LITMIR.BIZ

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and wondered what loser would want to work in an off-road Italian restaurant. As it turned out, that loser was now me. After the equivalent of a car boot sale for the heart, I felt unshakeable and remembered the advert in the window, sandwiched between a children’s clothes shop and a pharmacist.

      I found myself in front of a small stone building that had been transported from the Italian coast. Terracotta pots hung from the windows and a small layer of condensation gave the windows a slightly blurred feel. I made my way through the door and could immediately smell homemade soup and strong coffee. Through the customers that were gathered around the counter, I saw a large man with a tidy, jet-black beard and, assuming he was the manager, made my way over.

      ‘I saw the advert in the window and was wondering if I could apply for the position?’

      ‘Which position? Chef or waitress?’ he replied.

      ‘Waitress,’ I said quickly, slightly thrown at the prospect of being hired as a chef.

      ‘Maria, can you bring in the large case of tiramisu?’ he called towards the back of the room.

      I noticed his dismissive attitude and tried to hold his attention. ‘I can bring in a CV if you’d like,’ I continued. ‘I live just around the corner…’

      ‘Not necessary,’ he cut me off. ‘Can you come back at midday to help with the lunchtime rush?’

      ‘Of course,’ I said.

      ‘Ask for Guido.’

      ‘Who’s Guido?’

      ‘Me,’ he said.

      I left hastily before he had time to reconsider and returned two hours later, after a quick sandwich and dressed in a white blouse and black trousers. I’d tied my hair into a high ponytail and put on some lipstick so that I felt a little perkier.

      ‘Hi, Jess,’ Maria, the woman I’d heard on my earlier visit, shouted from the back of the restaurant. ‘I’m Guido’s wife.’ She led me through the door reserved for staff. ‘Next time,’ she said, ‘you must enter from the side door on the left. The main door is for customers only. I don’t mind but Guido doesn’t like it.’ She held out her small delicate hand for me to hold. ‘Follow me, the steps are steep.’

      ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know,’ I said, as I looked back at the daylight disappearing as we descended the stairs.

      ‘Toilets are through there and you have your own locker in the side room in the basement. I’ll give you two minutes to freshen up and then see you out on the floor, okay?’ Her accent was thick and Italian.

      I dutifully hung my beige trench coat in my locker, changed into my black leather loafers and washed my hands in the basin. A yellow neon light bulb shone down giving my skin a jaundiced tone. It would be a steady income. And for that I was grateful.

      The following morning, my trial shift had proved successful and I was now a fully-fledged member of the team. I stood on the pavement on the dawn of my first full shift at Guido’s and pulled out my phone from my bag. There was another missed call from Harry. Another call unanswered, but this time I decided to handle things differently. I pressed redial and listened for the ringing tone. After what seemed like an eternity of doubts that perhaps he’d seen sense and found somebody new, he answered.

      ‘Harry,’ I said. ‘It’s Jess. How are you?’

      ‘Jess, I’m fine thanks. Nice to hear from you.’ His voice sounded surprised, as expected.

      ‘I saw that I had a missed call from you and so, I just thought I’d call to say… well, hello… and things…’

      ‘It’s good to hear from you, Jess. Yeah, I did ring. Quite a few times, actually.’

      ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry…’

      After a brief pause, he continued. ‘So, why ring now?’

      ‘Well, I was thinking we could meet up again,’ I said, wincing.

      ‘Sure. I mean, I’ve never met a girl who cost me a week’s salary just to eat noodles. Maybe we could go to the Ritz for tea this time?’

      I laughed out loud. ‘Thanks for making a joke,’ I said, smiling. ‘Is that a yes then?’

      ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘That’s a yes.’

      ‘Listen, I’m just at work but I’ll give you a ring later to choose a good restaurant. Second thoughts…’ I hesitated, coming to the realisation that a night out with the remains of my bag money might not be the most logical idea, ‘. . . why don’t you come round to mine tonight after work and I’ll cook us a pizza or something?’

      ‘Sounds great,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you then.’

      Nine hours later I sat in my kitchen opposite a man I’d only met once but felt as if he belonged there. And I was still in my work clothes, which I couldn’t decipher as meaning that I didn’t care, or I cared too much not to notice.

      ‘Okay,’ I said, ‘I told you about my failures at cookery, now tell me your most embarrassing story.’

      ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘As you know, I’ve played rugby since I was young…’

      I nodded as he took a sip from his bottle of beer, slowly beginning the anecdote but starting to laugh already. His chuckle was contagious.

      ‘I was at school and playing rugby for the team. Now, this was a big game, the final of the county championships so basically the FA cup final of rugby for students. For some reason, I’d had an Indian the night before with the lads…’

      I closed my eyes in anticipation. A small burst of laughter escaped my lips.

      ‘Eh… don’t look at me like that,’ he said, ‘go with it…’

      He smiled widely at me but I couldn’t help it. I wiped my eyes, which had now filled with tears of laughter.

      ‘Wow, you’re a good audience,’ he said, chuckling. ‘So, anyway, it was half time and I made a quick dash to the changing rooms, as you can imagine, quite quickly.’

      I put my hand over my mouth.

      ‘To cut a long story short, it was too late to check if there was any toilet paper: far too late. And there wasn’t.’

      I screwed up my face. ‘What did you do?’

      ‘I took my socks off and used them,’ he laughed.

      ‘So what happened?’

      ‘I played sockless.’

      Both of us burst out laughing: two loud and heavy laughs from the opposite sides of the table.

      ‘It was all well and good until I remembered that I still had to play the second half.’

      I reached over to pull a piece of kitchen roll from the side, my face aching from the strain.

      ‘So, do you have any more stories for me?’ he said, pulling his chair closer. ‘Not necessarily in that… genre, of course.’

      As I started to think I felt him lean into me. He kissed me.

      ‘Fucking wanking bastard taxi driver couldn’t find Hungerford Bridge.’

      At that point I heard Amber slam the front door behind her and make her way through the hallway, shattering our rosy evening by turning the air blue.

      ‘Sorry, I’m late, Jess. It’s bloody pissing it down out there. Goodbye, summer.’

      Christ, this is it, I thought to myself. The amount of men who could handle an angry, dripping wet Amber were few and far between.

      ‘Hi,’ she whispered, suddenly realizing that we weren’t alone.

      ‘I’m Harry, nice to meet you.’ He went over and shook her dripping wet hand, sliding the soaking

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