Rex stares at me a beat, his grey eyes assessing.
“It’s not your mind I’m worried about, Macs.”
I remain silent, the anger inside me dying like a banked flame, no further words to give him.
His sigh is heavy with concern, his gaze solemn as he observes me.
“It’s your heart.”
Chapter 18
Ellis
“The Darlington’s anniversary party are all here and seated. Table for twenty-two.” Iris waltzes into the kitchen, dropping a bomb at my feet. “Josie is taking their drinks order, and I’ll head out to confirm their starters once they’re all settled.”
“Jesus Christ, did they pre-book? Why didn’t I know we had such a large group coming in tonight?”
Iris stares at me and blinks.
“You took the booking two weeks ago. It’s in the diary and”—she half-turns and points to the whiteboard on the kitchen wall— “written on the daily planner.”
Table x 22. 7.30. Anniversary. Darlington.
I stare in annoyance at the words printed in clear script, the red marker letters standing out against all the other notes in black.
“Fuck.”
“No. Duck,” she corrects. “That’s what they’re all having for their starters except for the two vegetarians. You can thank me later.”
I hear a snort of laughter from across the room, too deep in tenor to be Llinos.
“Something funny, Tom?” I bark, and the poor young lad shrinks back, all but disappearing into the walk-in fridge.
“Leave the boy alone,” Iris warns. “It’s your fuck up, not his. Besides, I helped Llinos prep the duck earlier. It’ll be on their plates in less than ten minutes.”
She’s right. I’m a twat, and I immediately feel remorseful.
“I’ll crack on with their mains. Where’s the slip?”
“No.” She grabs a stack of tickets for the other customer’s orders and clips them on the hooks in front of me. “We’ll do the Darlingtons. You concentrate on the incoming slips. The place is packed out there, and while you’re away with the fairies, we’ve still got to hold down the fort.”
I stare at the jumbled array of orders through squinted eyes. None of them seem to make any sense, and I make no move to start even one.
“Jesus, Ell. It’s like all the lights are on, but there’s nobody home. What the hell is wrong with you tonight?” Iris’s arms fling out to her sides in a rare display of frustration. “I feel like I’m in the bloody Twilight Zone. It’s usually you cracking the whip, not me. Can you help a girl out and focus for a few hours?”
I run a hand over my face, pinching the bridge of my nose and squeezing hard.
“Sorry, Iris. You’re right. I’m head-fucked, but I’ll get it under control.” I turn my head towards Llinos and Tom, and call, “Sorry guys, no excuse. I’m out of order. Thanks for picking up the slack.”
“Wow, I bet that hurt,” Iris mutters before sweeping back out into the pub and leaving the three of us alone.
Focus. For Fuck’s sake, Ellis. Focus. This is your pub, your kitchen, and you didn’t work your arse off for years to fuck it all up.
I turn back to my station, close my eyes, and with a deep inhale, block everything out. I turn off my thoughts, and unplug my brain, letting myself drift into the familiar rhythm of the kitchen.
Chop. Season. Blanch. Fry. Crisp. Boil. Sear. Mix. Call for service.
And repeat.
Hours go by, orders get filled. People in the pub eat, and drink, and be merry until eventually, the kitchen slows.
When I’ve completed my final ticket for the night, and look up to see no more orders waiting, I crick my neck and stretch my arms up to the ceiling, my back cracking and muscles stretching. A glance at the clock shows it’s gone ten-thirty, and we still have close-down and clean-up to complete.
“Great job tonight, guys.”
Llinos and Tomos look wiped, but both give me tired smiles. Llinos’s accompanied by a cheeky, “Good to see you back, Chef.”
“Yeah, I bet it is. Sorry about that.”
She shrugs, tucking strands of her light brown hair behind her ears from where it’s escaped her bun. With eyes on her task, she grabs a spray bottle and begins filling it with cleaner.
“We all have off-times, Chef. Don’t beat yourself up about it. Besides,”—she nods towards the young lad elbow deep in soapy water and dirty pans— “this guy really stepped up to the plate over the last week. He’s a little gem, aren’t you, Tom?”
The boy blushes, his strawberry blond hair only highlighting the flush of his fair skin.
Llinos turns back to me, her face now serious. “But, if it isn’t overstepping, we could use an extra body in here on the busier nights. Even with you at full speed, it’s getting a little much to expect Tomos to step up and help with orders when he’s got enough of his own chores to complete.”
She’s right. Even before Macsen came here and turned my world on its head, I knew we needed to get more staff.
“Not overstepping at all. I’ll call Monday morning and get an ad in the local paper.” I walk over to the whiteboard, grab a black marker and leave a note to remind myself. It also serves as a visual, letting Llinos know I’ve taken her advice and concerns onboard. “I’ve been thinking the same thing for a while, and the last thing I want is any of you guys burning out. It would be nice for all of us to have a few more nights off.”
She nods, a small smile on her face. “Yeah, I’ve kinda become a hermit. One that only works, eats, sleeps and works again. Sometimes, if I’m lucky, I get time for the odd, long shower if I have enough energy.” Her words are teasing, but I see their truth in the tired lines that crease her brow.
“Okay, that’s settled.” I’m a shit boss. The worst. Ever. “We can decide together, before prep tomorrow, what roles we need filling, and go from there.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“And Llinos,”—I stop her before she turns away— “Thanks for picking up the slack. I’ve been a bit shit lately, and don’t want you to think I’ve taken what you’ve done for granted.”
“I think you’ve earned the right to have an off week, Ellis.” Her light green eyes are filled with sincerity. “You’ve gone full pelt for so long, it’s bound to take its toll. Don’t beat yourself up, okay? We’re a team, aren’t we?”
I have the best staff. And I’ve been the shittiest boss to them.
“We are. Cheers, Llinos.” I grab the towel off my shoulder and flick it in her direction. “Now, leave that. I’ll clear out your section. Go on, head off home and have that shower you’ve been missing.”
She laughs. “You sure? Or are you trying to say I smell?”
I sniff the air theatrically.
“Okay, okay. Hint taken. I’ll catch you tomorrow, Chef.”
“And Tomos,” I call at the fridge. “You can head off, too. I’ll finish the close-down.”
The young lad pokes his head around the corner of the door.
“You sure, Chef?” His cheeks are still flushed from earlier.