Christmas at the Log Fire Cabin: A heart-warming and feel-good read. Catherine Ferguson

the rail and gaze out over the festive rush hour.

      ‘What’s all this talk about proposals, anyway?’ I ask. ‘Are you psyching yourself up to ask Mark to marry you?’

      ‘He should be so lucky!’ she retorts, sounding surprisingly bitter.

      ‘Everything okay?’ I ask.

      ‘Yeah, fine.’ She sighs and stares moodily over the park.

      I glance at her profile, wondering what’s wrong. She’s been complaining recently that Mark is taking her for granted. But that probably just means he’s started buying her flowers once a fortnight, instead of every week. I can totally understand her nervousness, though, after all the bad luck she’s had with men in the past.

      ‘If Harrison ever proposed, it would probably be over a manhole cover because that’s how we met,’ I say, to try and cheer her up.

      She laughs. ‘Very romantic.’

      ‘It would be romantic wherever it was.’ I shrug. ‘I wouldn’t need a three-ring circus. Just me and the man I love.’

      ‘Aw, you put me to shame, missus. I’d definitely need the full works. I’d want to feel like he’d been planning it for weeks and that he hadn’t just got drunk and grabbed for a makeshift ring!’

      ‘What are you two doing for Christmas?’

      She’s back to looking gloomy. ‘Nothing. I wanted to go away, just the two of us, but Mark says he can’t afford it so that’s that.’

      ‘Did I hear my name mentioned?’ calls the man himself, and Erin spins round.

      ‘How long have you been there?’ she laughs, going inside to say hello.

      ‘Long enough to hear you describe me as mean,’ he growls, grabbing her and pulling her in for a kiss.

      I smile to myself. From where I’m standing, I really don’t think Erin has anything to worry about. Mark seems just as crazy about her as ever.

       Chapter 5

      ‘Problem customer!’ murmurs my colleague, Maxine, halfway through our Friday-lunchtime shift.

      ‘Really?’ My heart sinks. I’m so tired. This afternoon, I’ll find out who will be the new restaurant manager, and I’ve been up half the night feeling anxious about it. I’ve been trying to throw myself into my work, as if it’s just another shift, but as my meeting with Mr Hastings at three-thirty creeps nearer, my stomach is growing more and more jittery by the minute.

      The last thing I need is a tricky diner using up my last reserves of strength.

      Maxine flicks her eyes across the room and I peer over, pretending that I’m checking to make sure everything is looking as it should.

      ‘She’s complained about everything from the temperature in the room to the flowers on her table not being entirely fresh – and that’s even before she’s started eating!’

      As we look on surreptitiously, the woman summons eighteen-year-old Ellie with one imperious finger raised in the air. It’s Ellie’s first week in the job and she’s quite shy and terrified of making mistakes. (I can so empathise with her. I was just like her when I started.)

      Ellie darts forward helpfully.

      It’s clear that something else is wrong. The woman is frowning and speaking rapidly, and as we watch, Ellie’s face falls.

      I catch her in the kitchen and it’s obvious from the tension in her face, she’s desperately trying to hold it together.

      ‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.

      Ellie swallows and looks down. ‘She said I must be stupid because I didn’t bother to find out the soup of the day before I came on shift.’

      ‘Right. I’ll handle her.’ I walk calmly back into the restaurant, only to be immediately summoned by our difficult diner. Pasting on my best polite and helpful smile, I walk over to her table. ‘Can I help?’

      She looks at me frostily. ‘I certainly hope so. This fish is staring at me.’

      ‘I beg your pardon, madam?’ Feeling slightly wrong-footed, I glance at the contents of her plate.

      ‘The mackerel. It’s staring at me. I don’t like it. It’s putting me off my lunch.’

      ‘I’m so sorry.’ Carefully, I turn the plate a half-circle. ‘Is that better?’

      ‘Are you being funny?’ She peers at me suspiciously.

      ‘No. Definitely not. I just thought if the fish wasn’t facing you …’

      ‘Yes, but I’ll still know they’re there, won’t I?’ she snaps. ‘The eyes.’

      ‘Of course, madam. Would you like me to take it away and remove the head for you?’

      ‘But then it won’t be a “whole mackerel”. It’ll be a “headless mackerel”, which isn’t quite the same thing, is it?’

      ‘Um … no, I suppose it isn’t.’ It’s an effort to keep my tone upbeat. What on earth is she talking about?

      ‘I want a “whole mackerel”, like it states on the menu.’

      I clear my throat, stalling for time. I’ve had tricky customers to deal with before, but this one takes the biscuit. I get the sneaky feeling she’s being deliberately awkward just to see how I’ll react. I don’t mind her leading me a dance, but upsetting Ellie by calling her stupid has made me really annoyed. But I persevere with the polite and attentive manner. ‘What would you like me to do, madam?’

      ‘Sort it out!’ she snaps. ‘Stop that fish staring at me!’

      A wave of disbelief and exhaustion washes over me and I almost laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Nothing I do for this diner will be right. Suddenly, tiredness takes over and I do what I never, ever do with customers as a rule.

      I resort to sarcasm.

      My smile is bright and cheery. ‘Right, well, if you don’t want me to take the rude little chap away, perhaps we could make him a teeny-tiny little blindfold? Out of a basil leaf? Or maybe two slices of lemon tied together with a sliver of anchovy?’

      If looks could kill, there’d be two corpses on her plate. She looks as if steam is about to rush out of her ears as she comes to the boil. I take a deep breath.

      Remember, the customer is king.

      ‘Sorry, madam. What I meant to say is, do please choose another dish. There’ll be no charge, obviously.’ I keep my tone polite and respectful. Although what I’d really like to do is pick up the mackerel, wave its glassy eyes in her face and make ghostly ‘Woooo!’ noises. But that would be silly.

      She rises to her feet, glaring at me as if I’m something nasty sticking to the bottom of her shoe. ‘No, thank you. I’ve lost my appetite.’ And with that, she picks up her bag and walks out.

      Maxine is making what was that all about? faces at me. I shrug, just grateful that the woman’s gone. (I was only half-joking with the blindfold suggestion. How on earth do you stop a fish staring at you?)

      At last, my shift comes to an end. I keep glancing at my watch, waiting for three-thirty, and as Maxine passes me, she presses my shoulder. ‘You’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Everyone knows you’ll make a great restaurant manager.’

      I smile at her, a lovely feeling of belonging rippling through me, taking the edge off my anxiety. I’m part of a team here and it’s good to know my colleagues like and value me. That’s why I can’t imagine ever working anywhere else.

      It’s true that when