‘I can’t take it any more.’ He flung up his arms. ‘I just can’t.’

Sally was rather relieved to find that William too was feeling distraught. The last two hours had been up there among the worst times in her life. Even the first performance of A Long Day’s Journey into Night at St Andrew’s Rep had come nothing near it, though that had been like a five-hour nightmare, rather than tonight’s two.

‘Don’t look at me!’ Sally watched William’s meltdown turn into a simmering volcano of rage. ‘Or, for that matter, at Benjamin. We’ve been working our arses off in here.’

William stamped his foot, and simultaneously threw a menu up to the ceiling. ‘But everybody hates everything. They’ve sent it all back and now they’re refusing to pay.’

‘It’s all been prepared exactly the same as normal. Red mullet in batter, with panisse chips.’ Sally took a step forward, challenging. ‘And don’t think it’s been fun sending out perfectly good dishes only to get them back three minutes later.’

‘They think panisse is French for potato, so they’re all grimacing and saying that the chips are “slimy”.’

‘Let’s face it, people like that don’t want anything we serve here,’ added Benjamin. ‘They want ketchup and vinegar, hamburgers and mushy peas.’

‘He’s right . . .’ Sally backed Benjamin up. ‘It states quite clearly on the menu . . .’

William silenced her by shouting, ‘I know what it says on the bloody menu. I wrote the bloody thing. But it’s in frigging French and they only speak bloody English. They think they’re on a sodding day trip to the end of the bollocking pier at Blackpool not to a classy little chic restaurant in Bellevue-sur-Mer.’

‘It’s too late now to save the situation—’ Sally started, but William cut her off again.

‘I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown, Sally. Really. If someone doesn’t restrain me, I’m going back in there with a carving knife to finish them all off.’

Benjamin put out a hand, resting it on William’s arm, but he shook it off, saying, ‘Tomorrow, Sally, you can waitress. You have social skills, garnered from all your years “treading the boards”. I’m just a crusty, old ex-English teacher who loathes and despises these low-lifes.’

‘But can you cook, William?’ Sally ventured.

‘Of course I can’t,’ he squealed. ‘But with this lot, who needs to actually be able to bloody cook?’

Sally realised how upset William must be. Normally such a fastidious speaker, he had just split two infinitives.

Benjamin removed his apron and crept towards the dining room.

‘I’ll try to salvage what I can,’ he said quietly. ‘William’s too upset.’

‘Didn’t they see the word Niçoise after fish and chips?’

‘You don’t honestly think that means anything to them, do you? One of them thought it was pronounced “knickers”. “I’ll have the fish and chips knickers.” She actually said that to me!’

William collapsed on to the bentwood chair in the corner and started fanning himself with the menu.