I stare at her, fully-fledged flames of panic now licking at my insides. No, no, no! How am I supposed to carry out an anonymous inspection without a room?
‘What do you mean, double-booked?’ I echo, as if I didn’t know. It happens all the time, of course. But that it has happened now, of all times, is a disaster for the manager of the Old Bell Inn. I can already hear Susan the Sacker sharpening her knives. And to think I had made the booking and double-checked it myself.
Laura scrunches her mouth regretfully. ‘There has been a mistake. All of our rooms are booked.’
Only five hours ago, when we started off, Danny and I were singing Christmas carols and making a list of things to do on our break-away holiday, as our car dashed o’er hill and dale, just like in the best of Christmas stories. And now we’re roomless? And how can that even be possible? Part of the very problem of this establishment is due to the excessive amount of cancellations, and now suddenly they’re overbooked?
As the herd of loud girls burst through the doors and shuffle up to the desk, demanding her attention, Laura turns her head and bites her lip, obviously torn between duty and sentiment. I’d been there myself, years ago, during training – wanting to do my duty, but not having a clue how to do so. It’s not an easy job at the best of times. But when something like this happens? There should always be a spare room.
Laura jerks her head towards the girls. ‘I really am sorry, Ms Anderson, but we’ve just filled the house with last-minute bookings. We were pretty much empty before that.’
You don’t say? I rub my eyes. ‘Never mind. Can you please get your manager, so we can sort it out?’ I might as well grab the bull by the horns and get started here if I want to save his job.
She looks at me like a deer trapped in headlights. I dart my eyes to the crowd of cackling girls sporting sparkly pink tiaras, stopping to take selfies and screeching at the top of their lungs, looking like Playboy bunnies. The girls are already, by the looks of it, just one rum and Coke away from tearing the house down. It seems that the reviews weren’t too much off the mark after all.
Laura’s face falls. ‘The manager? Oh, uhm… he’s… not available at the moment, I’m afraid.’
Not available? What else could he possibly be doing instead of working, accepting a Nobel prize? ‘What about the assistant manager?’ I ask.
Laura bites her lip. ‘She’s… unavailable as well.’
Oh, shit, shit, shit. I can’t write any of this in my report. Head Office will shut them down immediately. ‘Head of Reception?’ I try, as a last resort.
She smiles apologetically. ‘That’s me for now, I’m afraid.’
For now? What the blooming heck is going on here?
Laura leans forward. ‘You seem to have caught us at a busy time.’
I sigh inwardly. Despite myself, I like Laura already because she seems to have her heart in the right place, but she is totally, completely clueless, as if someone had parachuted her down and she’d landed smack-dab in the middle of all this mess. And Susan will be calling me any minute for an update. That woman’s got me so by the throat, I wouldn’t put it past her having a tracking device on my car and maybe even a listening device linking my mobile to hers or something as outrageous as that. I see that I’ll have to report the truth or they’ll be dead in the water before I even get a chance to start. Think, Rosie, think!
‘Look,’ I say. ‘It doesn’t matter about the family suite. I’ll take anything you’ve got.’
Laura turns white. ‘But… I haven’t got anything…’
‘Come on, Laura, it’s company policy to always keep one room available.’
She blinks. ‘It is?’
Uh-oh, almost gave myself away there. ‘I’m assuming so. Lots of hotels do.’
‘I’m sorry, but I just don’t have anything left.’
I hate to resort to emotional blackmail, but I’ve no choice at this stage. How else to get what I need without blowing my cover and, consequently, their entire business? I turn to glance at Danny, who’s still leafing quietly through his magazine, oblivious to everything around him. ‘Laura, you see that little boy over there?’
‘Yeah?’
‘That’s my son, Danny. His birthday is on Christmas Eve. And by the way, I’m a single mother.’
Laura glances at him regretfully, wringing her hands, at a loss for words, and, more importantly, a solution. ‘I’m so sorry, Ms Anderson, but I honestly don’t know how to help you…’
What am I going to do now?
To make a mock of our misery, yet another posse of girls traipses in, only these ones are wearing hairbands with red devil horns. Indeed, two wild hen parties at the same time. Ouch. Talk about giving the place some Christmas cheer, let alone some tone.
‘Oh, I know! I could make some calls for you, to a nearby hotel?’ Laura suggests.
What other choice have I got? We’ve been travelling for hours and I’ve got to get Danny settled in somewhere. ‘Please do, Laura.’
She’s realised that this problem isn’t going to solve itself, and nods, grateful for a momentary breather.
Danny looks up from his magazine. ‘Are we not getting a room, Mum?’
The resignation on his face, and the quiet acceptance in his voice make my heart ache. For years he’s watched as his friends got absolutely everything and then some, as their fathers took them to football games, while I dashed home just in time to take him out to the local park for a measly kick-about. And when I say kick-about, I mean Danny kicking the ball at me and me chasing after it, much to his amusement. It was all I could offer financially and time-wise, due to the double shifts I often pulled to make ends meet. And then there were all the holidays abroad I couldn’t take him on. While his classmates were going to France and Spain, and a lucky few even to Disneyworld, I’d head up to Birmingham to my parents’ place. And this Christmas, he doesn’t even get to see them.
Of course, Mum’s right when she says that moving back home would solve three-quarters of my problems. And if I don’t accomplish this hotel miracle, I just might have to.
I take another look around, just as my old friend, Mr Irish Charm, saunters up to Reception, sheer arrogance clinging to him like a second skin. He plonks his bag down onto the counter and pulls out a pile of documents. You’d think he might be able to wait for his turn. Or acknowledge the fact that I was here first.
Just look at the arrogant bastard, so full of himself, standing around as if he owns the place. As much as it would serve him right, I hope he hasn’t been double-booked as well. Because that would really dig a bigger hole for the inn and Susan would be all over the issue like a bloodhound.
When he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, he scratches his six o’clock beard with impatience and begins pushing everything to one side to start the search all over again. Finally, exasperated, he turns to Laura. ‘I need the invoice for Master Clean Company. They say we haven’t paid them yet, but I remember we did.’
Oh, good grief. I should’ve guessed he works here. It makes sense, in a twisted sort of way.
‘Okay, I’ll have a look,’ Laura answers, then eyes me. ‘We’ve, uhm, got a bit of a problem, Mitchell.’
Mitchell? As in Mitchell Fitzpatrick, the actual manager of this nuthouse? Good God, it’s worse than I’d feared. Imagine if he spoke to all his guests the way he spoke to me. No wonder there’s been such an issue with occupancy rates if that’s the greeting everyone gets. With someone like him at the helm, the inn truly is doomed.
‘What is it?’ he asks, not looking up from the invoices, his dark brows knitted in concentration.
‘We’ve overbooked a guest.’
‘Send them to the Coach and Four.’
Gosh, how many of the golden rules of the trade have these two broken in the space of a few minutes? Never, ever discuss guests as if they aren’t there. And never, ever… oh, never mind.
My mobile sings ‘You’re my Best Friend’. It’s Liz, Head of Accounts at Head Office, and also, as the tune implies, my BFF, so I step outside for a moment, still able to see Danny through the window as he leafs through his magazine.
The first thing I hear when I answer is the tapping of her keyboard. It feels strange to be away from the office while most people haven’t broken for Christmas yet. ‘How’s it going, doll?’ she says.
‘Ugh. Don’t ask. Susan’s already called me a dozen times. I still don’t understand why she didn’t send you. You’re the Accounts Manager.’
‘It’s not a question of balancing so much as the guy’s reputation. So, what’s he like?’
‘He’s the rudest man I’ve ever met. He even said I was a horrible mother.’
‘What?’
‘Well, not literally, but that’s what he intended.’
‘Don’t listen to him. He sounds like a real bastard.’
‘And we’ve been double-booked. There are literally no rooms left.’
‘Looks like the reviews weren’t biased after all. Have you tried around in the area?’
‘Laura – the receptionist – is trying, but so far nothing.’
‘And you can’t even pull rank or the whole operation blows.’
‘Pull rank? He’s a manager, I’m only an assistant manager.’
‘Yes, but you’re from the mother hotel.’
‘As if that makes a difference. Not with someone like him.’
‘Forget about him a minute. How’s my boy?’
I eye Danny who is one of the only children I know who doesn’t fidget. He is perfectly capable of sitting still and staying put if you ask him to. ‘Danny is just happy to be out of the house.’
More typing. ‘Yeah? Did you remember to pack my pressies for him?’
‘Of course. I’ll make sure he calls you on Christmas morning.’
‘Okay, doll. You take care and keep me posted.’
‘I will, Liz. Bye.’
I hang up and return to Reception to watch Laura and Mitchell faffing around. When I can’t take it anymore, I clear my throat and approach them, resting my elbows on the counter to draw his attention. Because this is the only kind of behaviour that he understands, I can already tell. And in fact, it takes him a few lazy moments, but he finally looks up. And that’s when his face falls.
‘Uh, Mitchell,’ Laura says, clearing her throat. ‘This is Ms Rosie Anderson, the guest who was double-booked.’
‘Oh,’ he says, deflated. ‘You.’
Yeah, I’m not that happy with you, either, I’m thinking, but I merely say, ‘I’d like to speak to you, please.’
His right eyebrow shoots up, and his mouth twitches in an effort to not scowl at me again. But when he speaks, his voice – finally – is drenched with professionalism. ‘Ms. Anderson, we’re terribly sorry, and we’re going to make it up to you.’
Now we’re talking.
‘So we’re offering you and your son a complimentary weekend…’
Good, good…
‘…in the New Year.’
The New Year? Is he taking the Mick? I know he’d give an arm and a leg not to have to deal with me – the feeling’s mutual. His lovely inn may be actually perched on a breath-takingly beautiful cliff, but he has no idea that it’s just about to take a dive straight into it, with him in the front seat. God, how I want to call Susan up and resign this very instant. And move to the Bermuda Triangle, which has seen fewer disasters than this place.
‘I’m sorry, but I don’t want a complimentary room in the New Year, or any other weekend. I’ve booked for a very merry Christmas.’
For a brief flash, his eyes crinkle in amusement, but he catches himself and turns to Laura. I can only hope he’s going to do something to save his ass, because the ball’s in his court now.
He’s already got a very narrow margin to redeem himself, and what does he do?
‘Call the youth hostel, see if they can give her a bed somewhere,’ he suggests, once again, as if I’m not even there. Then he remembers I actually am, and turns to me. ‘Sorry for the lad. More than you think. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before bringing him.’ And with that, he turns his back on me, leaving me definitely homeless – and pretty soon jobless.
What am I supposed to do, let him ruin himself, and my career, not to mention my son’s Christmas-slash-birthday? It’s too much, even for me.
‘Hey! Mr Manners!’ I call after him, scaring even myself. When have I ever, ever raised my voice at anyone, let alone on the job? But he seems to be bringing out the worst in me today. ‘I’ve got a little boy whose Christmas will be ruined if you don’t help me out here.’
He stops in his tracks, his back straightening, his arms tensing, and when he turns around, his dark eyebrows are lowered in an ominous scowl. Again, he slaps his invoices down onto the counter. Basil Fawlty couldn’t have done it better. He takes a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, Ms, uhm…?’
I huff. He’s even got the memory of a goldfish. ‘Anderson. Rosie Anderson.’
The muscles of his jaw twitch and he opens his mouth to retort as if he doesn’t even like my name, but then glances at Danny and then at Laura. ‘You sure you’ve tried everywhere?’
Laura nods regretfully, sliding me a sympathetic look.
He runs a hand through his mop of dark curls. ‘What about The Duck and Pig? Or some place in Penworth Ford or Wyllow Cove? Have you tried them?’
Laura bites her lip and nods. ‘I’ve tried everywhere, Mitchell, but everything’s booked.’
Now I finally understand how Joseph and Mary must have felt after being turned down by every inn in Bethlehem.
‘Mum?’ Danny is now at my side, tugging at my hand. ‘I’m hungry. When can we eat?’
I curse myself. Not only does the bloke think I’m a distracted mother, now he’ll think I’m a neglectful one as well.
He kneels down to Danny, instantly defrosted in his manner. ‘Tell you what, mate,’ he says. ‘We’ll offer you a lovely dinner tonight – with a special dessert – while we try to get you sorted. How does that sound?’
Danny grins and nods. ‘Thank you, sir.’
Mitchell Fitzpatrick grins back. ‘Good lad.’
I nod. ‘Thank you. That will do – for a start.’
His head snaps up as our eyes meet. With the look he gives me, you’d think I was sent here to kill his first-born. Good thing he doesn’t know who I really am, and that I’ve been sent to practically terminate him.
‘Yeah, well that figures…’ he grumbles, scoops up his papers once again and heads out into the hall, shaking his head with evident disdain.
And then my mobile rings. Susan. God, doesn’t she have a life of her own?
‘Susan, hi,’ I say breezily.
‘Are you settled in yet?’ she barks.
‘Just about,’ I lie. How to tell her my little boy and I are still standing in the lobby, starved, exhausted and parched, without so much as a glass of water offered to us? And no bed in sight, unless we’re willing to spend the night in a youth hostel?
‘What does that mean?’ she wants to know. ‘Have you started your evaluation or not? Have you even read the Inspector’s Manual?’
Jesus, her and her manual. Does this woman never chill?
‘As a matter of fact, I have,’ I lie again.
‘Right. What’s it looking like, then?’
‘It’s a beautiful place,’ I defend.
‘I know that,’ she bites off. ‘Otherwise it wouldn’t be one of our hotels, would it?’
‘No, of course not,’ I say.
‘Staff?’
Completely non-existent, although Laura has done her best, bless her. ‘Very kind and helpful.’
‘Manager?’
Better off without him. ‘Very… professional.’
‘Assistant manager?’
Yikes. ‘In… transition.’
A tapping on her keyboard. Is she seriously doing this while on holiday? ‘Oh, that’s right. She left a year ago and hasn’t been replaced yet. This is unacceptable.’
Ah, so that’s the reason he’s acting like an arse. He’s one man down, and during the holidays, to boot. And Susan didn’t know about it. Am I a horrible person if that makes me smile?
‘They are in the process of hiring a new one,’ I lie, trying to hide the relish of catching her out. I don’t want her giving me payback one day.
‘So who’s doing her job then?’
Terrific question. My guess is Absolutely No One. Laura and Mitchell barely seem able to do their own jobs.
‘The manager. I’m told he’s always here.’
‘By whom?’
‘Staff.’
‘Gossip?’
‘None.’ But I’m keeping my ears open.
‘I don’t believe that.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘All staff gossip.’
‘Well, all I’ve seen so far is the utmost respect for him.’
‘What’s he like?’
‘Like?’
‘Yes, Rosie. I need to know more about him.’
Then why the hell doesn’t she read his records? Or come out here instead of sending me? And beside the fact that he is a piece of work, and well, come to think of it, kind of easy on the eye, what else is there to know?
Mitchell Fitzpatrick has returned to the lobby, carrying an even larger sheaf of invoices, his head held high. Just the sight of him makes me want to smack him.
‘Is he up to par?’
I stare at him as he shoves the disorderly sheaf of invoices into his jacket and strides past me without so much as a glance while giving Danny, for no reason at all, a high five. Is it his natural gift to be so unnerving, or is it just me?
I’m seriously thinking of leaving him to his own devices, and see how he likes it in shits-ville. It’s just not worth it, lying to Susan, thus risking my job just to save someone who doesn’t even deserve it.
‘Up to par?’ I echo. More like a jerk. ‘Oh, extremely.’
‘Good. Well, I expect regular reports from you about everything – the kitchen, the cleaning staff, et cetera.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
And she hangs up as usual without saying goodbye, just like they do in the movies.