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I breathed a huge sigh of relief. So, she did love me after all. She wasn’t going to turn me over to the police or reveal the dark secret she had witnessed. By covering for me, Beatrix was now complicit in the deceit and would have to bear the consequences of her actions forever more.
Heart thumping, I glanced back down at my father’s twisted corpse. His wide-open eyes bulged out of his head and stared horribly at the ceiling. I felt nothing but delight at his passing. He was an evil man and without him in the picture, I knew our lives would be immeasurably better. Slowly, a wicked smile crept across my face.
“This one’s for you, Trinity,” I whispered.
CHAPTER TWO
Jessica
1998
“Jessica, can you do me a favour and take this bottle of champagne over to table six?” my boss, Mr Indrani asks with a casualness that sets my teeth on edge. “Raj has already laid out the glasses so all you need to do is pour.”
“Sure, no problem,” I smile, wiping my hands on my apron. “You said table six, right?”
“Yes. You sure you’re okay to do this?”
“Of course! No worries, leave it with me.”
Taking the bottle of Moet and an ice bucket from him, I move through the crowded restaurant towards a group of rowdy men celebrating a stag do. The truth is, I’m not okay with this at all. Despite waitressing at Spice Palace Indian Restaurant for over a month, I still haven’t got the hang of how to serve champagne correctly. My workmate Raj has shown me several times, but I just can’t get my head around how to use the folded service cloth or master that funny way of holding the bottom of the bottle as you pour. I’m going to need absolute concentration, but from the way the guys are behaving as I approach, I know this is going to be a complete disaster.
“Hello sweetheart,” leers one of the men. “Seeing you feels like all my Christmases and birthdays have come at once.”
“What a stunner,” says another. “Looks like a catwalk model. Legs that go on for miles.”
Their sloppy attempts to flirt go unregistered. I’m lost in my own world trying to remember everything Raj taught me to ensure I get it done in the right order.
Let’s see, present the bottle, hold the bottle away so that the champagne doesn’t explode everywhere, do a taste test, then move around the table clockwise, serving the host first…
With trembling hands, I present the Moet to the men to check they are happy with their selection, and then, holding the service cloth around the bottom, release the cage. Gripping the base, I keep my hand over the cork pointed away from them and then, slowly twisting the bottle, ease the champagne open. With a sense of relief, I hear the muted gush of air as the cork is finally released with no unwanted spills.
Smiling, I lean forward to fill the first glass with the intention of working my way around the table. As I do so, the bottle suddenly slips and bubbly splashes all over one of the men’s jeans.
“Shit, I am so sorry!” In a tizzy, I grab a handful of serviettes to clean up the mess, but compound matters by knocking over another two glasses. “Fuck! What am I like?”
“It’s all right, love,” the guy grins. “No harm done. I only look like I’ve peed myself, but not to worry, the wet patch will soon dry. Is this your first day here?”
“Actually, I’ve been working here for a while,” I say. “Oh my gosh, this is such a fiasco. Please accept my apologies. Would you like a replacement bottle of Moet?”
“No, this one is fine, thanks. I don’t want to make a fuss and get you in trouble. Just finish pouring the rest and we’re good.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate that.”
To a chorus of whoops and sniggers, I throw him some more napkins and hurriedly resume filling the rest of the champagne flutes. All the while, I can sense Mr Indrani’s eyes burning into the back of me from over by the kitchen. No doubt he witnessed everything and is less than impressed by my monumental cock-up. From the moment I started this job, I knew I was living on borrowed time. The truth is, I’m just not cut out for fine dining. I don’t have the poise or composure for it and am far too clumsy to ever make the cut. Still, I live in hope that somehow, I can muddle through until at least the end of the summer.
Some chance.
Half-way through my shift, my boss sternly calls me into his office, and I know I’m in the doghouse before he even utters the first syllable.
“Take a seat Jessica. This won’t take long.”
“Am I in trouble?” I ask fearfully. “Is this because of what happened earlier when I spilt the champagne on those guys? It was an accident; you’ve got to believe me. A one off. I promise it won’t happen again.”
The old man sighs and rubs his temples. “Listen, I like you, I really do, but if I’m being honest, this just isn’t working. When you first took this job, you told me you had waitressing experience.”
“I do! I have a second job at a diner that I’ve worked at for over two years.”
“Yes, but with all due respect, waitressing at Sloppy Joe’s American Diner is nothing like working at Spice Palace. Here we have a different sort of clientele and a prestigious reputation to uphold. The food critics love us. We’ve had a four-star review inTime Out. It’s a fast-moving environment and you’ve got to be on the ball at all times. There’s no room for slackness.” Grimly, he opens a small safety deposit box and begins counting £20 notes into an envelope. My heart sinks. “I’m sorry Jessica, but I’m going to have to let you go. I’m giving you your final week’s salary, and then we’ll call it quits.”
