How had she forgotten about Freedom being on her passport? She definitely wanted to be known as Honor. She pushed the passports right to the bottom of her bag.
* * *
‘Helloo,’ sang Sophie, from the white-tiled kitchen, as Honor pushed through the dark green door of the tearoom. ‘Here’s our latest helper.’
‘Hi,’ answered Honor, shortly, glad to have the opportunity to feel irritated with Sophie instead of with her mother.
Robina called from the other side of the kitchen’s central island. ‘I’m just going to run up to the butcher’s for some fresh sausage meat for the sausage rolls. Back in five minutes.’
Sophie’s pink shiny face grew pinker. It couldn’t get any shinier. Her default expression was a grin and she sprinkled her conversation with giggles. ‘I’ll look after you, Honor. Come through. We’ve just got lots of lovely local ladies in for their elevenses, at the moment, and we won’t get busy for another half hour. I’ve got you an apron ready and, look, all the cleaningthings are over here — and gloves because some of these cleaners would strip your skin. Robina’s actually very save-the-planet but the kitchen has to be cleaned properly.’ She giggled. ‘Anyway, the job’s easy, especially if you’ve worked as a waitress already. Menus are on the table and when the customers look ready, you take a pad and a pen and you go and ask them what they want — and then you come back to the counter and tell us!’ She gave a tiny snort, like a giggly piglet.
Honor smiled, cautiously. ‘What are “elevenses”?’
Another giggle. ‘Morning snack. Second breakfast. Whatever you want it to be. Anyway,’ said Sophie, suddenly becoming brisk, ‘Kirsty says you have to fill out a form.’ She led Honor out of the kitchen and into an office the size of a cupboard and selected a tatty blue folder from a pile, sorting through until she located a particular form. ‘This is for people who haven’t got a P45, I think.’ She paused, doubtfully, form extended. ‘I’ve never employed a foreigner before. Kirsty usually does all the admin stuff — she’s brilliant at it.’
Honor pushed the form right back, seeing the opportunity to avoid revealing her stupid first name to Sophie and Robina. ‘But I will have this P45 thing you need. I called Lawrence last night and he said that he’d send me my P45 and it would be straightforward for you. I’m not a foreigner because I have a UK passport, which he has already seen, so you don’t have to,’ she added, firmly.
‘So that’s OK then?’ asked Sophie, vaguely. ‘I could ask Kirsty when she comes home from hospital but she’s been so poorly. So . . .’
‘So we’re all set. I’ll tie on my apron.’
‘Brilliant!’ beamed Sophie. Her interests obviously lay outside of the cupboard/office. Robina returned with her bag of sausage meat, Sophie became busy in the hot little kitchen and Honor was free to wait on the eighteen small tables, six insideand twelve out, where the customers proved to be friendly, probably because it’s difficult to be miserable if you’re eating cake to die for.
The cakes were legendary. Even customers who ordered a sandwich or homemade soup, jacket potatoes or a toastie, almost all succumbed to the sweet stuff as well.
Cakes were Robina’s thing. The business model at the Teapot soon became clear as Robina serenely mixed, iced, filled and baked, and Sophie and Honor darted around her. Pinging sandwich toasters, hissing coffee frothers and bricks of cheese to be grated were not for her.
Luckily, Sophie was an octopus, turning things on, off or over, stirring, chopping, heating and beating, ever pinker and usually beaming.
Honor began to like her.
* * *
The coffee shop opened at ten in the morning and closed whenever Robina decided to shut it. Honor was meant to cover the busy time of eleven until four-thirty, five days a week, where most needed. She was getting ready to wind down her first shift when she checked her outside tables and saw that one had been taken over by three teenagers wearing ball caps and hooded sweatshirts.
She had no trouble recognising Frog and his Tadpoles. Snatching up pad and pen, she bustled outside.
‘Hey, you guys,’ she cried, as if she’d never been so delighted to see anyone in her life. ‘And what can I get for you today?’
Frog narrowed his eyes. ‘Hey, Yankee Doodle. We’re waiting.’
‘Uh-huh.’ She nodded. ‘And what can I get for you whilst you’re waiting?’ Then, because he looked puzzled, ‘These seatsare for customers. If you’re not buying, you’re not customers.’ She smiled her widest, falsest smile.
Frog did not smile back. ‘Where is he?’
She clicked her pen. ‘Who?’
‘The freak.’
Honor put on an owlish expression.
‘Ru Gordon,’ enunciated slowly.
‘Rufus?’ She cast a furtive glance behind her, lowering her voice. ‘He’s not here, today.’
The Tadpoles looked at Frog. Frog stuffed his hands into his pockets. Grey clouds were gathering out to sea. ‘We came to see what happened last night,’ he said.
Honor shrugged, plain stupid on the outside, boiling fury inside. ‘You lost me.’
