Joe bawled him out for his slowness, popping into the kitchen every few minutes to make sure he wasn’t taking a break to breathe.
‘You wouldn’t have survived a day back in Malta, boy. I was up at five in the morning preparing food for my parents’ restaurant before I went to school and then all afternoon washing dishes and cleaning up when I got home! And I had to do my homework as well! I was top of the class too.’
Then why the f**k are you running a cafe? Reuben wiped the sweat from his face and plunged his hands into the hot washing-up water.
Joe pointed to the rubber gloves on the shelf above the sink. ‘Didn’t I already tell you to put those on?’
‘I can’t wear them, they give me a rash.’
He’d discovered it in prison, wearing rubber gloves on dishwashing duty. His hands had broken o
