Twisted Little Things and Other Stories (5 page)

One

Today

“That table right there,” he said firmly, poking her shoulder twice with a pudgy finger and then pointing across the restaurant. “I'll take
that
table, the one no-one's sitting at! Bloody hell, girl, are you blind?”

Trying not to appear flustered, Lisa turned and looked over at the table in the far corner. While every other spot in the restaurant was filled, table nine certainly
appeared
to be empty. She turned back to check the booking screen again, but no matter where she tapped, table nine still wouldn't show as being available. The restaurant was heaving and the noise of chattering diners was overwhelming, but for some reason table nine seemed to be locked out of the booking system.

“What's taking so bloody long?” the guy asked with a loud, theatrical sigh. “Why are you telling me I can't have a table, when there's blatantly a free table over there? Is it reserved or not?”

“I'm sorry, Sir,” she replied, forcing an awkward smile as she tried closing the booking screen and then loading it again. “The computer still says -”

“I don't care what the computer says,” he continued, interrupting her. “Do you need a computer to see that there's no-one sitting at a table? Look at the bloody thing, for Christ's sake!”

“Sir -”

“Look at it!”

Before she could reply, Lisa felt a pair of sweaty hands on either side of her face. Too startled to ask the man to stop, she let him turn her head until she was looking once again at the table.

“Do you see anyone sitting there, Einstein?” the man asked.

“No, but -”

“And is it reserved for anyone?”

“It doesn't seem to be, but -”

“So what's the bloody problem?” With that, he let go of her face and starting slipping out of his coat. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, “talk about hard work.”

“We recommend reservations at least a day -”

“I don't care about that either,” he added, tossing his coat onto the counter and, in the process, sending the booking receipts flying. “Look, it's not complicated, darling, so try to wrap your pretty little head around it. Me customer. You waitress. Me want table. You have table. Me go sit at table, and you come take my order. Got it?” He let out a slow, rumbling belly laugh as he turned to another couple who'd just entered the reception area. “Sorry folks, got a slightly slow girl here. I'm just having to explain her job to her.”

Lisa took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. She'd been warned that customers might sometimes be difficult, but this guy was genuinely a little terrifying. Reaching up, she wiped a trace of sweat from the back of her neck.

Cool under pressure
, she told herself.
You have to be cool under pressure
.

“What seems to be the problem?” Annette asked, hurrying over to join her at the desk. “Lisa, how are things going here? It looks like there's a little bit of a queue forming.”

“This customer would like a table,” Lisa replied, trying not to let it show that she was insanely grateful for her boss's arrival, “but table nine doesn't seem to be showing up on the booking system.” She tapped the screen to show what she meant, but she was so nervous that her trembling hand inadvertently brought up a different table. “Hang on,” she continued, fully aware that she was blushing. “Wait a minute, I'll get it back.”

“Classic,” the customer sneered.

Glancing at him, Lisa saw that he'd just taken a photo with his smart-phone.

“Hashtag incompetent,” he said with a grin as he tapped at the screen. “Hashtag... gormless.” He chuckled as he posted the picture online.

“It's okay,” Annette said, gently easing Lisa out of the way and resetting the booking program, “I'll deal with this. Someone should have told you about table nine, we always leave it empty. Please, go back to your other tables and I'll speak to the customer.”

“But -”

“You did nothing wrong, Lisa. Table nine should just be left alone. Please, let me handle this.”

“You wanna hire better staff,” the man grumbled as Lisa turned and made her way across the restaurant. “That girl seems slow in the head. Is she some kind of retard, or what?”

Lisa winced as she heard his words, but she refused to look back. Instead, she slipped between tables and headed toward the serving station, although she couldn't help glancing over at table nine and wondering why – when the rest of the restaurant was so busy – that particular table was left untouched.

Two

“I'm fine,” she quickly typed on her phone a few minutes later, “stop worrying.”

She tapped to send the message to her mother, hoping that it'd be the last reply she'd need to send for the night, before hearing someone hurrying up behind her.

“I've just sat a major-league bitch at table eight,” Donna said, rolling her eyes. “Kid and a husband too, and the husband looks totally whipped. I've got my hands full with tables one to four, so do you think you can take eight off my hands? Please? Pretty please with a throbbing red cherry on top?”

Glancing over her shoulder, Lisa realized that even across the crowded room, she could hear the woman at table eight loudly chastising her daughter for some perceived mistake. A moment later, her eyes were drawn to the next table along, which still sat empty and undisturbed.

“Sure,” she muttered, before turning to Donna. “By the way, what's with table nine?”

“What about it?” Donna asked, as she started ringing up a customer's bill.

“The fact that it's never used,” Lisa continued, grabbing some menus. “Why can't we sit anyone there?”

“Oh, you mean the ghost stories?” Donna grinned at her. “Ignore all that. You don't believe in ghosts.”

“
Ghost
stories? What are you -”

“Table nine's just a superstition,” Donna continued, glancing over her shoulder and looking for a moment at the table in the far corner. “Some people are just dumb and they let that crazy shit, like, infect their minds. It's all hogwash. Still, whatever you do, leave table nine alone. I heard Annette once fired a girl for trying to seat someone there.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. And by the way, I think you're wanted.”

Turning, Lisa saw that the woman from table eight was waving at them.

“Like I said,” Donna continued, keeping her voice low, “major,
major
bitch. It doesn't matter what you do, that cow will complain about something. Just don't let it bother you. Think of it as an initiation rite for your first shift. Go on, the Kraken awaits!”

***

“Do you seriously not have veal?” the woman at table eight asked archly, her voice dripping with disdain as she squinted at the menu. “I read on your website that you serve veal.”

“I think the website might still have the old menu,” Lisa explained, forcing a smile. “I'm very sorry about that, but -”

“We came for the veal,” the woman tutted, interrupting as she turned to another page in the menu. “You should think about that sort of thing. If you're going to put a menu on your website, you should at least bother to make sure it's up-to-date. It's false advertising otherwise, luring people in here off the streets and then hoping they'll stay even when the menu isn't to their taste.”

“I'll tell the -”

“How hard is it to change a menu on a website? By law, we should get something off our bill, for the inconvenience.”

“I'm -”

“And it's frightfully bad to have the traffic passing so close to the building. Every time a bus goes past, I hear the windows rattle.”

“I'm very -”

“Still, I suppose one can't expect too much from a restaurant in a small, suburban market town. Just wait a moment while I try to find something else that doesn't seem too awful.”

“I'm very sorry,” Lisa managed to say finally. “I'll let you look at the menu, and I'll come back in -”

“Oh no, you don't,” the woman snapped, clicking her fingers as if she was trying to control an insubordinate dog. “I'm not having you wandering off. You'll wait quietly until we're ready to order. I'm sure I can find something that won't offend my palate.”

Spotting movement nearby, Lisa turned just in time to see Donna carrying some plates to another table. As she passed, Donna silently mouthed the word 'bitch' and then continued on her way. Although she hated to use such language, deep down Lisa couldn't help thinking that for once Donna was actually bang on the money. After a moment, feeling as if someone was trying to get her attention, she turned and looked at the nearby tables. There was no sign of anyone gesturing for her to go over, but she still felt as if she was being watched by someone.

“Elizabeth, stop!” the woman at the table suddenly hissed, leaning across and slapping her daughter's hand.

The little girl recoiled, her eyes filled with shock, and Lisa realized that she'd been playing the salt and pepper shakers.

“Christ,” the woman muttered under her breath. “Who'd have children? Little runt.”

Lisa smiled at the little girl, who looked to be no more than eight or nine years old. They made eye contact for a moment, but the girl seemed too cowed and scared to smile back, preferring instead to simply look down at her lap as if she was genuinely terrified.

Glancing at the woman's husband, Lisa saw that he seemed almost the same. The woman clearly ruled with an iron fist and brooked no dissent.

“What about the beef bourguignon?” the woman asked waspishly. “What kind of wine do you use for that?”

“I'm not sure,” Lisa replied, “red I think, but -”

“Red you
think
?” the woman asked with a grin. “Oh well, that's very specific, thank you.”

“I'll go and ask the -”

“Oh, don't bother,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “You should know these things if you work here. Obviously the chef ought to be using something from Burgundy, but I don't know if a place like this is so picky about doing things in the correct manner. For all I know, your head chef might be some spotty little oik from the job center.” She flipped back to an earlier page in the menu. “I rather think I'll look for something less risky.”

Lisa opened her mouth to explain that it was her first night on the job, before realizing that she should just keep quiet. Still, she was about to tell the woman about the specials board when she suddenly caught sight of a figure at the edge of her peripheral vision, over in the corner at the next table. As soon as she turned, however, she realized that there was no-one to be seen, and she found herself looking directly at the empty table nine.

She waited, convinced that she'd seen someone at the table, before telling herself that she must have been mistaken. Still, she watched the table for a moment longer, just to prove to herself that there was no reason to worry. A set of cutlery lay on the immaculate table-cloth, along with salt and pepper shakers, a candle, a wine glass and a leather-bound menu. Everything was laid out as if a diner was expected at any moment. It seemed such a shame to let a nice table go to waste, but Lisa figured it wasn't her place to start challenging the restaurant's rules. Apparently table nine was simply out of bounds.

“Lobster,” the woman said suddenly, setting her menu down with enough force to rattle the cutlery.

Lisa turned to her, momentarily startled.

“Do you think your chef can manage to cook a ruddy lobster properly?” the woman asked, before glancing at her daughter. “Ignore Mummy's language, darling. It's just that these people are so tiring.”

Lisa forced a smile. “I'm sure -”

“This is why you have to work so hard at school,” the woman told her daughter, while gesturing toward Lisa. “If you get bad grades, you won't be able to go to university and then you'll end up like this, working in the service industry as a common waitress.”

Lisa opened her mouth, poised to answer back, but at the last moment she managed to hold her tongue.

The little girl looked at her mother with fearful, cowed eyes, before briefly glancing at Lisa and then returning her gaze to her lap.

“And bring us a bottle of whatever red wine is best paired with shellfish,” the woman added, leaning back in her chair as if she felt she'd won a small victory. “Something with a rich palate, something that doesn't take like supermarket slop. But don't think for one moment that you can overcharge us, because we're not fools. Perhaps a decent malbec, if such a thing can be found in this establishment.”

“Absolutely,” Lisa replied, before turning to the husband, who seemed to be waiting meekly for permission to speak.

“He'll have the steak,” the woman added. “Medium-rare. He always has steak.”

“Steak, please,” the man mumbled. “Thank you.”

By the time she got back to the serving station thirty seconds later, having been subjected to several more snide comments, Lisa was just glad to get a moment's peace. She was only two hours into her first shift at the restaurant, and she'd barely had time to draw breath. As she entered table eight's order into the system, she felt someone nudging her shoulder.

“Told you,” Donna said as she slipped past on her way to the kitchen. “Total bitch.”

“I'm sure she's just having a bad day,” Lisa replied, watching as Donna headed through the door. Glancing back across the restaurant, however, she spotted the woman at table eight apparently chastising her daughter once again. For a moment, Lisa couldn't help but feel sorry for the little girl, but slowly she began to feel a creeping sensation at the edge of her vision, as if once again someone was trying to get her attention.

She turned and looked at the other tables, but at each of them the diners seemed to be getting along just fine. She continued to search the sea of faces, more certain than ever that someone somewhere was staring at her. The more she tried to tell herself that she was wrong, the more she felt the sensation growing, until she forced herself to turn away and carry on with the job of entering table eight's order. As she tried to focus on the terminal screen, however, she felt a ruffling sensation on the back of her neck, as if all the hairs were standing up.

Finally, unable to bear it a moment longer, she turned and looked across the restaurant again. Still no-one was looking at her, although after a few seconds she realized she'd been subconsciously avoiding looking at table nine. Swallowing hard, she turned to the table and looked at the empty chair, but of course there was still no sign of anyone. The curious sensation lingered, though, and she still felt as if someone somewhere in the room was definitely trying to attract her attention. It was almost as if...

Feeling a vibration in her pocket, she slipped her phone out and saw yet another message from her mother. Usually a very calm and reserved woman, her mother had seemed so panicky about Lisa's new job at the restaurant. Sighing, she began to type a quick reply, telling her to stop worrying.

“You stupid little monster!” the haughty woman suddenly yelled at her daughter, causing Lisa and everyone else in the restaurant to turn and look over at table eight. A fraction of a second later, there was the sound of the woman smacking her child's face. “What the hell have you done now?”