How To Save A Life by Lauren K. McKellar

smiles, pushing past me to place one champagne bottle on the table.
    "Tim, can I talk to you for a sec?" I ask politely. Maybe I can stop him opening it.
    Because once the bottle is open, I don't know that they'll leave.
    "Not now, Lia." Tim gives a sharp jerk of his head to the table in front of us, the silent we have customers reaching me loud and clear.
    "Are you the manager?" Ms Haloumi Salad is back, standing behind Tim with her hands on her hips.
    "Why yes, I am." Tim smiles, his eyes darting from her cleavage to her face.
    "I'd like to file a formal complaint about these patrons. I've been coming here for years, and today this group of people pushed a waitress so she spilt—"
    "I didn't push 'er, you idiot. She freaking fell."
    "Salad all over this three-hundred-dollar shirt. Not to mention this imbecile here who then tried to sexually harass me—"
    "Bitch was begging for it," Elmo mutters.
    "I am so sorry for all this." Tim frowns. His hands are on the top of the bottle, and I can see him wondering exactly how quickly he can get this table of trouble makers out of here. Tim may be money hungry, but there's a certain type of dollar he likes, and my mum and her friends definitely don't fit that upmarket category.
    "Lee Lee, can I've some fries?" Mum asks. Her eyes widen and she stabs the menu with her blunt finger. "Oh! And a burger? I'd love a burger."
    And as horrible as it sounds, I don't want her to order the burger. We can't afford it. Not these overpriced ones, anyway. "Maybe you should—"
    I'm cut off by two voices at once.
    "I think perhaps it'd be better if your whole party left."
    "Your mother wants a burger, Lia."
    Tim turns to face me. The champagne pops and bubbles spew out from the lip of the bottle.
    "It's a boy!" Elmo shouts.
    "This is your family?" Your drunken, trouble-causing family? He doesn't say the last bit, but I know it's what he means.
    "I'm her mother." Mum smiles, and the dark purple under her eyes, the shake of her hand as she puts her menu down are just two more reminders to me that she isn't okay.
    "Hmph!" Tim exhales. The look in his eyes says it all. He turns to Ms Salad. "Please, go and be seated at your new table. Be assured that your meal is complimentary, and that we will be sending you a bottle of our finest wine."
    It's my turn to snort. I've seen the man decant from multiple leftover wine bottles into one new carafe before.
    "Is there a problem, Lia?" Tim cocks his head, and I squirm.
    "No."
    "Well, this place is just lovely." Mum widens her eyes, her face bright and cheery. Again, people from the surrounding tables turn to look at her too-loud volume. Some had never looked away in the first place. "Such a beautiful view, and the menu looks lovely ..."
    "Sure does." Smith kisses the top of Mum's head. "We'll have to start coming here every week."
    "A word, Lia?" Tim asks, jerking his head toward the store room out the back.
    "Sure."
    This can't be good.
    Tim takes the second bottle of wine from the table and places it on the counter next to the coffee machine, despite Julietta's protests about him taking their bottle.
    He marches out the door, across the car park and into the room. I close the door behind us quietly, and look in what I hope is a respectable manner at my feet.
    "What the hell was that?" he hisses, and he steps close to me, so close I can taste the salami lining his breath.
    "I ... I don't know."
    "You know how much we pride ourselves on reputation here, Lia. And in one bloody morning—make that less than one hour, your family comes along and manages to embarrass not only me, but my paying customers in some of the worst ways imaginable!"
    "I'm sorry."
    "Sorry?" Tim throws his hands in the air. "Sorry isn't going to make people want to come back here again. Sorry isn't going to stop Mrs Evanova from filing a sexual harassment lawsuit, or selling her story to the papers, all pinpointing this cafe."
    "He's not related to me—"
    "Does it matter?" Tim sighs. "Your