full of threats: faces looming out of alleys, cars cruising by with music thudding from the open windows and shouts and taunts from the occupants, passersby giving him suspicious looks. Then at last he found a grubby hotel, the kind where he didn’t think they’d search his bag, and handed over twenty-five of his precious dollars for a bed, but the place was alive all night with noise – thudding, screaming, gasping, fighting – and he rolled over, buried his head in the thin pillow and tried in vain to sleep.
The next day, he was even more tired than when he’d gone to bed, but he knew that today he had to find a job. More than that, he needed some food. Apart from a bagel he’d bought from a stand the day before, he hadn’t had a proper meal for nearly two days.
He walked out on to the grey streets and wandered for a block or so, then found a cafe, went in and ordered eggs and coffee, which he wolfed down and immediately felt better.
I can do this. I’m young, I’ve got talent and I’m in the centre of the restaurant world, with no ties and nothing to hold me back. I can make it here, I know it!
He had tried to look at the whole sorry incident with Stanley as the kick up the ass he needed to get him out of small-town life and into the big city. He’d always dreamt of something special for himself. Now he was forcing himself to seek it out.
The kitchens were just coming to life when he started looking again. The porters were hauling out rubbish, the day’s supplies were being delivered to the back doors, and the chefs were fortifying themselves for the day ahead, outside with coffee, cigarettes and bacon bagels.
‘Hey,’ Mitch said, going up to a couple of guys in baggy black chef’s trousers and white T-shirts as they stood smoking at the back of an Italian joint. ‘Any work going around here?’
The men looked at each other and said nothing for a moment as they eyed him.
‘What you do?’ asked one, who was young but whose face still looked ravaged by late nights, hard work, and a punishing regime of alcohol, junk food and nicotine.
‘I can turn my hand to most things,’ Mitch said with a shrug. ‘All the basics.’
‘You speak English – so, you legal?’
Mitch nodded.
The ravaged-looking one ran a hand through his curly hair and turned to his friend. ‘Tony’s looking for someone while Jerry’s in hospital. Whaddya think?’
The other one shrugged. ‘Guess so.’
‘Hey!’ The younger one looked at Mitch with a smile. ‘You know what? You might be in luck. Our pal’s in hospital for a day or two, maybe you could fill in for him. How about you come in and meet the boss? He’ll be here in an hour or so.’
‘Great,’ Mitch said, happiness filling his heart.
This is my chance, I know it
.
‘Can you do pasta?’
‘Are you kidding?’ Mitch made a face. ‘Never do anything else.’
How hard is it to dunk spaghetti in hot water?
‘Good. I’m Herbie, by the way.’ The young chef held out a hand.
‘Mitch.’ He took the hand and shook it hard.
‘Cool. Good to meet you.’ Herbie grinned. ‘You’ll like it here, I promise.’
Chapter 5
Westfield Boarding School for Girls
2000
ROMILY COULD TELL that Allegra was more dissatisfied than ever and had the distinct impression that trouble was brewing, though what it might be exactly she couldn’t say. Exams were about to begin and she hoped they would defuse the tension she could feel like a storm in the air, ready to break. Usual lessons had stopped and now it was revision and study periods, and then long hours spent in the sports hall, sitting their papers.
Today they’d already stuffed their heads with geography and history and needed a break.
‘We have to get out of here,’ Allegra moaned discontentedly. She was sitting on the edge of Romily’s bed and staring out of the window while Imogen was cross-legged on the floor, rifling through Romily’s capacious and expensive make-up bag. Allegra pointed out over the
The next day, he was even more tired than when he’d gone to bed, but he knew that today he had to find a job. More than that, he needed some food. Apart from a bagel he’d bought from a stand the day before, he hadn’t had a proper meal for nearly two days.
He walked out on to the grey streets and wandered for a block or so, then found a cafe, went in and ordered eggs and coffee, which he wolfed down and immediately felt better.
I can do this. I’m young, I’ve got talent and I’m in the centre of the restaurant world, with no ties and nothing to hold me back. I can make it here, I know it!
He had tried to look at the whole sorry incident with Stanley as the kick up the ass he needed to get him out of small-town life and into the big city. He’d always dreamt of something special for himself. Now he was forcing himself to seek it out.
The kitchens were just coming to life when he started looking again. The porters were hauling out rubbish, the day’s supplies were being delivered to the back doors, and the chefs were fortifying themselves for the day ahead, outside with coffee, cigarettes and bacon bagels.
‘Hey,’ Mitch said, going up to a couple of guys in baggy black chef’s trousers and white T-shirts as they stood smoking at the back of an Italian joint. ‘Any work going around here?’
The men looked at each other and said nothing for a moment as they eyed him.
‘What you do?’ asked one, who was young but whose face still looked ravaged by late nights, hard work, and a punishing regime of alcohol, junk food and nicotine.
‘I can turn my hand to most things,’ Mitch said with a shrug. ‘All the basics.’
‘You speak English – so, you legal?’
Mitch nodded.
The ravaged-looking one ran a hand through his curly hair and turned to his friend. ‘Tony’s looking for someone while Jerry’s in hospital. Whaddya think?’
The other one shrugged. ‘Guess so.’
‘Hey!’ The younger one looked at Mitch with a smile. ‘You know what? You might be in luck. Our pal’s in hospital for a day or two, maybe you could fill in for him. How about you come in and meet the boss? He’ll be here in an hour or so.’
‘Great,’ Mitch said, happiness filling his heart.
This is my chance, I know it
.
‘Can you do pasta?’
‘Are you kidding?’ Mitch made a face. ‘Never do anything else.’
How hard is it to dunk spaghetti in hot water?
‘Good. I’m Herbie, by the way.’ The young chef held out a hand.
‘Mitch.’ He took the hand and shook it hard.
‘Cool. Good to meet you.’ Herbie grinned. ‘You’ll like it here, I promise.’
Chapter 5
Westfield Boarding School for Girls
2000
ROMILY COULD TELL that Allegra was more dissatisfied than ever and had the distinct impression that trouble was brewing, though what it might be exactly she couldn’t say. Exams were about to begin and she hoped they would defuse the tension she could feel like a storm in the air, ready to break. Usual lessons had stopped and now it was revision and study periods, and then long hours spent in the sports hall, sitting their papers.
Today they’d already stuffed their heads with geography and history and needed a break.
‘We have to get out of here,’ Allegra moaned discontentedly. She was sitting on the edge of Romily’s bed and staring out of the window while Imogen was cross-legged on the floor, rifling through Romily’s capacious and expensive make-up bag. Allegra pointed out over the
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