The tables start landing fast, far too fast to remember where he’s got to with each. But the little speech Meera wrote out for him – soup of the day is minestrone, special is steak and kidney pudding, no barbecue ribs left – quickly becomes well practised, and with Meera’s and Janice’s help drinks and food seem to be landing in front of the right people. The beauty of being so absurdly stressed, Will starts to realize, is that you don’t have time to get stressed.

An hour in and he’s mastered carrying three plates at a time and almost looking at the customers when they’re talking to him. And most of Meera’s advice has already proved accurate: everyone does order the second cheapest wine on the list; there’s a wanker on every table who answers the question ‘How would you like your steak cooked?’ by replying, ‘On a grill!’; and lots of customers don’t waste time with please or thank you. This is the bit that Will finds most fascinating, as if by putting on a waiter’s uniform he’s been gifted the minor superpower of being able to see people’s real character.

‘Great work, mate,’ Meera tells him as the restaurant begins to thin out in the late afternoon.

Will stands rigidly and gently pats her back as she hugs his torso. She grabs a wad of notes from her waistcoat pocket and peels off two tenners for Will. ‘Redistribution of wealth, comrade. If Bum Touch sees this little stash, it’ll be straight in his back pocket.’

Will scrunches the money in his palm. Sure, he’s spent the day sweating like a marathon runner, and he was moaned at by a customer whose shouts of ‘Mo!’ Will had constantly ignored, and there was a complaint over a well-done rump steak that was too tough, which Mick Touch had to deal with, but Will is right now enjoying that brief window where he’s happy with a performance he’s given – before all the analysis has had a chance to begin.

He sinks a pint of soda water and begins the massive task of cleaning up the melted ice creams and dirty glasses that cover the vacant tables. Back in his own world, without people to serve and appear normal in front of, he doesn’t notice the time pass, barely registers the beach falling quiet and the darkness setting in outside.

‘Will!’ comes a bark from the far corner of the building, where the restaurant gives way to the bar.

Will spins round, as if someone has woken him up.

‘Need you, Will!’ Janice shouts.

‘What’s up?’ he mumbles, but she turns and hurries away, waving for him to follow.