Nero wouldn’t have thought badly of Lenny if he couldn’t, but Lenny sloped away to complete the task with a nonchalant shrug, and returned a few minutes later with a grin.
“Sorted?”
“Smashed it.” Lenny’s grin widened. “You’ll be out of a job soon.”
“That so? All right, then, let’s get you prepping. See what you’re made of.”
Nero retrieved his box of hake and led Lenny to the prep area. “Blue knife and boards for fish prep. There’s twenty fillets of hake in this box. They need pin boning with those tweezers, and cutting into three.”
“Three?”
“Yeah, three, and they gotta be equal. Don’t fuck it up.”
“What happens if I do? Does it go in the bin like on the telly?”
Nero snorted. “No, mate. We don’t chuck good food in the bin here. If you fuck up, we’ll do something else with it, but that doesn’t mean you can piss about. Just do as you’re told; it ain’t hard.”
“Fair enough.”
Lenny drew the box towards him, effectively turning his back on Nero, so Nero left him to it, ignoring the alien niggle of remorse in his gut. Cass had said to keep him close, not wrap him in cotton wool. Besides, Nero had a kitchen to run.
The rest of the morning was spent prepping and checking the kitchen was ready for the day ahead. Around ten, the rest of the team filtered in—chefs, kitchen porters, front-of-house staff. Lenny kept his head down, doing everything Nero asked of him with no fuckups Nero couldn’t fix, and no one seemed to notice him until Debs, the sous chef, appeared at Nero’s bench.
“Who’s the new kid?”
“Lenny.” Nero studied the spring onions he was charring on the grill. “Cass’s mate.”
Mate might’ve been pushing it, but it was good enough for Debs. Cass’s reputation was fearsome, and no one fucked with him.
Debs hovered, though, understandably curious. “Where’s he from?”
“Dunno.”
“Is he a chef? Don’t look like it, holding that knife.”
Nero glanced at Lenny, who had moved on from massacring Nero’s precious hake to butchering potatoes. “He’s training.”
“Shall I get him on puds with Spanks then?”
“He’s gonna help me.”
Debs’s eyebrows shot up. “Help you? How’s he going to do that if he hasn’t got a clue what he’s doing?”
“That’s my problem, ain’t it?”
Debs had never been good with Nero’s bark. She backed away, hands raised. “Fair enough. Easy day for me, then. I’ll help Jolen.”
She drifted to the starters section, giving Lenny a tentative smile on her way. He responded with a friendly wink. Debs blushed. Nero stifled a growl and returned his attention to his work. Debs was a nice girl. If Lenny wanted to—
“Nero?”
“What?”
Lenny flinched. “Um . . . I’m done with spuds. Do you want me to wash up or something?”
“What?”
“Wash up,” Lenny repeated. “Unless you need me to chop more stuff?”
