out of his bad mood. ‘And if this sweetens the deal, I can tell you that Dad’s been telling anyone who’ll listen that you’re barmy, just like your Aunt Breda.
‘What?’ My nostrils flare. Yes, I might not have ever met her in the flesh, but damn it, she’s family and no one should talk about anyone like that.
‘That’s it. This is WAR.’
Chapter Twelve
Monday 28th September
Clooney is just getting himself acquainted with the kitchen the following Monday when a short heavy-set man with a clipboard turns up. Not another clipboard guy. They’re never bearing good news.
‘Health Inspector,’ he announces. ‘My colleague was here the other day. I’m sorry to say that there’s been reports of rats on the premises.’
I scoff a laugh. ‘Really? Rats? Who the hell…’ I trail off as I realise exactly who would have told them that. That bastard Fergus from The Dog and Duck.
‘I’ll need to see your kitchen immediately.’ He pushes past me and walks towards the back.
I run in front of him and open the swing door to see Clooney walking towards me, his eyes grave.
‘Phoebe, there’s a—'
He’s about to show me something when I shout at the top of my lungs ‘Inspection! There’s an Inspection Officer here.’
He quickly puts whatever he was about to show me behind his back.
‘Ah, hi Lenny.’ He puts on his cock sure smile, which I’m confident regular people find charming.
Lenny smiles back. ‘Clooney.’ He nods. ‘I didn’t know you were working here.’
‘Yeah, brand new. Mind, is this just a regular inspection or…?’
‘We’ve had a report of rats,’ Lenny says, already inspecting the shelves.
‘Rats,’ Clooney repeats, shooting me wide worried eyes. He flicks his jaw behind him.
I follow it to see him holding a dead rat in his hands behind his back. Dear fucking god! We do have rats! How the hell did that happen? And why oh why does he have to be holding a dead one while we’re being inspected?
I raise my eyebrows at Clooney, cricking my neck to the left to try and signal for him to get it the hell out of here.
‘Clooney,’ Lenny says, making us both jump. ‘I’ll need you to show me round the kitchen.’
‘Well, I’m still learning the ropes, myself actually, Lenny.’
‘Still,’ he insists. ‘If you’re going to be in charge of the kitchen I’m going to need to talk to you.’
He looks expectantly at him. Well shit, he can hardly show him around with a dead rat in his hands.
I’m going to have to… gulp… take the dead rat from him. Ugh, I can see its slimy tail. It’s the grossest thing I’ve ever seen. I fight the urge to jump up and down on the spot screaming. Where the hell is Ella when I need her? I know she’d find it cute and cuddle it before holding a funeral and burying it in the back garden.
She’s not here though. I need to suck it up and get on with it. For both our sakes. I can’t have us being shut down before we’ve even got going properly.
I stand right next to Clooney. I need to distract Lenny somehow. I place one hand behind my back and then point to something behind Lenny.
‘Look!’ He turns and I quickly try to take the rat from Clooney’s hands. Ugh, it’s still warm. I shudder from the feeling, unable to take it from him.
Lenny turns back. ‘What? I can’t see anything.’
‘Sorry,’ I try and joke. ‘Thought I saw a rat.’
His eyes flash in horror. ‘I thought you said you don’t have a rat infestation?’
‘Oh, we don’t. Just trying to be funny. That weird English sense of humour of mine.’ What the hell is wrong with me?
He quirks one eyebrow up, obviously finding me a bizarre weirdo.
‘Lenny, can you please…’ Quick Phoebe, think of something. ‘Tell me your qualifications for this job?’ Anything to keep him talking so I can get this dead bloody rat in my hands.
He steels his jaw, obviously shocked at the audacity of the English woman asking. He starts rambling off his qualifications while Clooney places the dead rat carefully into my squirmy hands. His fingers touch mine and I grimace. It feels strangely intimate to be touching him, which I realise is ridiculous. The man has held me down while I got my thumb fixed. The awkwardness almost distracts me from the dead thing in my hands. It’s hard to clutch it with my bandaged thumb. It’s heavier than I thought it would be.
When I have hold of it, I