‘It threw me,’ I admit.
He flashes me a grin. ‘He was quite self-assured, wasn’t he?’
‘Wasn’t he?’I erupt, leaning forward, my eyes wide, a smile suddenly breaking out on my face.
He smirks. ‘Wouldn’t surprise me if he proved to be a bit of a handful.’
‘I thought the same thing! I’m not sure how well he’d take orders.’ As soon as I say it, I feel bad. ‘He’s had a lot of shit to deal with in his life,’ I reveal, staring down at my hands. ‘I don’t know. Maybe I should give him a trial run.’
‘Do you have any work for him?’ Tom asks, and when I meet his eyes, I see that his earlier amusement has faded to a more serious expression.
‘We actually do have a position opening up soon. Our sous-chef is moving to London in a few weeks, but obviously that’s far too experienced a role for him. But our KP is off on Saturday, then on holiday from Wednesday, and I still haven’t found any cover.’ I experience a flurry of panic at the thought. ‘I don’t think Tyler would enjoy the work, though – there’ssomefood prep involved, but it’s mostly washing pots and pans, keeping the floors clean and sanitising food prep areas. Bill doesn’t suffer fools gladly and he’d blow his top if Tyler slacked off. It’s a bit too much of a baptism of fire for someone with his temperament, I think. I’ll see if I can juggle some bar shifts. That’s where he really wants to be.’
Maybe we could bring him in as a runner. Although the thought of Tyler racing around, collecting empties, cleaning glasses, refilling ice and changing barrels is a bit of a stretch too.
‘That’s very kind of you,’ Tom says sincerely, giving me a significant look. ‘I’m sure he’ll attract lots of female attention shaking the shit out of cocktails.’
I burst out laughing and his lips curve up at the corners, his gaze steady on mine. The olive green of his T-shirt brings out the golden highlights in his eyes.
‘He probablywouldmake a good mixologist. I can just imagine him flairing like Luke and Kwame and winning all the girls over.’
We only introduced cocktails last year after I urged Chas to glam up our drinks menu. I argued that it should be more in line with the great new food our kitchen was putting out. Before that it was all pints and shots.
I feel a pang of nostalgia for the old days. I can’t imagine a band like Mixamatosis thrashing out at Seaglass since it’s had its makeover.
But Dan, Tarek, Chris and Kieran have long since hung up their instruments anyway.
Unlike Finn.
I release a long drawn-out sigh. Everyone and everything has moved on, even Seaglass.
‘What are you going to do about your KP’s cover?’ Tom asks.
‘I don’t know.’ I push my hand through my hair and try to detangle it. ‘Being a manager is really bloody difficult.’
The rota is my least favourite part of the job, trying to juggle shifts with people wanting this or that day off. And then there are the sick days, holiday cover, hiring and firing, training, dealing with useless people who refuse to follow the systems –andthe occasional cocky dickhead who thinks heor she knows better than me. Plus, there’s the ordering and stocktaking. At least Bill does all that for the kitchen.
‘Well, if you’re stuck, let me know,’ Tom says.
I smile at him, assuming he’s joking.
Hecancook – I’ve seen him in action and it was hot as hell – but the kitchen porter is far too junior a role for someone like Tom.
‘I’m serious,’ he says.
I lean forward and look him in the eye. ‘Tom, did you hear the job description?’
‘Yeah, but I don’t mind mucking in. I’m itching to do something other than sit here and read.’
‘Can’t you find a better way to occupy your time? Youareon holiday.’
He gives me a wry look. ‘I’m not really sure what this is.’
Whatishe doing here? Why doesn’t he seem to be in any rush to get back to his job in Wales? Does he even still have a job in Wales? Maybe he’s on an extended sabbatical.
My expression softens. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ I turn the tables on him.
He lets out a low groan and scrubs his face with his hand. ‘Not really. But I am bored out of my brain. I’d be happy to help you out.’
