligible male department.
In fact, he had done so with great alacrity to his mother on many a cold winter’s night, and she had listened like the kindly soul she was. Until one night she’d stopped him mid-flow, to say, in a most annoying manner, “You know what your problem is, don’t you?”
Still to discover the correct answer to this, Matt fell into the trap and replied, “What?”
Sandra looked at her son. “You,” she said with a firmness which left neither of them in any confusion over whom she meant, “are a misanthropist.”
Matt blanched. “I am not!” he replied, livid. “Rescind that statement!” he ordered, standing up.
“Shan’t.” She returned to her sewing.
“I am not a misanthropist,” he insisted. “I hate misanthropists.”
He saw no reason why his mother should find this as amusing as she did.
“All right then,” she said finally. “Prove it.”
“How?”
She looked up from her mending. “Do something nice over Christmas.”
Matt was just about to launch into his patter about Christmas being nothing but paganism cynically re-molded, first to fill the churches and now to fill the coffers of commercialism, when he realized this would only prove her point.
“Such as?”
“Invite your hopeless friends over when college breaks up, and get them to help me put up the Christmas tree—I can’t do it alone—and,” she pointed a thimbled finger at him, “have a laugh while you’re at it.”
Matt stared at her. What was the matter with her? Did she have a book upstairs called Ten Easy Steps To Embarrass Your Teenage Son that she pored over every night?
“I’ll make hot mulled wine and mince pies for you all,” she said, returning to her sewing. “From scratch.”
He kept on staring.
“And you might even find what you want under the tree on Christmas Day.”
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He mumbled something. His mother understood Matt’s mumbles and grunts like no one else. In exactly the same way that she had always understood his toddler mumbles and grunts—which conveyed complete concepts and were a complex language in themselves—so she understood his adolescent version. And she treated it exactly the same; she pretended she didn’t, giving him no choice but to talk in her language.
“Pardon?” she asked, clearly.
“Hmuite.”
“Pardon?”
“All right,” he said, defeated.
So, here he was, on the bus, on the last day of term, surrounded by his gang of idiotic mates who seemed to find it a great lark to be on the way to his house. He was the only one who was treating the entire expedition like a trek to Hades, but then, he was probably the only one who was going to be teased about his mother for the rest of his life. The only hope he was holding out was that she had been asked to work late and had forgotten her side of the deal, namely the wine and pies. He hadn’t mentioned this part to his friends, knowing that they’d only mock him severely for it. He was amazed, quite frankly, that they had chosen to do this instead of hang around the mall with their girlfriends, or go to the cinema in the gang or hit their own heads with a mallet, but they had all seemed dead keen to come and have “a larf” at his place. He dreaded to think what was to ensue.
His heart sank at the sight of the twinkling lights in the front room of the little terraced house. His mother had been to Woolies. He put the key in the lock, and as the hall filled with his mates, he became acutely aware of her standing at the kitchen door, beaming at them all.
“Hello boys!”
“Hello Mrs. Davies!” Matt heard them chorus in a mockingly polite tone.
“You must be freezing! Take off your shoes and coats and there’s hot mince pies just out of the oven for you.” She turned briskly and went into the kitchen.
Coats and shoes were abandoned around Matt as his mates rushed down the hall.
“NEATLY!” came his mother’s voice from the kitchen.
The boys returned, piled their belongings in neat piles around him and scarpered back to the kitchen.
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