of grass from his jeans Luke got up and shrugged his shoulders. “I know; I’m going to think it over during the next few months and make a decision before the summer holidays.”
Tim got up and they set off trekking again down the hillside chatting and laughing as if they’d never been apart. That’s what true friendship is, Tim thought while he sat in the pub with him drinking a pint - it didn’t matter how much time had lapsed between them; they both fitted straight back together again. At the earlier suggestion of having a quick beer in the local before he left to drive back he’d decided, without too much encouragement from Luke, to stay the night and leave early the next morning and get into work around eleven.
They sat at a table in the oldie-world pub in front of a roaring wood fire and Tim held his hands outstretched, feeling the warmth spread through him while he told him about the mix up with the meat supplier, and how he’d managed to get a cash refund which hopefully would please Jack enough to get him off his back. And Luke had nodded sympathetically when he heard about Jim and how he’d been misled.
“I’d have done the same thing myself,” Luke said. “So stop beating yourself up about it. And hopefully when he goes to court he’ll get his come-uppance.” They both roared with laughter at the phrase he’d used and the fact that it was one regularly spoken by Luke’s dotty old gran.
“It’s just …. well, I thought the head chef’s job would be a breeze because in the last place I worked it looked so easy. But it’s not and this owner, Jack, is driving me nuts…”
Luke nodded understandingly. “I’ve got a boss like that but she’s a woman and to be honest she sometimes reminds me a little of Lisa.”
“Christ, I thought I had it bad,” Tim said shaking his head slowly. He couldn’t think of anything worse than having to report into that hard-faced bitch. “And the staffing is a minefield, most of the agency people they send are crap but I must admit Jessie keeps them on their toes. You see, I’ve never learnt how to handle people before, basically all I’m interested in is my food being the best it can be.”
Luke took his glasses from the end of his nose and wiped them on the rib of his jumper and Tim smiled fondly at his friend’s quiet but comforting quirk.
“Well we can’t be blamed for not knowing how to handle people,” Luke said. “We weren’t taught that at university. My father keeps telling me it’s all a massive learning curve and in these days I should be thankful to have a bloody job.”
Luke rolled his eyes upwards and Tim laughed.
“You see, when I’m cooking and being creative and they’re getting in my way or not doing what I want then I lose my temper and shout, which winds me up even further so that by the time I leave at eleven I’m like a coiled spring and can’t unwind before I go to bed.”
“And that’s when you’ve been opening a bottle?” Luke asked quietly. “I knew there must have been something wrong because you’ve never really been a big drinker, more social than anything else.”
Tim nodded and felt so pleased to be talking about it that the relief flooding through him was immense. “But that’s the end of it though, Luke, I’m not going to end up an alcoholic,” he said, and then getting up to go to the bar he asked, “another pint?”
They both roared again with laughter and after drinking another two pints and thrashing Luke at a game of darts they set off back to his cottage. Once they’d left the main street lights and made their way down a short country lane they were plunged into the inky darkness of the countryside. Tim revelled at the absolute stillness; peace and quiet compared to noisy London and remembered how he and Kate had dreamt of buying a small pub with a restaurant in the country. He’d told her he’d need at least three years’ experience as a head chef before they could try it and she’d readily agreed, being just as eager to be self-sufficient as he was. But all that was long gone now and although the idea of country living sounded attractive it would never be as good on his own and deep down he knew