Chapter 35
I could have napped for longer but after an hour, I throw on a simple yellow dress and make my way down to dinner. I’ve booked the seafood restaurant, La Mer, which is also the name of the extortionate skin cream I bought last year and threw away after it made me break out like a fifteen-year-old.
For the first time this week I’m alone for dinner.
I sit at a small table by a porthole-shaped window, overlooking the very sea that my dinner was plucked from.
Like the main dining room, it has a classier vibe than the buffet or lunch bars.
There are fewer tables and private booths, making it feel more exclusive with a wooden, nautical theme running throughout.
I’m handed a glass of prosecco while I look over the menu. This restaurant wasn’t my first choice, but seafood and Japanese were the only two available. As much as I enjoy seafood, I find it difficult to get overly excited by fish. It’s either bland or bony or both.
The menu is broken down into three courses and it doesn’t quite match the vibe of the restaurant.
While the interior hints at fine dining, some of the menu looks like it was planned by Popeye.
Buckets of prawns, fish sandwiches and clams with fries.
For a surcharge there are other options like lobster, a seafood platter and of course the catch of the day which is .
. . well, fish. I decide to pay the surcharge and choose from the pricier options.
If I wasn’t wearing my pretty yellow dress, I’d be rolling up my sweatshirt sleeves and fisting a bucket of prawns.
‘Good evening. My name is Lola and I’ll be looking after you this evening.’
Lola’s wearing a waistcoat and tie. She looks like she’s been crying.
‘Are we waiting for someone else?’ she asks. I hear her sniff quietly.
‘No,’ I reply, ‘Just me . . . Um, are you all right?’
‘Oh yes, I’m fine,’ she replies. ‘It’s just hay fever. I’ll clear these extra dishes and then come back for your order.’
Lola lifts the place setting opposite and I watch her walk back towards the chef’s station in the middle of the room. She returns as quickly as she left.
‘What can I get you?’
‘Could I have the marinated crab salad to start and then the seafood platter for one, please?’
‘Of course. Water for the table?’
‘Great, thanks so much.’
The crab starter is tasty if a tad pretentious.
Served in a glass pot, shreds of rocket and chunks of avocado line the bottom along with the tiniest amount of crabmeat.
If I had a microscope, I’d still struggle to find it.
There is also a pinky-sized crab claw placed on top beside a lime wedge.
It’s finished in thirty seconds. I’m starting to regret not getting the bucket.
Lola brings my main, which is thankfully a much larger portion.
The seafood platter consists of a lobster tail, langoustines, more crab claws and black mussels.
I also have some bread, various sauces and garlic butter.
I tuck my napkin into my dress. I don’t care how stupid I look, I’m not spending the rest of the evening wearing a dress that looks like a Jackson Pollock painting.
Lola appears, just as I’m finishing. ‘How was everything?’
‘It was great,’ I reply, pulling off my napkin. ‘My dress also survived unscathed.’
‘Would you like to see the dessert menu?’
‘Sure, thanks.’
She leaves to get the menu when I see a head waitress with a pointy chin approach Lola, hands on her hips, like every other miserable middle manager I’ve ever known.
She has almost mastered the art of smiling while she’s berating someone, but not quite.
It takes me about three seconds to know that hay fever at sea probably isn’t the cause of Lola’s red eyes.
I suddenly decide I need the bathroom. As I leave my table and walk past them, I hear Miss pointy chin snarl, ‘I don’t care. I told you that you couldn’t go. Who do you think you are? Every other woman here manages just fine, you’re not special.’
I speed pee in the bathroom before heading back to my table. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’d never let anyone speak to me like that.
Lola returns and hands me the menu, doing her best to compose herself. She can’t be any older than twenty. I never thought I had a maternal bone in my body until now.
‘Do you need a second?’ she asks.
‘No, I think I’ll have the gelato,’ I reply. ‘And can I ask a question?’
‘Of course.’
‘The head waitress. Is she like that with everyone?’
Lola looks startled, her eyes quickly darting towards the walking scowl, who’s now hovering beside the lobster display.
‘Um, I’m not sure what . . .’ She takes a second and exhales. ‘It’s just me. For now anyway. The last girl Anne abused, up and quit during service.’ She’s getting visibly nervous.
‘Just lean in like you’re explaining the menu to me,’ I tell her. ‘Take a deep breath.’
‘I try my best,’ she says, her voice almost a whisper. ‘But nothing I do is good enough. My hair isn’t right, I’m not fast enough . . . I messed up one drink order yesterday and she yelled at me in the kitchen. I’ve been in food service since I was sixteen, I know what I’m doing.’
‘And tonight? I overheard some of her little tirade.’
‘It’s embarrassing.’
‘I’m a grown woman who just ate my meal with a napkin tucked into my cleavage. I think you’re good.’
As she smiles, I see her relax. ‘She wouldn’t let me go to the bathroom to change my pad, but I went anyway because, you know, I had to. She was just reminding me that I’m still on probation and easily replaceable.’
My blood begins to boil. I remember the nightmare of having heavy periods.
The number of times I’d flood after doing something as simple as standing up and the pain that followed.
How teachers at school wouldn’t let me out of class, so I’d bleed onto my skirt, forced to spend the rest of the day with my jumper tied around my waist. My mum used to tell me she could ‘smell the iron’ and that I should just double up and get on with it.
Not an ounce of empathy for me back then and it seems that some things haven’t changed.
Lola sniffs again and straightens up, taking my menu.
‘So, Anne. She’s your boss?’
Lola nods.
‘And who is her boss?’
‘Owen,’ she replies, ‘the ma?tre . . .’ She pauses and purses her lips.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I reassure her. ‘This discussion never happened. But I can’t control the things I overhear on my way to the bathroom, can I?’
‘I don’t suppose you can.’ She smiles and leaves to get my gelato.
I eat it slowly, wondering what the hell I can do to help this girl. There’s a special place in hell for women who bully other women.
As I’m about to leave, I grab the attention of the ma?tre d’, who’s greeting guests by the entrance.
‘Owen, isn’t it?’ I ask, using a voice that implies that I’m an intelligent, commanding woman who also happens to watch a lot of Bridgerton. I just hope he didn’t see my makeshift bib.
‘Yes, madam, how can I help you?’
‘I just wanted to say that the young woman who served me tonight was wonderful. Lola, I think her name was. A real credit to your team.’
He beams. ‘That’s very kind, I’ll certainly let her know.’ He turns to welcome a group of diners.
‘I mean, so professional,’ I continue, my voice a touch louder. ‘Even after I heard that woman verbally shame her for having to change her sanitary wear during work, she—’
I quite enjoy seeing the panic in his face at the mere mention of feminine hygiene products in a fine dining setting. He swifty ushers me to one side, signalling for someone to take over.
‘Maybe we can have this conversation somewhere a little more—’
‘Appropriate?’ I suggest. ‘Private? Surely that young girl should have been afforded the same courtesy?’
He nods. ‘What exactly did Lola say?’
‘Absolutely nothing,’ I reply. ‘As I said, she was completely professional. If I hadn’t overheard the conversation, I’d never have known. Of course I didn’t mention it to her, she’d be more humiliated than she already is.’
‘Of course,’ he replies, still trying to manoeuvre us further from the entrance. I think Owen would be happier if we had this conversation under the sea. ‘Can I ask what you overheard?’
‘I overheard a senior member of your team, short hair, pointy chin – ’
He glances over at Anne. Maybe everyone calls her pointy chin.
‘ – tell a junior that she didn’t care what the reason was. She was warned not to take time to go to the bathroom, despite the fact she had her period. It’s just beyond the pale. Do you want your female members of staff just bleeding all over the restaurant willy-nilly?’
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself laughing. I’ve never said willy-nilly in my life.
‘Of course not and I apologise for the behaviour you witnessed,’ he replies. ‘Please be assured that it will be dealt with.’
‘Thanks very much,’ I reply. ‘Keep up the good work.’
I smile sweetly and casually walk away from the scene I’ve just created. I feel almost triumphant, ready to take on the world . . . or perhaps something less global and more ship-based. I open my phone and swipe the cruise app to plan the rest of my evening.