Chapter 8
EIGHT
LANI
I don’t know why people describe nerves as being like butterflies in their tummy. Excitement or anticipation, maybe. But dread-nerves, not so much.
On my way off the beach, Old Pete caught me and begged me to pick up the lunchtime shift for one of the waitresses who called in sick. I agreed, then found out it was up at the hotel, in the main restaurant. The incredibly posh, silver service restaurant.
The pubs back home, even the nice ones with proper freshly cooked meals and not microwaved shite, never offered silver service.
So here I am, after a short nap at home to clear my pounding head, with bloody hedgehogs doing gamboles in my stomach, freaking out about how the hell I’m going to survive this shift.
I wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt for what feels like the hundredth time while I try to psyche myself into leaving the safety of the staff zone.
“Lani! Hi!” A beaming smile greets me as I struggle to recall the name to the face. I know it’s one of the girls from the beach, but it can’t be Rachel because Pete said that’s the shift I’m covering today.
“Hi.”
“It’s Emily.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry. How’s Rachel?”
“She’s okay. Food poisoning, can you believe it?”
“Not from here I hope,” I joke.
Emily laughs. “Nah, she made her boyfriend take her to the new place that’s just opened in the village. Let’s just say it wasn’t good.”
“Yikes. Remind me not to go there anytime soon,” I quip, even though I have zero funds for eating out, pretty much ever. “So how hard is this silver service stuff?”
“You’ll be fine. So long as you’re not asked to wait on table eight.”
“What’s wrong with table eight?” I ask, my stomach sinking.
“The guy’s a demanding arsehole.”
“Sounds fun.”
“And he never tips.”
“Ugh, that sounds like one of my clients in The Beachside Grill last night.”
“Oh, they’re usually alright down there. We tend to get the entitled fucks up here.”
“That’s good to know. Remind me never to cover a shift here again then,” I mutter, making her laugh.
“Come on, we best get out there. Just shout if you need help.”
“Will do,” I say as I follow Emily out of the staff room and back to the main restaurant.
The hotel itself is set high on the cliff side, a gorgeous white art deco masterpiece that reflects the 1930s era it was created in. The interior is stunning and a far cry from the laid back surfer vibe of where I worked before. It’s beautiful, but I don’t exactly feel comfortable here.
Then again, probably the only people who do feel that way are the paying customers on the other side of the table.
The duty manager for the shift, Maggie, comes over to Emily and I, and thanks me for stepping in at the last moment. I roll my lip between my teeth while I wait to hear which tables she’s assigning me to.
“Emily, you’ve got table eight because you’re more experienced. That will be your only table for this shift. Lani, I need you to take on tables one through seven, nine and ten. My boys have the rest of the restaurant covered.”
“Thanks,” I say, relieved not to have the dreaded table eight. I shoot Emily a sympathetic look. I’d gladly take on nine tables over her one.
“Okay, let’s get to it.”
The shift passes in a blur of taking orders, fetching drinks, serving food and pouring refills.
The silver service is absolutely fine. More or less.
It’s not that much different from serving people at a carvery, except you have to hold the dishes with one hand and serve with the other.
There was one slightly awkward moment where a rogue potato got the better of me and fell into a woman’s handbag, but she just laughed and, with a wink, told me she’d take it home to enjoy later.
Thank god.
No complaints, some pretty excellent tips, and all is fine…I’m on my final table, seven, who are on to their coffees. Maybe a half hour more and I’ll be done. Ready for some more pain killers and a nap before my shift at the grill this evening.
While I’m waiting for the machine to do its thing, I take a moment to breathe.
The shift’s been busy, but that just means that time has flown by.
Poor Emily is barely half way through her service, despite lunch almost being over, because her customers have complained so much, and loudly.
I really feel for her. We’ve been shooting each other encouraging smiles whenever our paths have crossed on the way to the pass.
The fancy machine beeps to say the coffees are done, so I collect them and carefully carry them across the almost empty dining hall.
I’m less than ten paces away from serving them to the customer when there’s a screech of chair legs against the beautiful dark wood parquet flooring, then suddenly I’m jostled and scalding hot coffee is blooming across my chest.
“Fuck!” I yell.
“Watch it you stupid klutz!”
“I’m sorry, Sir,” I grind out from between my gritted teeth. My chest feels like it’s on fire, the wet material of my shirt sticking to me, but I can’t peel it away because I still have the coffees – or what’s left of the coffees – in my hands. The urge to just drop them is great, but I don’t.
He begins yelling and Maggie rushes over.
“What’s happened here?” She asks, her face lined with concern.
Before I can even open my mouth, the man who barged into me begins to tell his version of events, gesticulating wildly, his voice rising and ringing with anger. I can’t get a word in edgeways.
“Are you alright?” The lovely couple at table seven ask as tears gather in the corner of my eyes. I bite my tongue and nod.
“I’ll get you more coffee right away. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be silly, look after yourself first. Get some ice on that or something.” Their kindness makes me want to cry.
Someone races over to me and grabs the coffees from my hand. “Go and sort yourself out.”
“Thanks,” I say without looking up.
I grab the front of my shirt and peel it away from my skin. Peering down the front of my shirt, I see that my chest is red. Shit. It looks bad. It really fucking hurts.
“Is it bad?”
I blink and look up to meet Finn’s concerned gaze.
“Finn? What are you doing here?”
“I’m so sorry about my dad.”
“Your dad?” I frown. Is he still on about last night? He doesn’t need to apologise for that. Especially not now.
He tilts his chin up and I follow his gaze to my right. I didn’t even realise that Emily’s nightmare customer – now my nightmare – was Mr Nyugen. Fuck. He’s currently screaming at Maggie that I should be fired because of my language and unprofessional attitude.
“Maggie, I’m so—”
She holds up her hand to cut me off, gaze firmly on Mr Nyugen who’s still ranting about me. I cringe.
Shit. I can’t afford to lose my job! Surely they can’t fire me over this? It was an accident, and not even my fault! Sure, I shouldn’t have sworn, but I defy anyone to have scalding hot liquid poured over them and not react.
“Lani, breathe. You’re not going to lose your job. I swear,” Finn tells me gently.
I take a deep breath and try to calm myself down, but the pain in my chest, along with my throbbing head and the fear of losing my job are making it difficult for me to focus. I look back at Finn, appreciating his calming presence.
I take a deep breath and try to compose myself. “But he’s saying I should be fired. Maggie can’t just ignore him.”
“Trust me, Maggie knows how to handle customers like him,” Finn says with a reassuring smile.
“Thanks, Finn,” I say, feeling a little bit better for his calming, kind words.
Maggie comes over to me and puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Lani, don’t worry about it. You’re not going to lose your job over this. It was an accident and Mr Nyugen is just being difficult.”
I let out a small sigh of relief and nod my head, grateful for her support.
“Thank you, Maggie,” I say, my voice still shaky.
She smiles at me kindly before turning to Mr Nyugen, who’s still yelling and making a scene. “Sir, I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but we can’t tolerate this kind of behaviour in our restaurant. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Mr Nyugen splutters in anger, but Maggie stands firm as one of the other managers comes over to escort him out. I let out a shaky breath and try to steady myself as Emily comes over to me, concern etched on her face.
“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice low and sympathetic. “What happened?”
I nod, feeling a little embarrassed at the attention. “Yeah, I’m okay. It was just a little scary.”
“I can’t believe that guy. What an arsehole,” she says, her eyes flashing with anger. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I literally just popped to the loo for a minute. They had everything they needed.”
I give her a small smile. “Thanks, Emily. I appreciate it. And don’t worry. It absolutely wasn’t your fault.”
We stand there for a moment, both taking deep breaths and trying to calm down, when Finn speaks up.
“Hey, why don’t I take you home and you can change out of that shirt? Do you need medical attention?”
I look at him, surprised by the offer. “Oh, no, that’s okay. I don’t want to cause a fuss.”
“Let me finish serving your table, Lani,” Emily offers. “I’ll get the Marshalls their coffees and settle up their bill. They’ll get a discount. I’ll pass your tip on too.”
I feel a wave of gratitude wash over me at Emily’s offer.
“Thank you, Emily. I’ll take you up on that if that’s okay?”
Maggie comes back into the dining room, looking seriously pissed. Shit. My heart sinks.
“Maggie, I really am sorry.”
The fierce expression falls from her face and I see the concern in her eyes. “Come with me,” she says, leading me towards the staff room. “Let’s get you cleaned up and checked out.”
In the staff room, Maggie helps me remove my shirt, wincing at the sight of the reddened skin on my chest. She hands me a cold compress, which I press against the burn, feeling a little relief.
“I’m going to have to report this to HR,” Maggie says, her face pinched with worry. “And we need to get you some medical attention.”