Afterwards, I would remember that so clearly. Everyone froze – except Fiona.
‘Oh, honey,’ she said.
She hadn’t run, but she’d moved swiftly nonetheless, helping Birdie out of the mess of smashed glassware. ‘You’re having a night, aren’t you?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Birdie sobbed. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s all right.’ There was Fiona’s laugh, that champagne laugh, bubbling up under the words. ‘We all have one of those nights sometimes.’
She put her hands on Birdie’s shoulders. ‘Here’s what we’re going to do, okay? We’re going to go out the back. You’re going to sit down and take some deep breaths, cry it out, whatever you need to do. I only need you to do one thing for me – show me where the cleaning stuff is. I’ll take care of this.’
‘Fiona!’ Matt barked.
But she didn’t look at him. Instead, she looked at me, eyebrows raised inquiringly.
Still frozen – wine knife in one hand, bottle in the other – I nodded, and fell in love with her.
I did not let anyone work on the floor of my bar without training.Anyone.Even Isamu, who’d spent his entire life working in wine and had several somm qualifications to go with his winemaking ones, had to consent to doing things my way.
That night, though, I was so utterly undone I barely remembered to check Fiona had Responsible Service of Alcohol training. ‘Yes, don’t worry, your liquor license is safe,’ she replied, busily pouring glasses of Margaret River cabernet sauvignon, making herself as at home behind my bar as if she’d helped me build it. ‘I worked in a pub when I was at uni, and then I re-upped a few years ago so we could have a cash bar at the Parents and Friends Association Christmas party. How about you run some of those plates from the kitchen to the tables? People look hungry.’
Then she winked at me.
I stared.
It felt like I’d been kicked in the head and something in my brain had fundamentally shifted, or like I’d woken from a coma after many years to see a world that was exactly the same and yet entirely different all at once. She was still Fiona – my friend Fiona – but – but…
‘Go!’ she laughed, shooing me away.
No one except Isamu had ever tried to give me an order in my bar before. It wasmine.I exerted tight control over every single aspect of it.
I went.
Service is like a dance. I’d designed Tsundoku to have as service-friendly a layout as possible, but when we were having a bad night, it felt too small, like no matter what you were doing, you were in the way. When things went right, though, it was elegant, graceful, fluid, all the different parts of the machine working together in harmony.
That night should have been a disaster, but it wasn’t, because Fiona was the perfect partner. She let me lead, a few murmured instructions all she needed. When I was behind the bar, she was on the floor; when I was on the floor, she was behind the bar; the transitions seamless, effortless. It was the kind of service chemistry that took years to develop, if it ever did at all – Isamu and I had never managed it – and I knew, in a way that I had never known anything before, that I would think about this night on my deathbed.
‘I’d better take this one.’ Fiona laid a hand on my shoulder in warning as I emerged from the kitchen, before taking a plate off my forearm. ‘He’s about to blow his top.’
I glanced over at Matt. A muscle in his jaw was twitching.
‘Tell him it’s on the house.’ The place where she’d put her hand felt hot, like if I stripped my shirt and waistcoat off, there would be a perfect impression of it, burned into my skin. ‘Obviously. Along with another glass of the Noriko.’
‘Will do.’ I was treated to another glimpse of her luminous smile. ‘Would you mind pouring it, though?’
‘Of course.’ I was amazed I’d managed to get the words out. I was fluent in three languages and conversant in several more, but I’d forgotten every word in every one of them that wasn’t her name.
She was still standing at Matt’s table when I came over, a stutter in our perfect service rhythm. ‘… to Melbourne tomorrow,’ he was saying. ‘We agreed—’
‘—that we’d sit down and connect tonight, I know, but—’
‘—you decided playing waitress was more important?’
‘So sorry for the delay, Mr Sinclair.’
I set the glass of pinot down in front of him. Matt glared up at me. ‘I don’t want your wine, mate.’
‘Honey, I won’t be much longer,’ Fiona said. ‘Once things get a bit quieter—’
