thought. It felt even stuffier in there. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t been sleeping well. He was tired,

and just couldn’t seem to fall into a sleep pattern.

Fizz could hear the angry clash of heavy, doom-filled music as he walked to the kitchen. It was so

loud, Matt didn’t even hear him come in. Fizz tried to get Matt’s attention by holding the ticket out.

He didn’t want to interrupt; there were pots boiling, ovens door slamming, and vegetables being

chopped, all at once it seemed. Matt was a whirlwind. He worked quickly, and seemed to have

everything under control. Fizz was pleased about that, as he worried that Ginger was going to suggest

he helped Matt in the kitchen next. The smell of all that cooking meat was a little too much for him to

stomach.

Matt spun round, and finally noticed him. Fizz limply held out the ticket. He dared a glance up,

then looked away. Matt was a little intimidating. Whilst not unpleasant to look at, it seemed his dark

brows were permanently drawn together in a frown. Fizz didn’t think he’d ever seen him smile. Not

that he was one to judge, he thought.

“Oh, thanks.” Matt stalked over and took the note. He pinned it onto the metal overhead with a

magnet. “There’s two dinners here to take down. Order number four.”

“Number four, number four,” Fizz repeated under his breath, worried he’d forget. He picked up the

plates, both laden with full with roast dinner.

“Don’t forget to come back for the gravy,” Matt added.

Fizz looked at him in a panic, then processed what he’d said. Gravy. Come back for the gravy.

Okay. He tried to keep the plates level as he nodded. Matt turned away, muttering to himself. Fizz

knew that was his cue to leave. He exited the kitchen backwards, his hip slowly nudging the swing

door open.

The plates were heavy. Fizz paused along the hallway to balance the plates on the windowsill, to get

a better grip. His eyes were drawn to the window, watching the sheets of rain pelt down outside. It was

a grey, miserable day. Although he supposed he was lucky it was a quiet Sunday, otherwise he was

bound to make more mistakes.

Fizz took careful hold of the plates, and tried to ignore that icy tickle on the back of his neck. He

walked faster in an attempt to get away from it. When he arrived in the bar, Ryan asked him, “Do you

want to take them out? It’s just that couple sitting by the fireplace.”

Fizz wanted to keep moving, to get away from that tickle on his neck. He nodded and hurried past,

edging through the gap in the bar. The couple, a woman with curly red hair, and a man with blond

dreadlocks, looked up at him as he approached. Fizz tried to smile but he didn’t quite manage it. He

concentrated on placing their dinners on the table instead.

“Oh.” The girl frowned down at the food. “Don’t we get any gravy?”

Fizz knew what to say, but he couldn’t quite get the words out of his mouth. The couple looked up

at him, waiting, and he froze. His heart started thumping, the panic swirled in the pit of his belly.

Then, the icy touch was on his neck. The voice would be next, Fizz thought. He dreaded to hear that

voice, because it made him wonder if he was going mad.

“Hold your horses, Sheila,” Ryan said, appearing at the table. “Gravy’s coming.”

Fizz breathed out slowly. Ryan was here, everything would be okay. Ryan placed cutlery and

napkins on the table, placating the couple with one of his smiles. “Unfortunately the dumb waiter’s

broken,” he explained. “Hopefully it’ll be fixed soon, but in the meantime there’s a lot of stairs

between us and the kitchen.”

“Oh no!” Sheila exclaimed, completely focussed on Ryan. “That’s a pain for you guys.”

“Yeah, but it’s good exercise though.” Ryan smiled again. He glanced at Fizz, his eyes conveying

the message: it’s fine, you can get the gravy now. Fizz nodded his head in gratitude, then retreated

back the way he’d come.

In the privacy of the stairs, he took a few deep breaths to calm himself. When he opened the door to

Matt’s kitchen, he saw two small gravy pots waiting for him on the side. Matt had his back to him,

furiously working, swearing at the oven. Not seeing any other orders to take, Fizz picked up the gravy

pots, and rushed off again.

Ryan was still talking to the couple at their table, as they waited for their gravy. Fizz put the pots by

their plates and backed away. They thanked him and continued talking to Ryan, who was laughing

with them over some joke or other. Fizz wondered how he made it look so easy; Ryan had this

undeniably warm presence, and people certainly responded to it.

Fizz hid in the back bar again, clutching at his drink as he sipped it. Just one step at a time, he told

himself. It hadn’t been a disaster so far.

Then the door opened, and three familiar boys came in, wet from the rain. Dee, Glen, and Ash. Fizz

almost dropped his drink in surprise. He stayed where he was, hoping no one noticed him in the

shadows. He could have nipped through the staff door and hidden on the stairs but, for some reason, he

didn’t want to leave.

The three boys approached the bar. Ryan returned and stood behind the beer pumps, opposite his

friends, to greet them. Pete, who was already behind the bar, asked, “Have you pooed a flag yet?”

“No, he hasn’t!” Glen laughed. “Not for want of trying, though.”

“Too right!” Dee said. He then began to tell Pete in great detail about his bowel movements that

morning.

“Dee, shut up.” Ash pulled a face. “Can’t we eat first?”

“And talk shit later?” Glen suggested.

Ryan cut in quickly. “What are you lot drinking?” He started to fix their drinks without even

waiting for a reply. The conversation quickly moved onto beer, then food. Ryan picked up the notepad

and wrote down their orders.

Fizz held his breath. He didn’t think anyone had seen him yet, but when Ryan tore off the order and

turned to look at him, he noticed the others watching. Ryan stayed where he was, and held out the

paper between his fingers. “Fizz, can you run this up to Matt?”

Fizz wondered if he was being paranoid, but it was almost as if Ryan wanted him to come forward

to collect the ticket. All the other times, Ryan had come into the back bar to hand tickets to him.

Not wanting to keep him waiting, Fizz set down his drink, and took tentative steps into the light. He

focussed on the ticket in Ryan’s hand, and gently took it from him.

“Thanks.” Ryan smiled, then carried on ringing the orders through the till. Fizz tried to keep his

eyes lowered. He knew he was in full view of everyone now, and that knowledge brought on the

beginnings of a flush. He turned away, hoping he could escape before anyone noticed. Dee and Glen

were busy nattering to Pete.

Then a familiar voice said, “Hey, Fizz.”

Fizz’s eyes darted up. He caught Ash smiling at him, like he was really pleased to see him. Fizz felt

his cheeks burn hot, and he wanted nothing more than to run away. He was surprised when he felt his

own lips pull into a smile. It hadn’t been a conscious decision, more like an automatic reaction. There

was just something about the way Ash looked at him.

Fizz turned away quickly. He caught Ryan glancing at him, and was even more embarrassed when

Ryan gave him a subtle, knowing smile. This was too much, Fizz decided.

He hurried up the stairs. After handing the order to Matt, Fizz hovered in the kitchen, too nervous to

go back downstairs. Matt raised an eyebrow, then glanced again at the order for three roast dinners.

The order was: one chicken, no peas; one pork, no cabbage, and one nut roast, extra potatoes, with the