Page 13 of And Then There Was You

I like him immediately, his forthrightness and confidence infectious.

We move past the bar into an area that looks like it might soon be a kitchen.

It’s a world away from the ordered, stainless steel-furnished kitchen at Downalong Bakery, but about three times the size.

I imagine when it’s complete it will be impressive.

In the centre of the space is a metal garden table and two bistro chairs.

A sudden memory of a similar table by a dustsheet-covered piano and an embarrassing retreat invades my thoughts.

I shelve it immediately. This isn’t going to be like that.

I won’t be running away from here. I keep my smile front and centre, hoping Luke can’t see the sudden dip in my confidence as we sit.

He shuffles a pile of papers on the pale yellow tabletop.

‘O-kay, so . . . A bit about us. We own three successful restaurants across the south-west, employing around seventy-five people. Two of our restaurants are in development as boutique hotels. This one won’t be: we’re hoping to establish it as our flagship restaurant, hence the large space.

I co-owned a restaurant here a few years ago and when it closed – through no fault of the business – I vowed I’d be back when the market was right.

’ He beams a super-confident smile as I take this in.

He’s slick: that much I’m sure of. And he believes in his business empire.

Especially so, considering the cost of creating this place in St Ives.

He has the kind of unquestioning belief and moxie that I wish I could have.

I wonder if he ever doubts anything he’s done?

Even having history of a failed business in town (whatever he says about that) hasn’t dented his self-confidence about returning to try again.

Perhaps working alongside him will inspire more of that in me.

If I get the job.

Spiel over, he folds his hands on the stack of papers and looks me dead in the eye. ‘But enough about me. Tell me about yourself. Do you have hospitality experience?’

‘I’ve worked in bars, pubs and restaurants since I was sixteen,’ I say, which sounds like more of a career path than it actually is. ‘I supported myself through college and when I was starting out in the competitive surf scene, until I found a sponsor to be able to compete full-time.’

Luke appears impressed by this – although the smile he seems to wear permanently makes it difficult to gauge any change in his mood. ‘A pro surfer? Cool. You still compete?’

It’s a valid question but it still stings to hear it. Also, would I really be doorstepping new businesses in town looking for casual work if I were? I brighten my smile to match his. ‘No, unfortunately. I suffered a knee injury thirteen months ago. Hence looking for work now.’

He nods – and I give up trying to read his expression. His smile bars everything else. ‘Well, we have daytime shifts and night shifts available. Bar work and front-of-house food service. Do you have kitchen experience?’

‘Not restaurant-standard,’ I admit. ‘I’ve helped prepare meals in smaller cafés and bar snacks in pubs, but I’m not trained.’

‘Fair enough. Do you have any references?’

That might be a push, given the number of places I’ve scored short-term work at over the last five years. ‘I can find some for you.’

‘Okay. Any preference for day or night?’

Nights would make sense, I think, but then I remember Kieran and his current photography project, for which he needed me to be out of the studio.

‘Day shifts, if possible. But I’m happy to consider either,’ I add, a jolt of fear demanding a clarification.

I don’t want anything to dissuade Luke from employing me.

‘Any other work or time commitments?’

‘I’m working at Downalong Bakery, three mornings a week.’

‘Days?’

‘Mondays, Thursdays and Saturdays.’

‘And what time would that finish?’

‘One p.m.,’ I reply, thinking of what Matt said about occasionally working an extra hour in the bakery shop if they’re busy.

‘Probably best to avoid them, then . . .’ He flips the papers until he finds what looks like a timesheet, a mostly blank grid with a few names already written in the left-hand column.

‘How about we start on three days a week, working behind the bar initially with maybe some lunch service when required? Say, Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays? Then if you’re happy and we’re happy, we could look into adding more shifts. ’

It’s perfect. I’ll be knackered and my knee will hate me, but that would be work covered most days.

‘That works for me,’ I say, trying – and probably failing – to keep my cool.

This will keep Kieran happy, will keep me and my brain busy and bring in some decent money. Talking of which . . .

‘What’s the hourly rate?’ I ask, kicking myself that I didn’t think to check before now.

‘Thirteen pounds per hour.’

That’ll do!

‘Great. When do you want me to start?’

Luke laughs. ‘When we have a restaurant instead of a construction site. We open in three weeks, believe it or not. Throwing everything at it to get it ready – and if there are delays we’ll still pay the team for all hours worked in the interim.

Even if that’s just keeping Scott and me from losing our heads over it all. ’

‘I reckon I can do that.’

‘Great. Let me take your details and we’ll be in touch.’

I’m buzzing when I walk away from what will soon be Pengelly’s. Today has been a day of good things, none of which I woke up expecting. That’s new – and will take some getting used to. I’ve been firefighting for too long, scrutinising every detail for its potential to kick me.

If this proves to be the turning point, as I hope it will, coming back to St Ives might just be my best decision in months . . .