“No vodka” says Fat Chef, sullenly, in the empty canteen.
“But…” I start.
“No vodka” he repeats, shaking his head. “Only coffee.”
I offer him a cigarette, and his fat hand closes over mine, slipping off and somehow taking the whole packet with it. He studies it for a minute, shakes two out to drop on the counter, and shakes the rest into the ever steaming vat. He smiles and hands me back the empty packet. “For you” he says.
“Erm… thanks.” He gives me a huge smile as he says “Light?”, so I take my lighter out as he puts both cigarettes into his mouth at the same time, and pushes his head forward. As he smokes he taps the ash into the vat, and I wonder if this is his secret ingredient for making his coffee taste so… unique.
He looks at the stack of dirty cups in front of him, and picks one out, wiping it inside and out with his apron, then ladles some of the brown liquid into it, leaving it about half full. Then he gives me a broad smile and reaches down under the counter. “I have gin” he smiles, taking out a half empty bottle of Gordons. He pours a generous measure into the cup, till it’s spilling over the edge and nods at it. “Enjoy, my friend” he smiles, and lifts the bottle to his lips, taking a healthy drink.
I laugh, pick up the cup and start to drink. It’s pretty weird tasting, but not too bad, and cool enough to drink quickly. “Pretty good” I say, happily, and he gives me a broad grin.
“MARK!”
Fat Chef groans quietly, glances at me sympathetically and turns away, picking up a filthy rag and starting to wipe the counter with it. Oh shit, here we go, I think and I say “Hi, Jane!” turning round.
She’s walking towards me and, unusually, she doesn’t look happy. I take another large gulp as she comes up to me. “Eleven o’clock in Ward C. That’s what we agreed. What’s the time now?”
I glance at the clock on the wall. “Erm, four thirty?” I ask.
“What?”
“Four thirty am. That’s what the clock says.” She looks up. “For goodness sake, it’s broken, Mark” she says impatiently. “It’s eleven forty three and I have been waiting for you for forty three minutes. Do you think that’s a good use of my time?”
I finish my drink and put the cup down. “Well, it depends what you’ve been doing?” I suggest. That drink was really good, maybe I could get another one before we …
“Waiting for you.” She looks at me icily, but she is very good looking, and I try a smile. “Did you at least do what I told you?” she asks.
I nod happily. “Yes, miss, all done.” I feel a bit giddy now, and her look becomes a frown. “Have you been drinking?”
“What? Well, yes. Well, no. Well, yes. Just coffee. From the canteen. From my friend.” I gesture at Fat Chef but he’s doing his best to ignore us, studying a piece of the worktop and scrubbing at it furiously.
She carries on looking at me, then sighs. “Oh, god. All right. Come on, we may as well carry on now” and she turns, walking away quickly, forcing me to scamper to catch up with her.