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Morrison’s instead?’

      As usual, my rebuff doesn’t put him off. ‘You know you love my banter. It’s the highlight of your day… you could have it all the time if you’d ever say yes to a date.’

      He’s not shimmying his head now. I can see the nice bloke beneath the bluster when he acts normal. ‘I’m okay, thanks.’ Why can’t someone I like pester me like this? ‘Besides, you’re not really interested in me, Davey. You only like the challenge because I always turn you down.’

      He rubs his chest beneath his hi-vis vest. ‘Ah, you could test your theory and say yes.’

      ‘Or I could say no, and we stay the way we are.’ I shift a few things around in the giant freezer drawer to make room for the haddock. I’ll do fish and chips next week, with minted mushy peas. Sophie’s been on at me about superfoods lately. It’s always something.

      As if my thoughts of mushy peas have conjured her up, she marches through the kitchen door. ‘Phoebe, may I have a word?’

      She’s got on her red and white stripy legwarmers today, with her usual black spandex leggings beneath a purple and green skirt.

      ‘The blokes in this place are lucky to work here!’ Davey announces. ‘I don’t know how they get any work done.’

      Sophie smiles coyly, even though she knows perfectly well that Davey says the same thing to everyone here. ‘Well, I do like to keep fit,’ she says. ‘That’s why I’m here, Phoebe. Are you putting more butter than usual in the food?’

      ‘No, I don’t think so. Why?’

      She shoots a dirty look at the ricotta that I’m just about to season for the lasagne. ‘Is that full-fat? You’re killing us, you know, with your fat and your butter.’

      I do admire Sophie’s dedication to her health. A little of the discipline she has would probably do me good. But it’s too much. ‘We’ve been over this already, Sophie. Fat isn’t the bogeyman you think it is. Our bodies need it to be healthy. You know that I balance every meal so there’s not too much fat or too much carbohydrate or too many calories.’

      Lasagne has cheese in it. Get over it, I want to tell her.

      ‘Can you at least use less butter in the mash?’ Sophie especially worries about the mash.

      ‘Yes.’ Give me patience. ‘I could use chicken stock, but you objected to the salt. I could use yogurt, but you didn’t want the extra dairy. And speaking of which, why do you care about the lasagne anyway? You never eat it.’

      ‘Excuse me for worrying about my friends’ hearts.’

      More gently, I say, ‘I know you’ve got everyone’s best interest in mind, Sophie. This should cheer you up. I’m making mushy peas with mint next week.’

      Her owlish eyes shine behind her glasses. ‘Mint is a superfood!’

      ‘I know, you told me.’

      She smiles, forgiving me my buttery trespasses.

      ‘I don’t know how the blokes in this place get any work done!’ Davey announces again as June comes in. When I roll my eyes at him, he gives me a cheeky grin. ‘Don’t bust my game.’

      ‘I don’t know how you get any work done,’ June says to him, ‘when you’re always hanging about bothering us.’ But she’s smiling. It’s hard to be really offended by Davey.

      ‘Want to go for a drink after work?’ she asks me.

      ‘Sure,’ Davey says.

      ‘Not you. Phoebe.’

      At first, I nod. ‘Actually, no, I won’t if that’s okay,’ I tell her. ‘We’re having dinner tomorrow, right? I’m pretty skint.’ I get by, with a little left over to save for a rainy day or, more often, the occasional holiday. But I’m no celebrity chef.

      ‘How come you’ll go out with her, but you won’t go out with me?’ Davey asks.

      ‘I’m cuter than you are,’ June says.

      Suddenly, we hear shouting and screaming from outside. We all stare at each other. ‘I hope nobody’s…’ I start to say.

      ‘So do I,’ June says as we rush out to the lawn. We might not be a nursing home with properly ill patients, but the women are older. There’s always a chance one of them will keel over.

      But nobody’s dead. At least not yet.

      Nearly all the residents are gathered together, but I can spot only a few visitors with them. It’s still early so, whatever’s the trouble, at least we don’t have to air our dirty laundry too publicly.

      That thought catches me squarely in the gut. It’s what Mum would have said. A weird mix of sadness tinged with horror wells up in me. Sadness because, well, she’s not actually here to say it. And horror because no matter how much you promise yourself that you won’t become your mum, eventually it’s bound to happen.

      It’s Mary, one of our waitresses, who’s screaming the house down. ‘What’s wrong?’ I shout over to Nick. He’s got his forearms looped around her waist, trying to keep her from reaching Terence. Every time she lunges for him, her sleek ponytail whips her in the face as Nick pulls her back.

      Terence is standing impassively just out of reach with his hands in his chinos pockets. Why am I not surprised that this involves him?

      ‘You want a piece of me?’ Mary keeps shouting as she flails her arms at him. ‘Do you? I’ll give you one!’

      ‘Mary, will you please calm down!’ I say over her protests. ‘What is wrong with you?’

      ‘There’s nothing wrong with me. It’s him, the dirty bugger. He groped me,’ she says. ‘Right there on the lawn.’

      ‘Technically, you mean right there on your bottom,’ Terence points out. ‘Precision in language is important, my dear.’

      ‘Terence! You’ve been warned about this before,’ June says.

      ‘What will you do, fire me?’ he shoots back. ‘Throw me out of my house?’

      ‘I’d like to clock you, is what I’d like to do,’ Mary says. Then she sees our boss stalking towards us. He must have heard the commotion from the office. This is just what we need.

      ‘Max, I am not taking any more of this,’ Mary says. ‘Your father has groped me. I’ve got a good mind to ring the police.’

      Max’s expression is resigned as he turns to Terence. As annoying as it is for us to have to deal with him, it’s harder for Max. He’s actually related to the old man. He can never get rid of him. ‘Dad, did you?’

      Terence waves his hand. I’m just glad it’s out of his pocket now, given what he’s done. ‘She’s overreacting. It was only a friendly pat. I was telling her she’s doing a good job.’ He looks at Mary. ‘You should be grateful for the attention, frankly.’

      Her frustrated scream doesn’t need any interpretation. ‘I quit. Max, that’s it. I’m not going to be harassed by that man. Find yourself someone else to deal with him.’ She yanks off her apron and shoves it into the other waitress’s hand. Amber looks like she’s not sure whether to follow her colleague or not. Then she goes back to her phone.

      This is a disaster. There’s no way that Amber can handle service on her own. She barely does any work as it is. ‘Wait, please, Mary! You can’t quit. We need you!’ I say. ‘Max, tell her!’

      But it’s no use. She’s already striding across the lawn towards her car.

      Now what am I going to do? ‘Max, I can’t run the restaurant all by myself. No offence, Amber.’

      Amber looks up from her phone. ‘Hmm? Oh, none taken.’ She goes back to crushing candy or

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