Gretal happened to be cleaning the toilets when Hans and Bart got there. She looked at the two slightly sweating men, a surprised expression on her face.

Hans swore under his breath and tried not to touch anything he shouldn’t be touching. ‘Sorry. Men’s business.’

Her face cleared. ‘The women’s toilet is finished?’

‘Thank you Gretal.’ He glanced at Bart. ‘Come on.’ He began stalking towards the kitchen.

‘Where are we going,’ huffed Bart. He sounded concerned.

‘We are not using the women’s toilet to have a conversation.’

‘Why the hell not?’

‘Because it’s just been cleaned, and the way my senses are going off fuck knows what it’s going to look like by the time we’re finished. God. It sounds like we’re having a secret tryst.’ He did not mention he really did not want to explain to Gretal why she might need to clean the toilet again. Blood stains were… He really didn’t want to have to clean it himself, which he got the feeling he’d do just so he didn’t need to explain anything, like where Bart had gone, for example. ‘If we change accidentally, or you know, get caught up in the lizard’s dreaming bullshit, we could damage stuff in there, so…’

Bart, the arsehole, began to chuckle. He wasn’t very bright at the best of times.

‘Good point. So …’ he said from behind Hans as they headed down the short corridor. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Out the back,’ said Hans as they entered the kitchen.

The sous chef, whose name he regretfully had never found out, looked up from her mopping. She frowned at them slightly and Hans gave her a wave.

‘Just heading out the back for a sec.’

‘Okay. I think Shianne is going that way shortly. She’s just emptying the bins.

Hans scowled. ‘Tell her to wait until we come back in.’

‘Okay? Is there something going on?’ She stopped mopping and straightened up, looking back and forth between the two men.

‘We’ll handle it,’ replied Bart, smiling.

Hans’ clapped him on the back. That was reasonably quick thinking. Maybe he had some brains after all. ‘Yes, nothing to worry about,’ he agreed, restraining himself from adding something brutally masculine.

Jesus Christ on a cracker biscuit, this is getting harder by the second. He glanced quickly at Bart, who nodded sharply. He flung open the back door.

The small courtyard was blessedly empty, aside from the skip bin and a couple of full bin bags lying in front of it. Hans sighed with relief and looked up at the clouded night sky.

‘I don’t see anything,’ he muttered.

The moon’s coming out, said Bart. Look.

Hans sat on his haunches and stuck his nose in the air. Where is she?

I’ll have a look from up here. It’s safer anyway.

He turned his head just as Bart scrambled up the drainpipe. Oh look at you go. You’re very good at that. And, look at me go. I’m not chasing you.

Congratulations, said the possum testily. Your roof has got wiggles in it.

Wiggles in it? It’s called corrugation you… Never mind. Oh look at that moon,’ Hans sang.

Your singing voice leaves a lot to be desired, said the possum, hanging onto the sloping tin grimly.

One of Hans ears flicked. The back door had just opened. A small tortoiseshell cat stood on the doorstep. large green eyes staring at him. It hissed. He growled, then went into overdrive.

CAT. Cat-cat-cat. Cat. Cat. Cat-cat-cat-cat-cat.

Who’s that, squeaked Bart worriedly from the roof.

Doooooooooog, yowled the cat, arching its back, tail fluffing up like a toilet brush.

Cat? The questioning voice came from the alleyway where another dog had appeared. Its eyes were very blue and its coat shone white under the moonlight.

Solway? Hans said. Look. Cat.

Solway! Chittered Bart happily. Hello beautiful. Please control your brother. I think he’s going to eat Shane. He grabbed at the guttering to stop himself from sliding off.

Is that Shianne, asked Solway. She sat and cocked her head inquisitively. She’s really pretty.

Fuck offfffffffff, the cat hissed.

Look at you, you feisty feline, growled Hans. Sorry I’m a dog. I apologise in advance but I’m not going to be half as polite as I have been all day. Which leg do you want to lose first? He walked stiff-legged towards the cat.

Hans, whined Solway. I like cats. Please don’t eat the cat.

I’m going to do something really terrible and regret it very shortly, said the cat. She leapt at Hans head (I have just realised how terrible this sounds).

The moon disappeared.

‘Oh shit,’ said Shianne.

‘Please get off me,’ said Hans

Solway started laughing just as the guttering on the side of the building came down with an almighty crash.

‘Sorry,’ said Bart calmly from beneath the horizontal drainpipe. ‘I don’t think it was made for this.’

‘When Shane gets off my head,’ said Hans in a muffled voice. ‘I’ll send you the bill.’

Eventually, after Shane had stopped kneading his chest and purring apologies (which Hans rather enjoyed) he lifted himself from the concrete and surveyed the area.

Bart had extracted himself from under the ruined drainpipe and stood next to Solway, trying to curl one leg around her, which she seemed to be rather used to. Shane stood next to him, blinking slowly.

‘I think I understand why I don’t like you,’ she said.

‘I know I understand why I don’t like you,’ Hans replied. ‘But, if I remember correctly, you seemed to like me quite a lot when we first met.’

Solway gently removed Bart’s leg from around her waist (he seemed quite agile) and stared at them both.

‘This is the woman from Carbarettas,’ she exclaimed. ‘Why didn’t you say so?’

‘I thought you would have figured it out,’ Hans said grumplily.

‘Why the hell would I have figured it out? A lot of people attach themselves to you.’

‘So… You don’t think it’s a coincidence Shane turned up here then?’ he growled.

Solway frowned at him then looked at Shane. ‘Shianne, you live locally, right?’

‘Yes I do,’ Shane replied. ‘I’ve been looking for work in the area for weeks. I don’t have a car yet either, so I’m walking or catching the bus. It just seemed sensible to try to find work nearby.’ She licked her hand and smoothed back her hair then scowled. ‘Am I going to be doing this cat thing very often? It’s really not conducive to getting employment.’

‘Ha!’ Hans folded his arms. ‘You see. You don’t want to work here at all.’ He rolled his eyes.

‘Yes I do,’ Shane hissed. ‘But I think, after attacking the big boss, I’m not likely to keep my job, am I?’

They glared at each other.

Fennel peered out through the back door. ‘What’s going on? I’ve been sitting in the restaurant for the last fifteen minutes drinking Cognac and complaining to myself, which is extremely boring, let me tell you, and wondering where the hell everyone went.’

Shane straightened her trousers and tucked in her shirt. ‘I’ll get back to it,’ she said softly, and picked up an overflowing bin bag.

‘I’ll give you a hand out here,’ Solway said, giving Hans her best squinty-eyed stare. ‘Why don’t you and Bart go and drink your bloody Cognac with Fennel and leave us to it.’

Hans knew when he was being dismissed, but he certainly didn’t appreciate Solway treating him like that in front of the staff.

‘I’m going back inside with Bart and Fennel,’ he said grandly. ‘Why don’t you help Shane with the bins, like the good sister you are.’

Fennel sighed and Bart looked slightly pained.

Solway just laughed and shook her head. ‘Come in Shianne. While we’re out here, let me tell you alllll about my brother.’

Hans didn’t wait to hear any more. He went back inside.

^^_____O_____^^

Sometimes, Hans thought to himself. I am under the distinct impression other people are writing my “life story” for me.

‘So you said that out loud,’ said Fennel conversationally. ‘Another drink?’

‘Can we please not drink Cognac anymore,’ asked Bart. ‘I think it’s going to give me a terrible headache.’

‘I already have a terrible headache,’ said Hans. ‘Which has nothing to do with you two, and everything to do with those two women sitting out the back and talking about me.’

‘They might not be talking about you,’ said Fennel.

‘When someone says they are going to talk about you, I think it’s fairly clear they are going to talk about you,’ said Hans. ‘So you know, there’s that.’ He swigged the last of his Cognac. ‘Do we have Bourbon?’

‘I like Bourbon,’ said Bart. ‘Less chance of me ringing people up I don’t know for no reason other than to say what the fuck am I saying?’

Hans glanced at him moodily. ‘The lizard is still here, isn’t she.’

‘Who,’ asked Fennel.

‘Oh dear,’ said Bart. ‘Gremlins, Fennel. You know, like the movie.’

‘Never seen it,’ said Fennel. ‘What’s that about?’

Hans snarled to himself and tried not to bite his own leg. ‘Fuck my life.’

‘What the hell are you doing,’ asked Fennel.

‘Controlling myself from asking why there are bits of food all over the table,’ said Hans airily. ‘Care to explain?’

‘Oh, you noticed.’ Fennel had the sense to look slightly embarrassed. ‘I can’t explain it actually. I don’t know exactly what happened. I figured it was the Cognac going to my head. It’s been a long day dammit.’

‘Before this goes any further,’ said Hans, finally remembering he was the bloody restaurant manager tonight. ‘Where the hell are Gretal and the sous chef?’

‘You mean Rhoda,’ said Fennel.

‘I know exactly who I mean,’ snarled Hans.

‘Okay. Well, I’m going to go and do something about bin bags,’ said Bart. ‘Don’t bother asking if you can help me because you can’t, and I also need to see what can be done with drainpipes and whether I’m actually capable of fixing one by myself.’

‘What happened to the drainpipe,’ asked Fennel.

‘It fucking rained a lot, that’s what,’ growled Hans. ‘Thirty year storm.’ He congratulated himself silently and felt like looking in a mirror.

‘I don’t think it rained that much,’ argued Fennel.

‘I’m off then,’ said Bart. ‘Not that anyone cares.’ He stood at the end of the table looking slightly dejected.

‘Byeeeee,’ said Hans.

‘You’re a prick,’ said Fennel as Bart walked away slowly looking hopefully over his shoulder.

‘You’re probably a mouse,’ said Hans. ‘So there.’

‘That’s it. I’m getting the Bourbon,’ said Fennel.

‘It’s about fucking time,’ said Hans. ‘Get the tequila and some shot glasses while you’re there.’

He was really fucking glad it was Monday tomorrow and someone, more specifically himself, believed in the tradition of not opening on a Monday.

to be continued.