The Waitress Read online

  “Ah Katie,” smiled Jon tearfully, putting his arms round her neck. “You’re my best friend.”

  The flash made them all blink.

  “Ooh that was lovely!” cried Sandy, waving her digital camera perilously close to their faces. “I’ll round robin it by snail. I mean—”

  “I’ve got a machine back at the flat,” belched Jon. “E-mail it to us.”

  “Excellent!” said Sandy. “Well done Jon!”

  “It’s all I’m good for,” Jon told her. “An e-mail address.”

  “I think it’s time to go home,” Katie told Sandy. “I’ll just go and get my coat, it’s in the other room.”

  “Right,” said Sandy, “Jon, what’s your e-mail address?”

  Katie squeezed out of the kitchen and into the wide living room. Geraldine and Sandy’s flat—soon to be just Geraldine’s—was vast for London living. Geraldine’s parents had bought it in the mid-80s’ property drop and then taken heavy rent from her friends. Sandy was the third to be leaving. The crowd was thinning slightly and Katie saw a very nice-looking sight approaching. Just before it reached her, Geraldine appeared suddenly.

  “Katie!” she almost yelled. “Have you met Dan? He’s my ex.”

  Katie smiled up at Geraldine’s ex and stopped. He smiled back and stopped too.

  “Hello,” she grinned, as her pelvic floor tightened.

  She wasn’t sure if the drink had suddenly hit home, or if she’d been swallowed whole by a Magic Eye book, but as far as Katie was concerned, everything else was suddenly a blur around the sharply focused vision smiling down at her. So this was Dan, she thought. This was Geraldine’s famous ex. The mysterious ex-Oxford student, now rich city slicker, who had come to visit Geraldine every fourth weekend of the month for two years, whom they’d all thought was a figment of her imagination. No wonder she’d kept him to herself. He was a humdinger. A cappuccino-crème-brûlée of a man. A warm-out-of-the-bag Peshwari Naan of a man. And she should know, she was a waitress.

  Later, she couldn’t remember how the conversation had started, or exactly when they’d sat down together on the beanbags in the corner of the room, or how they’d ended up discussing their various hopes and dreams. All she could remember was the feeling she had while she was with him and that semi-vague, semi-distinct sensation that he was feeling it too.

  “So,” she said, after he’d sat back down with more drinks for them both. “Who do you know here? Apart from Geraldine, of course.”

  “Ah yes. Apart from Geraldine.”

  “You’re good friends now, I hear.”

  “Is that what you hear?”

  Katie grinned.

  “Yes,” said Dan. “For the record, it was fine going out with her when I saw her once a month. As soon as I was seeing her every week it all sort of…petered out. You know.”

  Katie nodded, wondering which she should be more worried about: Geraldine’s contradictory version or the fact that he used phrases like “for the record.”

  “What was the question again?” asked Dan.

  “Who else do you know here?”

  “My mate,” said Dan, indicating a friend with a nod of his head. “He’s the one over there in the lurid green shirt underneath that girl with the pigtails.”

  Katie looked over and could just make out the form of two people playing human jigsaw on a sofa.

  “He looks nice.”

  “He is nice,” sighed Dan. “Unfortunately, so’s his girlfriend.”

  “She looks nice too.”

  “She’s in Mauritius.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “I was under strict instructions to keep him occupied—he’s been known to do this before—but I got a bit distracted.”

  Katie grimaced. “You can get back to him if you want.”

  “Well, between you and me and probably everyone else in this room, I think it’s a bit late now.”

  “Yes.”

  “I mean, there’s only so much hiding from the truth you can do, isn’t there? If it wasn’t this party it would have been another. I love him like a brother, but just not a brother I’d let my sister date.”

  “Do you have a sister?”

  “No.”

  “Phew.”

  “And anyway, there’s only so much you can listen to about quantum physics at a party.”

  “Are you going to tell his girlfriend?”

  “She’ll find out soon enough,” said Dan flatly. “He’s snogging her best friend.”

  They watched the couple for a moment.

  “So,” said Dan suddenly. “Who did you arrive with?”

  “My flatmate Jon, who’s in the kitchen getting depressed because that’s what he does at parties and Sukie, my best friend, who’s in the kitchen getting loud because that’s what she does at parties.”

  “How long have you and Jon been flatmates?”

  “Since college. He’s actually my landlord; his parents helped him make an investment in London. We’re like brother and sister.”

  “Like the brother and sister from Flowers in the Attic?”

  “No.”

  “Good. I hated that book.”

  “We’re nothing like that. Jon’s not blond.”

  Dan nodded thoughtfully. “Excellent.”

  Just then Katie saw Sukie out of the corner of her eye, looking at her questioningly. When Katie gave a tiny frown and turned back to Dan, she sensed Sukie returning to the kitchen.

  “So,” she said to Dan. “What have you been up to since Uni?”

  Dan smiled a wide smile that created a crease in his cheek Katie was tempted to ask to borrow. He inclined his head toward her.

  “Well, I suppose I’m what you’d call ‘something in the city.’”

  “Ooh, what? A skyscraper?”

  “But, you see…” Dan now shifted round so he was facing her and leaned toward her intently. She met him halfway. She noticed that one of his eyes was deep blue, the other, deep blue with a dash of hazel. She didn’t know which one to look at first. Happily, her inebriated state meant that in passing moments she could see both at the same time, just before his nose joined them and she had to blink. “My dad always said that the best thing a man could do for himself was set up his own business.”

  “Wow,” said Katie, concentrating on which was fuller, his upper lip or his lower lip.

  “That’s what he did,” said Dan. “A self-made man, my dad. Brought up on a council estate.”

  “Wow.” Lower lip was fuller. Just.

  “One day I’d like to do that.”

  “Wow.”

  “And settle down and have a family of course.”

  Katie was deciding what to say instead of wow, when Dan gave her another creasy smile.

  “Wow,” she said.

  They laughed together. Nice teeth, one slightly crooked.

  “Anyway, enough about me,” he said. “What do you do?”

  “Oh, I’m going to be an educational psychologist.”

  His eyes widened.

  “Wow!” he said.

  By the time the camera flash went off in their faces, they’d had enough beers not to really notice or care. They turned slowly to face Sandy.

  “Lovely!” she beamed. “I’ll e-mail it to you both.”

  “Perfect,” said Dan.

  “It may be a bit blurry,” said Sandy. “Or is that me?” She had hysterics before turning her attention to the couple on the sofa taking full advantage of their mutual friend being in Mauritius.

  “You do realize,” Katie heard Dan say quietly in her ear, “that once I have your e-mail address I may pester you for a date.”

  Katie looked up at him. Their noses were almost touching.

  “I should think so too,” she murmured.

  And then, hey presto, they were kissing.

  If Katie were the type of girl to be into Lists, this Kiss would have had all the necessary components to make it a Top Kiss. Her limbs went limp, her closed eyes saw sparks and her org
ans spoke. They said “Thank you.”

  By the time she left the party, she had a date for next weekend, a spring in her step and a warm glow where it mattered.

  Chapter 2

  BY THE NEXT MORNING, THE WARM GLOW WHERE IT MATTERED HAD transformed into a thumping great pain where it hurt. By Monday morning it had developed into a dull ache all over.

  Katie had a morning shift at the café, and as everyone in the café business knows, morning shifts are the pits. They’re almost as bad as afternoon shifts, which are nearly as horrendous as evening shifts.

  She woke up edgily, her first conscious thought being that she wanted to be asleep again. Then she remembered that she had a date with Dan and knew all was right with the world. Then she realized she had a dull ache all over her body and the date would probably be a disaster.

  It was going to be a long day.

  She ripped herself untimely out of bed and was so traumatized that her entire body went into hibernation mode, huddling against itself for warmth. Her teeth were chattering so loudly she could almost make out what they were saying.

  Wrapping herself tightly in her ancient towelling robe, she tiptoed down the hall, past Jon’s closed door and into the shower. Twenty minutes later, she came out clean, refreshed, as awake as she was going to get, and now late for work. After diving into her work clothes—the nearest things that were clean and comfortable—brushing her hands through her urchin hair and setting off for work, most of her optimism had faded.

  The walk into work was usually a pleasant-enough interlude. Katie craved routine and she made a point of taking the same route every day. It grounded her and gave her a sense of context. Unless she was so dramatically late or exhausted that she needed to take the bus, she liked to pop into the grocer’s to pick up something healthy to eat on her way to the newsagent’s where she bought her usual chocolate bar.

  Today, however, was a bus day. She kept her eyes down and her head supported. She didn’t read, she didn’t make eye contact, she didn’t smile. She fitted right in.

  Porter’s Green was what up-and-coming people called “up-and-coming,” and what its oldest inhabitants called “shot to pieces.” Its borders touched the borders of an already up-and-come part of north London, which boasted borders abutting an area so up-and-come it had blue plaques splattered on its houses like bird-droppings.

  The process of an area “coming up” included a rapid change in local shops, people and events, which spoke to its newest inhabitants of buzz and excitement. And word spread. Eager potential homeowners would first feel disappointment at not being able to afford even a bijou garage near a blue-plaqued property in central London, and then dismay at not being able to afford a good-sized flat on the borders. Finally, they’d find a spacious, family home in Porter’s Green and discover that not only were the amenities superior, the shops more practical, the people less pretentious and the atmosphere more cozy, but, even better, within the next few years it was all going to change.

  And so an entire set of New-Labour voters moved in next-door to Old-Labour voters and set about transforming their old Victorian houses into updated Victorian pads with more mod cons and fewer internal walls. At weekends, they’d drive into the neighboring up-and-come village to take brunch in the cafés that had yet to arrive in their high street. Meanwhile the oldies, who had woken up one day to find themselves living in an unrecognizable, overpriced village where you couldn’t get a decent cup of tea any more but could get 150 different types of coffee, made the bus journey in the opposite direction to find the bargains they could now no longer find in their own high street.

  Katie’s bus dropped her off about twenty yards from the café where she worked. She could see it from here, but usually tried not to. Her workplace, the thirty square yards where she spent up to sixty hours a week, was called, unsurprisingly enough, “The Café.” One had to be inside to fully realize the leap of imagination that had created such a name.

  She opened the door, her entrance heralded as usual by the tired jangle of what passed for a bell but sounded like a cat being slowly strangled. The same instant, a stifling warmth and sticky smell invaded her nostrils and pores.

  Head down, she focused on her shoes as they stuck to the discolored lino, unsure whether it was the fluorescent lighting making her feel sick or just the fact that it was Monday morning.

  “Oh look! It’s Herself!” came a reedy voice from the darkest corner.

  She glanced up at the grimy clock-face above the coffee machine. Damn. Three minutes after seven.

  “Morning Alec.”

  “Only just.”

  She looked over to where her boss was sitting and gave him a full beam, taking in his greasy hair and ever-present half-moustache. “How was your weekend?” she asked.

  Alec’s right eyebrow twitched. “Get your pinny on and help Sukie with the coffees.”

  Katie walked past the coffee machine through the staff door into the kitchen. She stuffed her coat under the worktop, took out the pinny she’d washed on her Sunday off and wound the fraying belt several times round her waist. She barely noticed that Matt, the dishwasher, wasn’t here yet and there was already a pile of dirty coffee cups waiting. She walked back into the main part of the café.

  The sense that no one in The Café wanted to be here, but through no fault of their own had ended up here, seeped into one’s consciousness via the plastic seats and Formica tables. Usually Monday mornings made Katie want to go straight to the meat knives and commit hara-kiri. Luckily they were blunt.

  It was hard to believe that three years ago, she’d popped into The Café on a whim one sunny afternoon. She’d just moved into Jon’s flat nearby, straight after her year of travelling had ended. When she got the job she’d thought she was on the first rung of a ladder she wanted to stay on forever, and they’d even celebrated that night with a bottle of wine. One day she’d get a manager’s job in a respectable London restaurant and from there start her journey toward owning her own restaurant franchise. With the waitressing job to pay her rent, she’d have time to go for interviews, money to buy an interview suit and relevant experience to discuss.

  At first it had felt heaven-sent. There she’d met Sukie, an out-of-work actress, and they had clicked immediately. Katie’s flair for cooking blossomed and she often came up with inspired and delicious menu ideas that her boss was happy to let her make as well as serve. She liked her employer, a circular Greek woman who called her Sweetie and gave her delicious home-made leftovers that she and Jon would devour. But then her boss’s husband became ill and she sold the café quickly to become his full-time carer. The farewell party was sad yet not without hope. That was because they hadn’t met their new boss yet.

  The first thing Alec did as owner was open up The Café two hours earlier each morning to catch the city commuters who set out every morning from the station directly below. Then he cut his staff by half, doubled the price of coffee, shrank the menu and only cooked fresh food twice a week. After that, the next step was easy—make customers spend their money and then leave.

  Katie couldn’t remember when she stopped looking in the papers for a new job. Was it after she got scared of going for interviews because she knew she’d be too tired to do herself justice? Or after she realized her interview suit was out of fashion, and she couldn’t afford another one and refused to ask her parents for a handout? Or after she realized she’d have to give a convincing answer to why she’d worked at a crappy local café for so long?

  Whichever it was, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she had to get out of here.

  Back in the café, she joined Sukie who was already attacking the coffee machine with gusto. The first commuter queue had started. The 7.14 into Euston was notoriously unreliable. It either came in late or smack bang on time but at the wrong platform, so that fifty knackered commuters had to race over the bridge to catch it. There was usually no tannoy announcement, so they had to be alert to spot whether it was their train or the
7:24 straight through to Brighton. Their morning coffees were not a luxury, they were a necessary tool in making it into the office instead of to the south coast.

  If The Café staff resented making coffee for tired, ungrateful and often surly commuters, the commuters resented buying it, with knobs on. For a start, they would rather be in bed. Then there was the flickering fluorescent light that always pissed them off. And what did they have to look forward to? A crowded, over-or under-heated train where they probably wouldn’t get a seat, followed by a job that didn’t even pay them enough to be able to live near the borders of a place splattered with blue plaques—and that was if they were lucky and didn’t catch the Brighton train.

  “Double espresso, two sugars.”

  Sukie took the change from one customer, nodded to let the next one know she’d heard him and whizzed back to the coffee machine. Katie joined her and spoke to commuter number three in the queue.

  “Good morning! How can I help you this fine day.”

  “Black coffee.”

  “Black coffee coming up. It’ll be my absolute pleas—”

  “Excuse me,” cut in commuter number five, a man whose face seemed to have been pummeled in the night. Number four in the queue had overtaken him on the stairs up to the café and he wanted to knife him. “Some of us have got trains to catch.”

  “Right,” said Katie and she turned to the coffee machine.

  “Will you spit in his coffee or shall I?” muttered Sukie without breaking from her task.

  “Someone’s already trodden on his face,” muttered Katie back. “Give the guy a break.”

  They both whizzed back round, coffees in hands, smiles on lips and continued with the queue until it had finished and the last train from Porter’s Green to the city had left (the 8:54: only two minutes late, right platform, but minus two carriages), its commuters stuffed into each others’ armpits, dreaming of Friday.

  The sudden dip in custom on a Monday morning was usually Katie’s lowest point of the week. This was when she had time to face the reality of her working day. Alec would approach them and, summoning up a spirit of excitement and eagerness for the week ahead, would command the same thing every single Monday morning.