Knife's Edge

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

It's complete chaos at the café when I finally arrive. The place is heaving, far surpassing what could be classed as a simple, lively buzz. In a far more complicated reality, the place is verging on catastrophic.

Countless customers queue to order, the line stretching almost to the door as I try to squeeze past. Most of the tables are already taken, and those that aren't are piled high with dirty crockery, plates and cups stacked up precariously in mass towers all over.

Voices all shout over one another, numerous words blurring into one loud rumble. The sound attacks my eardrums as I make my way to the front, weaving around the crowd of agitated customers.

I find Ellie on the frontline, battling on like a soldier as she tries to manage the mayhem. She stands behind the counter, ringing a new order through the till as one customer specifies, "No tomatoes," in her BLT.

One look at her face, her eyes pinched with tension and a tiredness she struggles to hide, has all my other thoughts pushed aside. The only one I hold on to is, 'My friend needs help.'

"Where do you need me?" I call out over the carnage, stopping next to the customer at the till.

Ellie sees me for the first time and lights up like a firework – frazzled and a little erratic. Today, the glow that envelopes her has nothing to do with her typically bright nature, and everything to do with the light sheen of sweat that plasters her hair to her forehead.

"Everywhere!" she exclaims, before rattling the price off for Miss BL-no-T, who moves to tap her card. "I am so glad you're here!"

Then, she rattles me off a list.

"Table six have been waiting for their food for too long. Let's offer them some coffee on the house or – or something. I don't know. Just... whatever they want. They're pissed; we need them not to be."

I nod, listening as she continues.

"We've got a thirty minute wait on hot food, so if anyone complains just say we're doing the best we can."

I nod again.

"Table eight have a nut allergy," she explains as she plates up a brownie for the next customer in line. "So, watch out for the flag. We don't want any mix-ups..."

She trails off as she announces the price for the brownie, her smile turning plastic when the customer – who I just heard say, "that'll be everything" – suddenly decides that he wants a coffee, too.

I jump behind the bar to make his drink so Ellie can move onto the next customer, steaming the milk for the latte as I listen to more of her instructions.

"There's supposed to be a delivery arriving today. We have no clue what time, though – they're already late – so keep your eyes peeled for that. Also, there have been some complaints about the toilets. They're out of loo roll, I think. So, if you get a chance, could you please check?"

Loo roll. Got it.

"And the dishwasher is broken. The plumber's due to come out tomorrow but, until then, we've got to hand-wash. But I've not had time to hand-wash, so we're low on... pretty much everything."

Ellie sighs and shakes her head as a new customer steps up to bat. "Dad tried calling the others for back-up. Sheila's got the kids and Carl's at the garage today, so neither of them can get in. It's just going to be the three of us."

Carl and Sheila, our two part-timers, are both only scheduled to twelve hours a week. With a second job working at an auto repair shop, Carl is very limited to the days he can work here. And Sheila, as a mother of two small children, can only work early morning weekdays once she's dropped the kids at school.