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He smiled. “This isn’t going to make any difference,” he said. “Lewis works for the Bank of England’s regulation department. He’ll know. And my credit score is already shit because he took out loans in my name.”
I stared at him, and he stared back.
“It’s not going to make a difference,” he repeated in a whisper.
I wished I knew more, had more backbone than this. I wished I could tell him the truth he needed to hear, but I couldn’t.
“Let’s move on to other things then. Mabel said you need a new passport.”
“Yeah.” He sighed.
“Well, that we can do. Shall we report your old one lost?”
He didn’t reply, but his good hand started tapping away at the screen.
My mind drifted again, watching him. I’ve no idea for how long, as it was only when Finn turned up to take over that I realised how wound up I’d become. This wasn’t good for me. I had no idea what I was doing.
“Here.” Finn shoved one of the boxes of Chinese food he’d brought at me and sent me on my way. I ate it while I was waiting for an Uber to take me to the hotel for my shift.
Tired as I was, being back at work, in my comfort space, was a relief. Another relief was seeing Mark in his suit and tie at the entrance, looking as dapper as anything.
“Babe.” He smiled, and I hugged the shit out of him, because…well, because I could. I needed it. I felt like I was drowning, and he was the only thing keeping me on the surface.
“You okay?” I whispered into his hair.
“All good,” he whispered back. “You?”
“Better now.” Things were always better when Mark was by my side.
Work didn’t wait for the world to stop spinning, though, so we got on with what we did best, handling a conference of surgeons from Devon, serving perfectly cooked fillets of sea bream with a foamy reduction that almost made me cry. Food sometimes did that to me, when something came out so perfect that I felt like some kind of God. My team worked like a well-oiled machine, and by the time I threw my filthy chef’s whites in the laundry bin, I was so happy I couldn’t stop grinning. I smacked a kiss on Mark’s forehead and treated myself to an Uber home.
The sofa was still as Hugo had left it, the imprint of his head still in the pillow. I left it like that, smiling at the thought of him perhaps coming back. Well, he still had his stuff here, so yeah. He’d be back.
I face planted on my bed and slept like the dead, emerging five hours later looking like shit. It didn’t matter. I was only staying at work until lunch, and then I’d go see Hugo again. I already knew what to do. I would get my patisserie chef to tweak the recipe, make me the cheesecake of all cheesecakes. Hugo wouldn’t eat it, but he’d laugh, and that would be reason enough to piss my patisserie chef off. Aaron hated when I intervened. Hated it even more when I asked him to tweak my recipes.
As I escaped the breakfast rush to go out for my well-deserved morning cigarette, I almost got knocked out by Sarj carrying a tray full of plates. I huffed, trying to catch my breath.
“We’re snowed under, Chef. Three waiters down still. Where the fuck are the new staff HR promised?”
“No visas,” I said. Finding people with the right to work was no joke. “Weren’t you supposed to sit with Hugo?”
“I was. Rocked up at seven as planned, but dude’s apparently discharged himself. Got picked up by someone this morning. So I came here instead. I hope that’s what I was meant to do?”
“What do you mean, discharged himself?” My head was spinning wildly in sheer panic.
“Only know what they told me, Chef. The nurse said some dude came and got him.”
I didn’t mean to, but I roared, my arms hurling through the air, making my hand whack into the sideboard as Sarj jumped out of my way. Then I shouted something that the head chef of a fine restaurant shouldn’t be shouting, especially in front of paying guests. The silence was deafening as I turned around and walked away, ripping the apron from my chest and hurling it at the floor.
I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.
I didn’t know how this had happened. And to be very honest, I had no idea how I’d ended up like this. Where things that shouldn’t matter fucking mattered.
Ben
I’d spent a few days being angry. At work, I was snappy and short with everyone, even with Mark, who left me to blow it all out over the other chefs on the line. I was usually pretty good-tempered for a chef, but in the past week, I’d behaved like the kind of person I’d always said I’d never become.
I was angry, but mostly, I was embarrassed. Really, really embarrassed, and there were so many other strange emotions comingthrough in my behaviour that I couldn’t put words on. Or stop. I wanted them to stop. I was usually quiet and gentle and easy-going. I wasn’t this…horrible person.
