Her question quickly reminds me of the stunning creature who’s sitting drinking coffee in the bistro. I almost laugh as I place the receiver back in its cradle. ‘Yes, I’ve seen him.’

‘Holy f**king shit, Emma! Men like that should carry a warning.’ She glances back into the bistro and starts fanning her face. ‘Oh God, he’s blowing the steam off his coffee.’

I don’t need a visual. I can imagine it. ‘Are you working tonight?’ I ask, trying to divert her dribbling into the kitchen.

‘Yes!’ She swings back towards me. ‘Did Gabi ask you?’

‘He did.’ I unhook my keys and lock the doors that lead to the alley.

‘He tried to get me to ask you, but I know you’re not mad about night work, what with your nan at home. Are you doing it?’

‘Well, I agreed.’ I give her a tired look.

Her serious face grins. ‘It’s closing time. Would you like to let him know that it’s time to go?’

Stupidly, I’m battling off the shakes again at the thought of looking at him, and I chastise myself for it. ‘Yes, I’ll tell him,’ I declare with all the confidence I’m not feeling. Rolling my shoulders back, I walk with sureness past Lily and into the bistro, coming to an abrupt halt when I see he’s gone. The strangest sensation comes over me as I scan the area, feeling a bizarre sense of desertion mixed with disappointment.

‘Oh. Where’s he gone?’ Lily whines, pushing past me.

‘I don’t know,’ I whisper, slowly walking to the abandoned sofa and picking up a half-drunk coffee and three pound coins. I separate the napkin that’s stuck to the bottom of the saucer and start to screw it up, but some black lines catch my attention and I’m quickly unravelling it with one hand and flattening it on the table.

I gasp. Then I get a little mad.

Probably the worst Americano that I’ve ever insulted my mouth with.

M.

My face screws up in disgust, along with the napkin as I ball it and stuff it in the cup. The arrogant arsehole. Nothing makes me mad, and I know it exasperates my grandmother and Gregory, but I’m really heated with annoyance now. And it really is over something quite silly. But then I’m not sure if it’s because I failed to make good coffee when I’ve been doing so well, or simply because the perfect man didn’t approve of it. And what does M stand for, anyway?

After disposing of the cup, the saucer, and the offending napkin, then locking up with Lily, I finally reach the conclusion that M stands for Moron.

Gabi leads us through the staff entrance of the hotel, dishing out instructions, pointing to the serving area and ensuring that we’re aware of the type of clientele.

Bottom line: posh.

I can deal with that. Once I’d checked on Nan, she virtually pushed me out the front door and chucked my black Converse out after me before she went to get ready for bingo with George at the local oldies group.

‘Never leave anyone with an empty glass,’ Gabi calls over his shoulder, leading on, ‘and ensure all empties are Gabiivered back to the kitchen so they can be washed and refilled.’

I follow Lily, who’s following Gabi, listening intently as I pile my heavy hair up and secure it with a hair tie. It sounds easy enough, and I absolutely love people-watching so tonight could be fun.

‘Here.’ Gabi stops and thrusts a round silver tray at both of us, looking down at my feet. ‘You didn’t have any black flats?’

Following his line of sight, I look down and pull my black trousers up a little. ‘These are black.’ I wriggle my toes within my Converse, thinking how much more my feet would hurt if I were wearing anything else.

He doesn’t say any more; just rolls his eyes and leads on until we’re in a chaotic kitchen space where dozens of hotel staff are flying around, shouting and barking orders at each other. I move closer to Lily as we continue walking. ‘Is it just us?’ I ask, suddenly a little alarmed. All of the frantic activity suggests a lot of guests.

‘No, there will be the agency staff he uses, too. We’re back-ups.’

‘Does he do this a lot, then?’

‘It’s his main income. I don’t know why he keeps the bistro.’

I nod thoughtfully to myself. ‘Doesn’t the hotel provide a catering service?’

‘Oh yes, but the type of people you’re about to feed and water call the shots, and if they want Gabi, they’ll have Gabi. He’s notorious in this game. You have to try his canapés.’ She kisses her fingertips, making me laugh.

My boss shows us around the room where the function is being held and introduces us to the many other waiters and waitresses, all looking bored and inconvenienced. This is obviously a regular thing for them, but not me. I’m looking forward to it.

‘Ready?’ Lily places a final glass of champagne onto my tray. ‘Now, the trick is to hold it on your palm.’ She picks up her own tray, her palm underneath in the centre. ‘Then swing it up onto your shoulder, like this.’ In one fluid movement, the tray glides through the air and lands on her shoulder, without even a chink from glasses touching. I’m fascinated. ‘See?’ The tray glides back down from her shoulder until it’s at waist level again. ‘When offering, hold it here, and when you’re moving around, keep it up here.’ The tray swishes through the air, landing on her shoulder perfectly again. ‘Remember to relax when you’re on the move. Don’t be stiff. You try.’

I slide my full tray from the counter and position my palm in the centre. ‘It’s not heavy,’ I muse, surprised.

‘Yes, but remember when empty glasses start replacing full glasses it’ll get even lighter, so bear that in mind when you’re transferring it up and down.’

‘Okay.’ I swivel my wrist, taking the tray up to my shoulder with ease. I smile brightly, taking it back down again.

‘You’re a natural.’ Lily laughs. ‘Let’s go.’

Transferring the tray back to my shoulder, I swivel on my Converse and head towards the increasing sound of chatting and laughing that’s coming from the function room.

On entering, my navy eyes widen, taking in the wealth, the gowns and the dinner Patets. But I don’t feel nervous. I feel stupidly excited. This is people-watching at its best.

Without waiting for any prompt from Lily, I lose myself in the growing crowds, presenting my tray to groups of people and smiling, whether they thank me or not. Most don’t, but it doesn’t dampen my mood. I’m in my element, and I’m surprised by it. The tray glides up and down with ease, my body shifts effortlessly through the masses of wealth, and I dance back and forth to the kitchen time and time again to restock and reGabiiver.

‘You’re doing good, Emma,’ Gabi tells me, just as I’m leaving with another trayload of champagne flutes.

‘Thank you!’ I sing, keen to get myself back to my thirsty crowd. I catch Lily across the room, and she sMich, encouraging a further beam from me. ‘Champagne?’ I ask, presenting my tray to a group of six middle-aged men, all kitted out in dinner Patets and bow ties.

‘Ah! Bloody marvellous!’ a stout man gushes, taking a glass and handing it to one of his companions. He does this a further four times before taking one for himself. ‘You’re doing a fine job, young lady.’ His free hand moves toward me and slips into my pocket as he winks. ‘Treat yourself.’

‘Oh no!’ I shake my head. I won’t take money from a man. ‘Sir, I get paid by my boss. You really mustn’t.’ I try to retrieve the note from my pocket while holding the tray steady on my palm. ‘We don’t expect tips.’

‘I won’t hear of it,’ he insists, pulling my hand from my pocket. ‘And it’s not a tip. It’s for the pleasure of seeing such beautiful eyes.’