Finis.
‘That’s outrageous.’
‘Plus tips, you could be clearing well over twenty quid a day.’
‘What does it say in my contract about my rights when the boss tries sexually assaulting me?’
‘Oh, come on, give me a break. I didn’t have to give you this job, you know.’ I was aware that this had hit the wrong note.
‘I don’t have to accept.’
‘OK, OK, OK. But try not to mention the … incident … again. I’m really sorry about it.’
‘Don’t be sorry, I was flattered.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, particularly the bit when you said you don’t normally go for gingers or people in the vocations, but I was worth making an exception for.’
‘I didn’t say that, did I?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘That’s bad.’
‘Yeah, but I’ll get over it. How’s your concussion?’
‘Better. It was more of a blackout, I think.’
‘And how’s the poetry coming along?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well. You were saying last night how you’re a great poet of the human soul, I was just wondering if you’d cranked out any stanzas today.’
By this stage my head was collapsed on to my forearm in grief. Sadie laughed. It was a filthy, masculine, merciless kind of laugh. ‘Right. There’s a customer. I’m off.’
Part of me had thought that Henry had been making it all up. I contemplated sticking my head in the pizza oven, but instead went out to the bins for a bifter. I didn’t speak much to Sadie for the next hour or so, but every time she went past me she said: ‘Ah, the Great Poet fixes a drink,’ or, ‘See how the bard polishes the side plate.’ I was beginning to warm to her, to be honest.
At eight, Bart dropped in with Brian. This was unusual. He would occasionally drop in early evening to put the wind up everyone but he wouldn’t dream of eating in one of his own restaurants. He sat at a table near the window looking agitated and summoned me over.
‘Stretch, how are we doing this week?’
‘Good. Ten grand easy already.’
‘How many shifts you done?’
‘Four so far. The normal.’
‘Fucking hell, Frank, why can’t you do me a few more? We take bigger when you’re on, guaranteed.’
‘Oh, you old softie. I can’t do any more. I’d go fucking mad. And you won’t pay me any extra. I’d have to be a nonce.’
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