Loose Tea Lady continued

Roasted Vegetables. His calculations had now taken the total for dinner to over £160 – the limit Barclays had told him was available on his account. How would it look if his card was refused? His mother would never forgive the embarrassment – perhaps he could accuse someone of identity theft. He knew his father would have read all about it and would know how distressing it could be, but then his mother would blame it on living in London. He couldn’t finish the salmon.

“Darling?” said Penny to the amazement of the other three – Paul had never heard his mother call his father and his father assumed she was speaking to someone else. “Darling, why are you so clean?” She was clearly getting drunk; John was starting to rue the double gins because he’d thought they would liven her up, not send he into some sort of odd spiral.
“I’m sorry,” said Lucy quickly. She’d also noticed Penny’s quaffing of the wine and had seen the signs of someone clearly troubled by something which wasn’t for this particular occasion.
“I think I’ve splashed mussel juice on you.” Penny’s mouth fell open.
“Mussel juice?”
“Yes, you know, the juice the mussels are in.” Paul had realised Lucy’s diversionary tactic and seeing his mother’s reaction had added,
“I think Luce is referring to the garlic sauce your mussels are in, Mum.”
“Oh.”
“Have some more wine Mum,” said John to rescue Lucy who appeared completely unperturbed by her gaffe, before instantly regretting his suggestion.
“No, Mr Phillips,” said Lacy rather sternly, “ the bottle is empty – here, Mrs Phillips, have some more water.”
“Waiter?” called Penny rather too loudly, “Waiter, can we have more wine, please?” Paul buried his head in his hands – he was now well-over his limit. It was all going horribly wrong.
“I’ll get it cleaned for you Mrs Phillips,” said Lucy.
“There’s no need for that dear – where is the waiter?” replied Penny, licking her serviette and theatrically attempting to dab the greasy marks; to no avail. “I’m going to find the waiter.” Penny clumsily left the table before anyone could stop her – amazingly failing to knock over her glass - and headed towards the swinging doors of the kitchen.

“How is the steak dad?” said Paul desperately trying to save the situation; one which his mother had a habit of bringing to a social occasion she’d tired of.
“Very nice, son, very nice. Although your mother would insist that it is not as fine as that one I had recently at that lovely little restaurant we went to with the Everetts.” Paul smiled weakly at the attempt at a joke.
“Should I go and rescue your mother?” asked Lucy.

“Fire, fire!” came the screams from the kitchen. The whole restaurant which had been enjoying the low hubbub of quiet, confined conversations went silent. Almost immediately, the sound of a loud fire bell could be heard to blare from the reception area. People started to stand and look at each other. Paul made for the kitchen to be met by his mother bursting through the swinging door with a look of fear etched on her face,
“Quick, quick!” she said without the merest hint of alcohol in her voice, “the kitchen is on fire – we have to leave.”

Within three minutes everyone was stood in the street and watching the blaze. The kitchens were well alight, the flames leapt into the dark sky and the sound of sirens filled the air. Annies was burning and everyone was out and safe. Paul had been saved the embarrassment of a refused card and he could send his parents back to their hotel in a cab. They would all go and see a museum tomorrow.