The Waitress by Melissa Nathan

and wandering over to his corner, he hovered behind Katie as she put out all the freshly cut vegetables for today’s salads, wiped all the tables clean, got the milk out of the fridge for the coffees, opened the window shutters and turned on the ovens, and as he hovered, he wiped down every single surface she had been near, tutting just loud enough for her to hear. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of asking why he had a sudden interest in cleanliness, Katie simply got angrier and angrier and so they continued for half an hour until Alec suddenly announced that he had to go somewhere and would be back on the dot of three, by which time he expected the place to be as clean as it was now.
    By the time the café opened, Katie was in no mood for serving coffees. Her belly was on fire.
    ‘Two black coffees, please,’ said the first commuter. ‘No sugar. Oh no. No sugar at all. No siree.’
    ‘Right,’ muttered Katie. ‘No sugar.’
    ‘Actually,’ corrected the commuter. ‘Make that
with
sugar. Oh God, I don’t know.’
    ‘Tell you what,’ said Katie sharply, ‘don’t have any sugar, but have a slice of toast with your coffee.’
    The woman brightened. ‘Of course!’
    ‘It’s a win-win situation,’ said Katie firmly. ‘You don’t feel guilty, we get more money.’
    The woman laughed.
    ‘And of course,’ said Katie, head tilted, ‘we don’t have to listen to you.’
    They stared at each other. Katie’s lips were thin. The woman smiled uncertainly.
    ‘Cappuccino,’ clipped the man next in the queue. ‘No toast.’
    ‘Large or grande?’ asked Katie, before Sukie got a chance to start making it.
    ‘What’s the difference?’ he asked, irritated.
    ‘About a pound,’ said Katie, hands on hips. ‘Quick quick, there’s a queue behind you.’
    ‘Oh sod it,’ said the man. ‘I’ll have the bigger one.’
    ‘Right,’ said the next man in the queue. ‘A large latte. And a slice of toast – if you’re making.’
    ‘You asking?’ asked Katie.
    There was a pause.
    ‘I’m asking,’ said the man, a hint of a smile on his lips.
    ‘Then I’m making. You sweet talker, you.’ As she went to the toaster, she called out, ‘Who else wants toast? I’m not coming back here again, I’ve got better things to do with my morning than rush to and from the bloody toaster.’
    She was beginning to feel better.
    Four people decided toast would be perfect this morning. When the queue died down, she and Sukie stared at each other. Neither of them spoke. They didn’t want to spoil the atmosphere. By the time the next rush started for the 7.44, Katie decided she really couldn’t be bothered to do any more coffees. Sukie did the first three, while she stood there, arms crossed, staring at the queue.
    ‘Excuse me,’ said a man tightly, at her. ‘I’ll have a coffee please. If you’re not too busy.’
    ‘Oh, I’m not too busy,’ she smiled sweetly.
    ‘Good.’
    ‘I’m just too bored.’
    The queue suddenly became very English: some blushed, some looked away and some pretended they hadn’t heard. Katie wasn’t having any of that. She was on a roll.
    ‘Right,’ she said. ‘It’s about time you lot learnt how to make your own coffees. This is the coffee machine.’ She waved theatrically at the coffee machine and Sukie got out of the way. ‘Can you hear me at the back?’
    The woman at the back of the queue made a soft guttural sound which Katie took as a yes.
    ‘Now, in case of emergencies,’ she explained, ‘such as when Sukie or myself are suddenly struck by how tedious our jobs are and piss off to get a life –’
    ‘Or there’s a fire,’ added Sukie, ‘and you lot need coffee to have the energy to run.’
    ‘Thank you, Sukie.’ Sukie bowed. ‘Sukie Woodrow ladies and gentlemen . . .’
    The queue clapped.
    ‘You lot, said Katie, pointing at the queue, ‘will have to know how to make your own.’ She started making them their coffees. ‘Do Not Panic,’ she said. ‘Rule Number