“Sure,” Sammy replied quietly. “Thanks.”

Matt busied himself with cooking. He drew out the bigger pan from a cupboard. If he was going to

be cooking for four, he’d need the room.

Ryan pulled out a chair for Sammy, who plopped down into it. “All better now?” he asked. Sammy

made a noise, almost like a hum. Matt glanced over his shoulder, curious. Sammy was staring at the

TV, which was currently tuned into an day-time repeat of Murder, She Wrote. It wasn’t like Sammy to

be so quiet. Normally he loved being the centre of attention. The Sammy he knew talked at a million

miles an hour, usually with bubbly laughs and sweeping hand gestures thrown in.

Now, he barely seemed awake. Matt tried not to panic. All sorts of worried thoughts ran through his

head. What if Sammy had amnesia? Or permanent brain damage, or something equally as bad? Ryan

must have been concerned too, as he touched Sammy’s arm and asked, “You feeling okay?”

Sammy looked at him, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just a little tired. Some crazy bloke on the ward

kept babbling on all night, so I didn’t sleep much.”

“Oh, I see,” Ryan said. “Tell you what, while Matt’s cooking, we’ll brew fresh coffee.”

“Okay,” Sammy replied, eyes drifting back to the TV.

Ryan sniffed the air. “Er, Matt? Is something burning?”

Matt turned back to his pan. “Oh, crap,” he grumbled, pulling out a blackened slice of bread. He

tossed it in the bin, then glanced at Sammy again.

Silence. The old Sammy would never have missed a chance to rib Matt for making a mistake.

However, all Sammy did now was look at him calmly. That must have been quite a bump on the head,

Matt thought to himself. He wasn’t sure what to make of this.

Ginger returned, with Fizz in tow. “‘Ere we go.” He guided a sleeping-looking Fizz into a chair, and

sat him down. Fizz hid a yawn behind his hand. He was dressed, but his eyes were barely open, and his

hair was all rumpled.

“Coffee?” Ryan offered, jumping to attention.

“I’ll make it.” Ginger told him. “You finish your...square omelette, or whatever that is.”

“Eggy bread.” Ryan beamed.

Matt noticed that whenever Ginger spoke to Ryan, it caused Ryan to light up like a love-struck fool.

“Oh, right.” Ginger stared down at Ryan’s plate. “Is that what eggy bread is then?”

Ryan looked surprised. “You’ve never had it?”

“Guess not.” Ginger walked over to the counter, picked up the coffee pot, then filled it with water at

the sink.

Matt noticed Ryan’s lingering look at Ginger’s back. He rolled his eyes to himself, and went back

to cracking more eggs. “So,” he said. “Everyone’s having eggy bread, right?”

“Go on, then,” Ginger replied. “Fizz will, too.”

“Where’s Pete?”

“Think he popped out to check on Rachel,” Ryan said.

“Just us, then.” Ginger put the coffee back on its stand and flipped the switch. “We’ve got an hour

till open, but I doubt it’ll get busy until mid-afternoon. The sky looks like it’s about to chuck it down

any moment.”

Matt nodded. He’d still need to prep his kitchen anyway. Sunday was their busiest day for food.

“Oh, and,” Ginger added, turning on the counter to look at them all. “Try to leave the dumb waiter

alone, yeah?”

“I’m not going near that thing,” Sammy said.

Matt nodded in agreement, guilt washing over him.

“Good,” Ginger said. He glanced at Sammy. “Actually, Sammy, I don’t think you should work

today. Pete said much the same thing. Just chill out up here, okay?”

Sammy frowned back at him. “But I’m fine.”

“Great, and you’ll be even more fine with another day’s rest. You won’t lose any pay, Pete will sort

you out.”

“But –”

“No but’s.”

Sammy shrugged. “Okay.”

Ryan swivelled in his chair to face Ginger. “Hey, seeing as the dumb waiter’s kaput, how will we

get the food orders up and down stairs?”

Ginger’s gaze fell on Fizz, who was trying his hardest to stay awake. “Actually, if Fizz doesn’t

mind, maybe he could run the orders out to people?”

“Huh?” Fizz was suddenly wide awake. “Me?”

“Yeah, just like with the glass collecting,” Ginger said. “If there’s an order, take the ticket up to

Matt, then bring the food downstairs to the table.”

“Um, er...” Fizz shot a panicked look at Matt, then back to his cousin.

Matt ignored that look, and concentrated on whisking his egg mix. What was the kid afraid of

exactly? Did he think he’d meet with an untimely accident like Sammy? God. Matt whisked harder in

frustration.

“It’ll be fine,” Ginger said. “And it’ll really help us out.”

“Will you be working too?” Fizz asked quietly.

“I’ll be around. I’m gonna have a bash at fixing the other toilet up here, before the one in the

bathroom conks out, too.”

“Oh,” Fizz said.

“It’ll be all right,” Ryan pitched in. “I’ll be downstairs with you.”

“Oh-kay.”

“And as it’s Sunday, I think my friends might pop in,” Ryan added.

Sammy perked up. “Is Ash coming?”

Ryan blinked at him, a somewhat guilty look on his face that he swiftly tried to cover up. “Er...not

sure. Maybe just Dee and Glen...”

“Well, if they’re coming, Ash is bound to,” Sammy said brightly. “They’re practically joined at the

hip.”

“Aren’t you setting up for Sunday Slam later?” Ginger asked.

“Um, yeah.” Ryan didn’t sound terribly sure.

Sammy smiled, his first one since arriving back home. “Well, that means Ash is definitely coming

then.”

Ryan took a swig of tea, muttering something into his cup. Matt picked up on the tension in the

room, and the curious look Fizz sneaked at Sammy. He could hazard a guess at what that was about.

Last night, after getting home from Kung Fu, Matt had stumbled in on Fizz, and Ryan’s friend, Ash,

having what looked like a cosy dinner for two. He hadn’t said anything, but they’d both looked guilty

enough. When Sammy found out about whatever was going on, he wouldn’t be happy.

Chapter Nine

Fizz sipped his drink. Ryan had given it to him; a pint of blackcurrant soda, with a straw. Fizz had

tried to pay for it but Ryan told him mixers on tap were free to staff. Fizz had put his fifty pence into

the charity box instead. He sat on a rickety bar stool, hiding away in the back bar. Ryan had brought

the stool for him too, when he guessed that Fizz didn’t want to hang out in the brighter front bar with

them. Fizz liked it back here. It was dark and quiet; no one would notice him. He was next to the dumb

waiter, its hatch was closed, with a hastily scribbled “out of order” note stuck over the top.

That hatch gave Fizz a bad feeling, so he didn’t look at it. He stared at the floor, vaguely watching

Ryan’s and Pete’s legs in his peripheral. Odd snatches of their conversation with the customers

filtered through to him, but he listened to the music playing instead. The jukebox was on, allowing

customers to pick and choose their music. Fizz knew that Ginger had loaded the jukebox, and its

choices reflected that. It was mostly classic rock, with some old metal and punk thrown in.

Fizz tuned back in when he noticed Ryan approach.

“Time to visit the bear in his cave.” Ryan held out an order ticket.

Fizz nodded. He took the ticket, left his drink by the kettle on the side counter, and exited through

the staff door. It wasn’t far to the kitchen. Past the street door – the same one he’d arrived at not three

weeks earlier – and up the steps to the mini landing, where the pile of staff coats, bags and general lost

property from the bar accumulated. Then up a full flight of stairs, and onto the first floor.

The air was noticeably stuffier up here, but it was still preferable to staying in his room, Fizz