Mother's Boys Page 3

  She picked up her pace.

  Simon. Mother would surely have approved of Simon.

  After Nat’s father had passed away, the young girl had witnessed the ongoing parade of uncles through the house and cried herself to sleep over the grunting and slapping that came through the thin walls. Her mother would be filled with regret the following morning. Even now, when Nat would dump the empty wine bottles into the restaurant’s recycling, she saw her mother sitting at the kitchen table, mid-morning light twinkling off the various finished bottles.

  “Never, ever” slurred her mother, jabbing each word with the smouldering cigarette poked between her fingers. “Never get with a man who don’t appreciate you, Nat. You get one that treats you like a princess, and you keep a hold of him, you hear?”

  Young Natalie would nod and continue cooking breakfast, or cleaning the kitchen, or doing anything to keep from her mother’s attention.

  “You don’t let no harm come to him. Look at your father. Drank and smoked his life away, and what did I do?” She took a long drag, eyes seeing the past. “I let him. You gotta look after a man. They can get in all sorts of trouble without ya,” she said through a cloud of smoke.

  Halfway down the dark stairwell, Nat heard the empty bottles being swept from the kitchen table and shattering on the floor, echoing across the years.

  I did what you said, Nat thought, keen to reach the ground floor. The place was creepy enough without the ghosts of the past following her with each step. I did something you could never do.

  I found a good man.

  And I kept him.

  Fuck you, mother dear.

  Her thoughts of Simon carried her down the stairs, and she smiled on reaching the bottom. She pushed through the door into the lobby and, after checking her post box, walked out onto the street.

  The first drops of rain blotched the pavement with dark circles around her feet. Nat held a hand up and caught a few in her palm.

  With her head down, she turned left and started a brisk walk, hoping her bus hadn’t left yet.

  Pushing through the glass door to Ginelli’s, Nat glanced down at her watch and then around the room, searching for either of her two bosses. The motion of her head sent flecks of water flying from her dreadlocks, garnering glares from nearby diners.

  “Sorry…” she murmured, walking past. She nodded a greeting to the two girls working the bar and slipped through the door at the side.

  In the kitchen, waiting staff darted past each other carrying steaming plates of food, young apprentices beat eggs and stirred the huge pans of soup on the cookers. Over all this, the head chef, Gordon, usually yelled out instructions. Today was a little different as Andre, one of her bosses, screamed at Gordon.

  “What do you mean, we have none?” Andre cried.

  The head chef stared back at Andre.

  “It’s on the fucking menu!” Andre continued. “If a customer wants something on the menu, they should fucking have it!”

  Nat normally liked to overhear someone else receiving the brunt of Andre’s temper, loving how his fake Italian accent fell away as he got angry. This time, she used it as a diversion, managing to hang her soaking wet coat up and dump her bag in a free locker.

  “From one joker to another! Where the hell have you been?”

  Nat froze.

  “Twenty past six! And when does your shift start, Natalie?”

  She slowly turned. “Six.”

  “That’s right. Six!” He placed his hands on his hips. His ample gut stuck out. “Hasn’t anybody got a goddamn clue around here? First that idiot Samantha fails to show and now…”

  “I’m sorry! It’s just that the lift was broke and so I missed the bus and I couldn’t call because I left my phone at home and …”

  “Excuses!” Andre bellowed. “I don’t want to hear them! Just get on with it.” He huffed. “And again, Natalie. Sort that hair out and get that metal shit out of your face. Customers don’t want to be served by…whatever the hell you’re trying to be. You’re here to work, not to make a fucking statement.”

  Behind Andre, Gordon rolled his eyes and returned to work.

  Rant over, Andre barged past Natalie and through the swinging door. She heard him complaining to the girls behind the bar.

  “Cock,” she muttered under her breath.

  “Take no notice,” called Gordon. He slammed a cleaver into a pile of steaks but turned to look at her. Nat wondered how he’d never lost a digit. “I think him and Roberto had a bit of a tiff. Haven’t seen lover boy in here all night. Normally it’s him that likes to ride me.”

  “You don’t say,” said Nat, raising an eyebrow and smiling.

  “What? You’ve got a perverted mind, my girl.” He glanced down and tossed a few strips of meat into a waiting metal bowl.

  Nat removed her white, frilly apron from her locker and hung it around her neck, tying the sash around her back. She examined herself in a nearby mirror. It had a layer of condensation around the edges which framed her image in distorted, frosty glass. She looked more like a gothic French maid than a waitress. Straightening the apron, she tottered on her high heels.

  Don’t know why he makes me wear these things to work. Probably break every health and safety rule going.

  She reached into the wide pocket at the front of the apron and took out a small pad of paper and a biro.

  “How am I looking, Gordon?”

  The chef looked over, again risking his fingers beneath the descending blade.

  “Beautiful, but hiding a deep resentment for all the snooty customers.”

  “Just what I was going for,” she said. “Why didn’t Samantha come in?”

  Gordon shrugged his shoulders. “Must be ill or something. We don’t know. She hasn’t called.”

  With a sigh, Nat turned back to the door leading into the dining area. Straining to keep a fixed smile on her face, she pushed through.

  Time’s supposed to pass quickly when you’re busy, Nat thought, rushing from table to table with plates of sizzling food, returning to the kitchen, bringing out more, taking a new order and replenishing drinks. Every time she glanced up at the clock hanging in the kitchen, the hands seemed to have barely moved.

  At twenty-five minutes past eight, she decided to take her break early, risking the wrath of Andre. She walked through the kitchen to the back door. She pushed down the bar and swung it open, enjoying the chill that cut through the humid air. Stepping outside, she noticed Gordon sneaking a cigarette by the bins. She wandered over.

  “Andre will do his nut if he catches you smoking again. You know he thinks you can taste it in the food afterwards.”

  Gordon grunted. “Most of the snobs complain about the food anyway, so what’s a little added flavour?” He took a long drag and blew the smoke upwards. The cloud lingered over his head, illuminated by the security light shining down on them. He looked up through it. “Lovely night.”

  “Yeah,” said Nat, leaning back against the wall of the restaurant. She kicked off her shoes. Her tights did nothing to stop the cold seeping into her feet. “When I moved here, I thought I’d never see a beautiful night again.”

  Gordon took another puff. “How’d you mean?”

  “I thought that all these big buildings would, I don’t know, block out the sky. It’s weird moving from a small seaside village to the city. I didn’t know what to expect.”

  “You’d be surprised,” said Gordon. “We get some real pretty nights here, not many, but some. Usually just after the rain. Come here…”

  Nat tip toed across the yard, watchful for any debris. Arriving next to Gordon, she followed his pointing finger with her gaze.

  From this angle, she saw the moon, a pale glowing crescent, suspended in between two skyscrapers.

  “Wow,” she said.

  “Get the moon and the stars above the night sky line…beautiful,” he said. “You can get it on post cards and pictures in other cities, but not here. I don’t know why. I mean, it’
s the same stars, the same moon, just the city is different.” He laughed. “You know, when I first came here, my friend warned me never to look up.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he said only tourists look up, to see the high buildings. He said that looking up made you a prime target for mugging.” Gordon shook his head. “But look what you’d be missing.”

  Nat agreed. Even the stench of the bins behind them couldn’t spoil the moment.

  A dog yapped on the other side of the wall surrounding the yard.

  “From one natural beauty to another,” said Gordon. “Jenkins! Is that you, boy?”

  The dog yapped again.

  “I’d better go and open the gate.”

  “Are you sure about this?” asked Nat. “The mood Andre’s in, he’ll hit the roof if he comes out here.”

  “Relax,” said Gordon, approaching the gate and unlatching it. “He won’t come outside. He’s too busy ruling his gastronomic kingdom.” He swung the gate open.

  A small dog with short black and white hair dashed around the corner and into the yard. It jumped up against Gordon’s leg, tail wagging furiously.

  “Jenkins!” said Gordon, beaming. “You little rascal. Come here!” He bent down and roughly stroked the dog with his large hands. The dog promptly flopped onto his back, exposing his belly for the same treatment. Gordon immediately obliged. “Look at you. Where’ve you been, eh? Where’ve you been?”

  The dog released a high, excited whine.

  A figure stepped around the corner and through the open gate, scraggy black hair hiding his down-turned face. His clothes were a mismatch of soiled and torn garments, with the occasional patch holding them together. He scratched his chin through a curly and dirty beard.

  “Hey, Max,” said Gordon, looking up from the dog.

  Max nodded and began to walk towards Nat.

  “Hey,” she said, growing slightly nervous. “How you doing?”

  “Okay,” he said quietly. Nat hardly heard him and the beard hid his mouth, making it hard to lip-read. He arrived beside her and swung one of the bin lids open.

  Nat tried to hide her grimace and retreated back across the yard to her waiting shoes.

  “Mate,” said Gordon, straightening. Jenkins sprang up, pawing at his leg. “You know you don’t have to do that.”

  “Yeah,” said Nat. “I’m sure we can find you something, that is, if his highness isn’t around.”

  “Andre,” said Max, nodding. “Never changes.”

  “Let me go and find you a bite.” Gordon strode across the yard and paused at the back door. “Any preference?”

  “No sea food,” said Max. “Gave me gas last time I ate here.” He winked at Nat. “But, beggars can’t be choosers, I guess.”

  With a chuckle, Gordon pulled open the door and stepped inside.

  Max pulled the top of the bin closed and leaned back against it. Jenkins trotted over to Nat and continued his needy whining.

  Nat stepped into her shoes and crouched, giving him a gentle tickle behind the ears.

  “He likes you,” said Max, watching her. “He’s normally funny with women. At one point, I thought I had a little gay dog.”

  Nat laughed and looked down.

  “You’re not gay are you?” she said in a soppy voice like she was talking to a baby. “Bet you get all the girls, don’t you?” She glanced up to see Max still resting against the bins, eyes locked on her. She nervously cleared her throat.

  “Thank you for this,” he said, taking a few steps towards her. “There’s not many people who’d help me out. I appreciate what you and Gordon do, and I know how much trouble you’d get into.” He stopped a few feet away from her.

  Nat tried not to wrinkle her nose from the smell radiating off the man. Although he appeared quite young, maybe only a few years older than herself, the old-tramp stench had settled in. The grime and body odours seemed to congeal to form a smell like burning wood. There was something else in there too, something damp and salty, like seaweed.

  Jenkins yapped impatiently around her ankles.

  Max offered his hand, clad in a dirty mitten with the fingers cut out, sausages sticking out of a ball of wool.

  “I…I should be going back inside,” she said quickly. “My break is over and if Andre catches me…”

  Max dropped his hand down to his side and nodded.

  “That’s okay. We don’t want you to get a toasting because of us. Do we, Jenkins?”

  The dog looked up at the sound of his name, tail beating.

  “We should go, let you get back to work.”

  The backdoor opened, filled with a mountainous silhouette.

  “Max, here. Grab this quick. He’s coming.”

  Nat felt her stomach twist. She didn’t have the courage to go through another lecture. She’d have to get inside.

  Gordon moved towards them holding four Tupperware containers about the same size as shoeboxes. He held them stacked one on top of each other. Nat noticed that the food within was still hot; condensation had formed on the inside of the plastic.

  “Spaghetti Bolognese,” said Gordon, handing the containers over to Max. “We make so much of this shit that he won’t notice a little missing.”

  A little? There’s enough there to keep him going all week, Nat thought.

  Max hooked one arm underneath and kept the highest container steady with his chin. With his free hand, he grabbed Gordon by the arm.

  “Thank you, my friend. You don’t know how much this means to us.”

  Gordon clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Forget about it. I made it and besides, it’s wasted on those people. At least you appreciate it.” Both men released each other, and Gordon stepped back. “Now go before he comes out. I don’t want to see Jenkins on the menu.”

  “Thank you,” said Max again, moving towards the gate. “Both of you.”

  “Anytime,” said Nat. “See you, Max. And you, Jenkins.”

  The dog turned to her, ears pricked. Before it could run over, Max clicked his tongue and the dog obediently trotted along beside. Without looking back, they both passed through the gate and turned around the corner.

  “Poor bastard,” said Gordon, watching him go with his hands on his hips. “Been living on the streets for years.”

  Nat walked to the backdoor and pushed it open. Checking if the coast was clear, she stepped inside and held it open for the following chef.

  “Why doesn’t he get a job?” she asked. “He doesn’t seem like the typical weirdos you get around here.”

  “You try getting a job in that state.” Gordon closed the door behind him. “A bit of polishing up and I think he could maybe try for a job; I think there’s a handsome young man under there somewhere. But who’d give him that much? Most people act like he’s diseased or something.”

  Nat looked to the floor, remembering her disgust at nearly shaking hands with him.

  Gordon crossed to the sink and turned on the taps. He soaped his hands up.

  “You can talk,” said Nat.

  “Very funny. This isn’t because I touched him. I have no problem with that. Jenkins, on the other hand, has fleas. I don’t think Andre would appreciate a customer finding one on his pizza. I might pass it off as a peppercorn, but better safe than sorry.” He rinsed his hands and dried them on a towel hanging on a rack beside the sink. “What about you. Think he’s all right?”

  “I just feel sorry for him,” she said. “It must be awful, having no food, nowhere to live, no job…”

  The door to the dining area swung open and Andre floundered in, his face bright red.

  “Natalie!” he screeched. “What the hell am I paying you for?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gordon tip-toe away and start to sprinkle flour on his work surface. “Waiting tables?”

  “I like to think so,” he whined. It reminded Nat of Jenkins’ desperate pitch. “And how many have you waited on in the last twenty minutes?”

  “Well I’ve j
ust come off my break and—”

  Andre snapped an open hand in front of her face, looking up to the ceiling. “Enough!”

  He spun on his heels and marched out of the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind him.

  Nat sighed and looked over her shoulder. “Hey, Gordon!”

  He glanced up. “Yeah?”

  “Maybe Max has got it right,” she said, smirking. “No job means no shit like this.”

  He smiled, nodded and returned to work as Nat entered the dining area for the second half of her shift.

  At eleven o’clock, only a few tables were still occupied. Gordon and the kitchen staff, apart from the dishwashers, had gone home. Nat waited by the bar, chatting to the remaining girl who restocked the fridges. She turned at the sound of the front door opening.

  Not more, she thought. Don’t these people ever have a night in?

  Simon stepped inside, shivering and rubbing his hands. Nat’s heart leapt.

  “Hey,” she said, swivelling her stool around and leaning an elbow against the bar.

  “Cold out there,” he said, vigorously trying to generate some heat in his hands. Leaving his coat on, he weaved between the tables to her. He slid an arm around her waist and delicately kissed her forehead. Nat seemed to smell the chill of the outside on him. “Just let me get warm.”

  Nat stroked his arm through his coat.

  “You got time,” she said. “I was late in. Andre’s forcing me to make it up. Liz here might be persuaded to make you a drink if you ask her nice.” She winked at her friend behind the bar and turned back to Simon. “Park it.”

  He didn’t have a chance to sit down. Andre burst in from the kitchen. He looked towards them and began waving his hands.

  “No, no, no,” he said. “We are closed. No more.”

  “It’s okay,” said Nat. “This is Simon. He’s picking me up. It’s our one year anniversary.”

  “Oh…” Andre leaned back against the bar, thoughtfully placing two fingers on his cheek and studying Simon. “So this is the reason my waitress has her head in the clouds and turning up late, is it?”

  Simon’s cheeks flushed red, and not because of the cold, Nat guessed.