Telltale ~ Liam Gallagher

JUNE 2001

"Two beers for table five - and one bruschetta." I take the tray with a strained smile, blowing the dark wisps of hair out from my face.

I tiptoe through the heaving restaurant; couples holding hands across the tables, parents trying to get children to eat their vegetables. It's packed to the brim with people from all walks of life. Doctors, teachers, businesswomen and men, all enjoying a nice meal out with their friends and in some cases, colleagues.

"Two beers and one bruschetta." I place the tray down on the table, noticeably not receiving a thank you or at least a dip of the head. The two men continue talking about cricket - or it could be golf - making me wish I'd spat in their food - but of course I've never done that before...

I take myself back to the kitchen ready for the next order. Two Hawaiian pizzas for table eight; damn, they sound like my kind of people.

The night draws on from early evening until nearing eleven o'clock. I can't help but yawn, exhausted from my nine hour shift and dreading the journey home.

It's at this time that the waiting staff watch every table with eagle eyes, the second somebody asks for the bill it's there, trying to hurry people out of the door until there's nobody left.

"A group just walking in now." My manager shouts over the noise in the kitchen, "Penny, they're in your section."

My insides crumble.

Pinning a false smile on my face I nod, "Alright Sandra, will do," and resist the urge to throw an empty saucepan at her head. Just by looking at the other waiting staff I can see that they feel sorry for me but also wouldn't want to be me. I don't blame them.

Joshua hands me a tray. It's alright, he might be extremely attractive with the most beautiful strawberry blond hair you've ever seen, but he's very very gay and very very taken. Trust me, if he wasn't either of the two I would be on him like a rash.

Trying my best not to fall asleep, I walk quickly over to table twelve, not even looking at them as they will always wankers who have arrived just before closing time.

"Can I get you anything?"

"Four beers? Nah fuck it make that five love."

Five beers coming right up. I refrain from downing one myself. Joshua peers out from over the bar as he hands me the last glass, "Haven't you noticed?"

"Noticed what?"

"How yummy he is close up!" Joshua swoons and I tap the promise ring on his finger to remind him of his commitment. "Louis wouldn't mind if I told him that it was him I cheated on him with; he would probably be happy for me."

Still confused, I look back at table twelve.

Fucking hell.

"Are you a fan then?" Joshua pushes the beer towards me and I place it on my tray with a shaking hand.

"Something like that." I peer back at the table and stamp my foot lightly on the floor. "Actually Josh, I'm not feeling too well. Can someone cover me?"

I don't give him time to reply, only hastily hand him my tray and scurry out back to my locker where I quickly slip on my jacket and scarf. Liam is the last person I wanted to see tonight.

We haven't spoken since that night. 

Gingerly, I fumble my way out the back exit of the restaurant and onto the cold street. And it really is cold.

No buses go directly to my flat and there isn't a train station nearby so I have to walk the journey home. It's not too bad when the weather's alright, but when it's as cold as it is today the whole forty minute journey is painful.

Finally, after an added ten minutes due to rain (yes, in June) I step into my warm apartment and bury myself in my duvet immediately to escape the chill from outside.

/////

"I'm not having this conversation with you now." I speak shortly into the phone crammed into the crook of my neck as I balance a bowl of cereal in the palm of hand, spoon in the other. "It might not be as much, but it's something Dad."

I hear him sigh down the phone, "We can't afford this care anymore Pen, what with your minimum wage and my pension."

I don't mention my sister who is earning monthly what I earn in year. She's always been steep with money.

"What do you want me to do about It?" I argue with a mouthful of cereal. "Throw all my savings at you?"

"Dipping in would be helpful-" and then I've hung up. Prick.

Of course I want her to have the very best care available - I would be an awful daughter if I didn't - but what about my needs? My plans and my future?

I might love my mother with all my heart but those savings, those years worth of savings, are mine and belong to me.

I peer over at the little mason jar on the kitchen counter almost half full with rolled up tenners and the occasional twenty. All my tips.

I call it my escape fund, not that I have something to escape or anything, more of a comfort blanket maybe. If my life goes to pot I can jet off somewhere. That's the plan anyway. I've tended to always run from my problems instead of confront them.

Some tables are very generous tippers; Americans and Aussies are at the top of the list, and others like a group of British businessmen for example tip the absolute minimum. I don't complain; after all an extra penny is an extra penny.

Liam would've tipped tonight. He always tips. Ten percent of the bill every time.

Part of me wishes I had stayed to see.