Eva rang the anniversary customer from the little table outside the kitchen, before she could find a reason to put it off.
“I'm sorry about yesterday,” she said. “You asked me about a meal and I gave you a horrible argument. You shouldn't have had to hear that.”
The woman didn't immediately rescue her.
“No,” she said. “I shouldn't.”
Eva looked at the page she'd prepared. Two possible timings, food that could be brought to the table, a quieter corner for the woman's parents. Nothing about Ben.
“If you'd still like a plan, I've done one. You wouldn't be committing to a booking.”
“I don't want to be talked into it.”
“You can tell me no afterwards. Or now.”
There was a rustle at the other end, then a small sigh.
“All right. Email it, and I'll look. It'll be twenty-four guests, and six family.”
Twenty-four was as many as she could fit for a private hire, with four borrowed chairs and the serving table moved into the kitchen. Eva wrote 24 at the top of her page. She was already turning it round to see whether the quieter corner she'd chosen was too far from the door.
Eva thanked her. She put the phone down and sat with her head lowered until Nora came in holding the bookings book.
“These two numbers are the same,” Nora said.
“They can't be.”
Nora set the book beside her. Eva had written a telephone booking across from an online one. The online booking used the partner's name; the phone booking used the woman's. Eva had asked about numbers and times. She hadn't asked whether they'd already booked.
“That's four places twice,” she said.
“I thought so. I've checked the email.”
Saturday had looked full. Now it wasn't.
Eva shut her eyes briefly.
“I'm making a great success of the week.”
Nora stood waiting.
“Thank you,” Eva said. “Will you ring and confirm which booking they want to keep? I'll change the list.”
“Yes.”
Eva opened her laptop and wrote the anniversary email. Nora made the call beside the kitchen door, friendly and quick, without suggesting the customer had caused the mistake. When she came back, Eva had removed the duplicate and put four places back on the café's little notice.
Nora looked at the screen. “That's a nice menu.”
“It isn't finished.”
“I know. The idea.”
Eva turned the laptop a little so she could see.
They spent ten minutes choosing where the parents might sit. Nora noticed that the corner away from the door was nearer the toilets, which mattered more than a view for somebody who found walking difficult. Eva changed the plan.
When it was sent, she said, “I shouldn't have said that at the harbour.”
Nora picked up the cloth from beside the sink and wiped a splash off the little table.
“No.”
“I'm sorry I did.”
“All right.”
Neither of them offered more than that.
Nora left the cloth by the sink. She picked up the book again, then put it down.
“He told me the chips were his special place,” she said.
Eva looked at her.
“I didn't know it was yours.”
“It isn't mine. It's everybody's.”
“You know what I mean.”
Eva did.
“Did he tell you about the two sauces?”
“Yes. A lot. More than was necessary for a sauce.”
Eva smiled at that.
Nora saw, and smiled a little. “Most of his spontaneous plans are already there when we get to them.”
“He hates organising.”
“I'm discovering that.”
For a moment they could have talked about him. Properly, with all the little annoyances and shared observations that made two women friendly.
Eva turned back to the screen.
“The number's corrected,” she said. “I'll tell Will.”
Nora nodded and picked up the book.
Eva wasn't ready to make something comfortable out of what had happened. But the email was sent, four people weren't going to arrive twice, and a problem had got smaller because Nora knew her job.