Like a bat, Andrew Tiller used the sound of his own voice to navigate and understand the world he lived in. Just walking upstairs to the room Michael rented required at least a hum, if not a whistle. And should a member of staff have crossed his path then all manner of longwinded instructions would have issued forth irrespective of whether they were necessary or not. The times he changed bed sheets Andrew spoke out loud the mantra for tucking hospital corners that his mother had taught him as a boy. During breakfast he liked to repeat everyone’s order verbatim as he delivered dishes to their tables. And checking in a new guest sparked an entire routine about Battery Point: the history of the house; how long it had been in Andrew’s family; the day’s weather forecast; the likelihood of it coming true; tourism services; when breakfast was served; the rules against smoking, having parties, smoking, leaning out windows, smoking, slamming doors; water conservation; wiping your feet, and how it was not necessary to tip for service as everything had been factored into the price of the room. But all this came second to walking and talking, hands free, on his mobile phone. Regardless of appearing like a madman – gesturing and conversing with no one in sight – Andrew enjoyed nothing better than strolling into the city while communicating with friends, family, suppliers and even tradesmen. It did not matter what the topic was, just so long as his arms and legs were working at the same time as his lips and tongue. It gave Andrew a sense of moving forward and sorting things out, fixing problems and avoiding mistakes. He felt powerful and in charge: ready to take on the world; make money; exceed expectations; prove the doubters wrong; buck the system; turn a corner, rise to the top and take a bow. At night, alone in his room, when the staff had gone home and all the guests were tucked in, and it was too late to call anyone, Andrew talked to his TV. Told game show contestants to choose number three if they wanted to win a million dollars; castigated politicians for avoiding the question, and warned movie stars that the serial killer was about to jump out and grab them. His favourites, however, were reality TV shows. Because the people were not actors it seemed more like a genuine conversation. So when they failed to prepare food the way he suggested, or chose a tasteless renovation, voted the wrong person off an island, or ignored someone’s obvious musical talent, Andrew could feel even more superior. At bedtime he tuned his clock radio to a local talkback station, then effortlessly drifted off to sleep while the low hum of conservative vitriol floated about his room. When the alarm went off at 5.30am Andrew sometimes did think of when his wife had been around to help. But Betty was not much of a talker, and could never fall asleep if the radio was on, so it was probably wise they had decided to divorce. She remarried soon after and moved to Howrah on the Eastern Shore. The last time they had seen one another was across a crowd in the Cat and Fiddle Arcade. Both had waved without stopping to avoid discussing the swollen stomach so obvious beneath Betty’s clothes. Her baby must be a year old by now, assumed Andrew as he stood outside Michael’s room.
He knocked, just in case, looked left and right, then took out his master keys. Everything was as Andrew had suspected, including the stale scent of cigarette smoke that permeated the room even with a window left open. The carpet just below was damp with rain, and Andrew felt an internal conflict between his desire to avoid further damage and the risk of Michael noticing that someone had entered his room during his absence. The B&B proprietor sneered at the chocolate wrappers in the waste paper basket, and shook his head at the soiled underpants on the bathroom floor. This was no way for a guest to behave. There were marks on furniture that were never supposed to have hot cups placed on top of them, and all the doilies his grandmother had crocheted were curiously missing. He found them stuffed into a drawer with the ornaments that usually stood along the mantlepiece; then registered how the three watercolours had all been turned towards the wall. It was as if Michael had rejected everything in the room that was beautiful. Still, Andrew had what he needed. More than enough evidence to deny a continuation of the discount rate should Michael ask to stay another month. In light of the repairs the carpet and furniture would require, Andrew thought he was well within his rights to charge peak season rates. No smoking meant no smoking.