A Season for Second Chances(75)

“I’ll come up tomorrow morning,” said Alfred.

“Need a lift?”

“No thanks. I’ll catch one up with Fred.”

“Good man,” Maeve boomed. “The usual okay for breakfast?”

“You still got that extra-thick bacon?” asked Alfred.

“Absolutely. Can’t do without it.”

Alfred nodded approvingly and said no more; the deal, it seemed, was struck.

“Mind if I help myself to another soup?” Maeve had turned her attention back to Annie. “No, no. Don’t get up, I can do it. I’ll pop the cash straight into the till.”



* * *



—

As expected, the café filled back up the moment the last firework had fizzled down into the sea. Even with the prep Annie had put in earlier, there was no way she could keep up.

“Maeve, you couldn’t jump on the till for half an hour, could you?” Annie called.

“Not tonight, I’m afraid. Didn’t bring my glasses with me this evening. Blind as a bat up close.”

“I’m driving her home tonight,” said Gemma, as though to put Annie’s mind at rest. “Why don’t I help you?”

“If you don’t mind, that would be great,” said Annie.

Gemma, it turned out, was a natural. Her friendly disposition made her an excellent calmer of customers who might otherwise have huffed and puffed about the wait. Annie mused that if she were still at the Pomegranate, Gemma would be just the sort of person she would hire for front of house. She picked up how to use the till almost at once and could remember who ordered what without any problems at all. Annie was in no position to be paying someone to help her out but, equally, she would lose customers if the service was bad; word of mouth could make or break a small business.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she said: “Gemma, if I were to take someone on part-time, would you be interested? School hours only, of course, so you could drop off and pick up the kids . . .”

Gemma’s eyes instantly welled with tears, and she threw her arms around Annie, almost knocking the milk jug clean out of her hands.

“I’d love to! Just say the word.”

“It won’t be much”—that’s for damn sure—“but I’ll make sure your hourly rate is above the minimum wage . . .”

“Fine, fine, fine.” Gemma was waving her arms about. “Just let me know when I can start.”

“Brian won’t mind?” Annie asked. The couple had, after all, agreed that Gemma should be a full-time mum.

“He won’t mind at all, and if he does it won’t make any difference.” She looked at Annie, her eyes big and intense. “I need this. I need a job,” she said with barely controlled desperation.

“Then it’s yours,” said Annie. “Give me a few days to sort out the finances . . .” Sell my body, she thought, sell a kidney, maybe two.

“Honestly,” Gemma broke in. “Whenever you’re ready. Just say the word.”

And just like that, Annie had staff.





Chapter 59



Later, when everyone had left and Annie was clearing down, Paul and John came blustering in, bringing the cold with them, blowing on their hands and still laughing at a joke that’d begun before they’d arrived. They smiled as they greeted her, and Annie felt strangely self-conscious under their joint attentions, as though she were a scarlet woman sandwich. Memories of her disappointing fumblings with Paul made her cheeks hot. She reminded herself that she was a grown-up and could have sex with every eligible bachelor who passed her door if she so wished. But it didn’t diminish the awkwardness she felt. She wasn’t sure what worried her more: the possibility that Paul would tell John that they had shared a night of passion, or that he might divulge that it had been rather a damp squib. Annie realized that it was very important to her that John think she was good in the sack.

“What can I do you for?” Annie asked. “Great fireworks, by the way.”

The pair looked pleased.

“I was wondering if you had any soup left I could take away?” asked Paul.

“Sure,” said Annie. “It’s the least I can offer you after such a fabulous firework display. You can eat it here if you like? As long as you don’t mind me cleaning down around you.”

“Thanks, but I’ll take it to go, if it’s all the same. I’ve got an early start, got to talk to a man about a fish,” he said.

Annie looked at him quizzically.

“Ely’s son, Steve, wants to push the business forward. They sell locally and at markets, but Steve wants to expand the number of restaurants they supply. I said I’d have a word with a couple of people I know round Broadstairs way.”

“I might be interested!” said Annie. The words were out of her mouth before she’d fully formed the thoughts behind them. She suddenly felt both men’s eyes on her: Paul’s inquiring and John’s familiar scowl. “I’ve been thinking a bit about bistro nights and maybe hot lunchtime specials each week, depending on the catch and the season.”

She saw John shaking his head. Paul, ever the optimist, said he thought that would be a fantastic idea. Annie handed over the soup, and Paul said a cheery good-bye and left.