Free The Little Christmas Kitchen by Jenny Oliver Page A

sorry.’ She sauntered back in. ‘Sorry, I had to take a call.’
    ‘You never have to take a call on your shift.’ Her mum’s cheeks were pink, brown curls were falling loose from the elastic band she tied them up in as she took over the coffee making duty.
    ‘Excuse me–’ a voice said from the doorway. ‘Just wondering on our breakfasts.’ Pedro was standing, legs apart, arms crossed.
    ‘Oh shit.’ Ella looked down at her pad. ‘Sorry I didn’t give you the order…’ she said to her mum.
    ‘We have been waiting.’ he said curtly.
    ‘I know, I’m really sorry.’
    ‘This is pretty shoddy. We have a boat trip booked.’ He glanced at his watch.
    ‘Pedro, I’ll make it now.’ her mum said with a huge, apologetic smile as she poured boiling water in the percolator. ‘Don’t worry it’ll be quick. You’ll get the boat, it’s – what – at quarter to isn’t it?’
    Pedro clearly liked the fact her mum knew his name, had remembered him as a customer, ‘Thanks Sophie.’ he said, chest puffed out.
    ‘Come on,’ she ushered him out the kitchen, taking the pots of coffee with her. ‘And it’ll be on the house,’ she said, ‘how’s the holiday going? Nice to see you off-season.’
    ‘Well, with these prices and this weather, I mean, who can resist. And the hotel’s doing turkey. Christ knows where they’ve got them all. Do they even have turkeys in Greece?’
    At the end of her shift Ella slumped down on one of the chairs that faced out to sea, pushed her sweaty hair out of her eyes and retied it in a big scruffy ponytail, then shut her eyes and put her head back. When she opened them she saw all the coloured lights strung above her and the curled brown leaves of the vine.
    She had never been so exhausted in all her life. She kicked one of her shoes off and saw that the back of her heel was rubbed raw. Her hand was burnt where she’d pulled the grill pan out without considering how hot it would be. Her arms were stained with splodges of coffee and her fingers sticky from the remains of jam on people’s plates.
    A shadow fell across her table.
    ‘Ok?’ Dimitri asked.
    ‘Never better.’ She raised a brow then turned to look out at the sea as he kicked a chair out and sat down. ‘Please do, join me.’ she muttered, sarcastic.
    ‘Woah! Someone’s had a bad morning.’ He laughed.
    Ella was so tired she couldn’t really open her mouth properly to reply, so instead she watched the waves, the tumbling, rolling blue as it crashed against the wall. The fishermen sitting on the ledge, their rods bobbing, their hats pulled low. The white cat was prowling the rocks.
    She heard the soft pad of plimsolls on the concrete floor, then Dimitri say, ‘Hey Sophie.’ Then, ‘Ooh that looks good.’
    ‘It’s Ella’s lunch. Hands off, you.’ Her mum laughed, then said, ‘Ella, you’re back on in an hour and a half so you’d better eat this. Lunch will be busier because we have a boat trip docking at one. But Agatha will be here, so–’ she held her arms wide as if that may or may not make things better. ‘I’m sorry but I’ve had to take Pedro’s breakfast out of your wages.’
    Ella was sometimes hired out to clients by the minute. She had earned a twenty percent salary bonus last Christmas and was due a lump sum incentive for bringing in one of their most lucrative clients at the beginning of the year. But, it suddenly hit her, the wages she’d earned that morning seemed like the most important she’d ever received and the idea of them being docked, because of her laxness, was unimaginable. Had Maddy ever had her pay docked, she wondered?
    Her mum slid the plate of Greek salad, taramasalata, humous and pitta bread along with plump olives, roasted garlic and strips of oily, soft red peppers onto the table and walked away.
    ‘She really hates me.’ Ella sighed.
    ‘She doesn’t hate you.’ Dimitri leaned forward and scooped some humous onto an olive, ‘She’s testing you.’
    Ella