Sleep. C.L. Taylor
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‘I can’t really. All the rooms have been allocated. We are a very small hotel and we can only accommodate eight—’
‘I’ll swap.’ A woman in her mid to late sixties, with white hair cut short at the sides and as curly as a sheep on the top, steps around Melanie. ‘If I’ve got a sea-view room.’
I search her face as she smiles warmly up at me.
‘That’s very kind of you.’ I return her smile. ‘What’s your name, please?’
‘Christine Cuttle.’
‘Like the fish?’ Malcolm comments.
‘Yes.’ Christine smiles tightly. She’s probably heard that a thousand times.
‘Thank you, Mrs Cuttle,’ I say. ‘I’ll just check the—’
‘Christine, please.’
‘Okay.’ I glance down at my screen. ‘You’re in luck,’ I tell Melanie. ‘Christine is down to take Room 1, which has a sea view.’
Melanie squeaks with joy and shares a look with her husband. She pauses and glances back at Katie. Her smile slips. ‘You won’t be next to us any more.’
Katie shrugs. If anything she looks slightly relieved.
‘She’s only across the corridor,’ I say. ‘It’s a small hotel, all the rooms are very close together.’
Melanie’s pinched expression slackens. ‘Do you mind, Katie? This is your break as much as ours.’
Again the young girl shrugs. ‘I don’t care about views.’
‘And you’re quite sure,’ Melanie says to Christine. ‘About swapping with us? You really don’t have to, you know.’
Oh yes you do, her face and her tightly curled hands say. You do now you’ve offered.
‘I’m more than happy,’ Christine says. ‘I could never grow tired of looking at that landscape. It’s so beautiful here.’ She returns her gaze to me. ‘You’re very lucky to live here.’
‘Yes,’ I nod. ‘I am.’
Having dispatched Christine, Melanie and Malcolm to their rooms I beckon the final guest, standing stiffly near the door, to approach reception. He avoids eye contact as he walks towards me, then draws to a halt about a foot from the desk. A loud crack of thunder breaks the silence, making both of us jump. Two seconds later lightning tears through the dark sky beyond the window, and the rain, which has been falling lightly for the last hour or so, suddenly buckets down.
I laugh. ‘Welcome to Rum!’
The guest keeps his gaze fixed on the shiny expanse of desk that separates us. He’s younger than the others, I’d guess late thirties. His dark hair is thick and curly but it’s receding either side of his widow’s peak. Though he’s of average build his face is strangely fleshy, all cheeks and chin, with a long, wide nose. His eyes blink rapidly beneath the sheen of his wireless glasses.
‘Trevor Morgan.’ He holds out a hand and I raise mine to shake it.
‘No.’ He slaps his palm against the desk. ‘The key.’
‘Oh.’ I glance at the laptop, then twist round to the key rack. ‘You’re in Room 2, at the back of the hotel. If you go—’
‘I’ll find it, thank you.’ As he takes the key from my outstretched hand his eyes meet mine. He couldn’t have looked at me for more than a second, but the uncomfortable tightening in my chest lasts long after he slips silently up the stairs.
Fifteen minutes later, the front door opens and David strides in with a man and a woman around my age, both wearing rucksacks. The man’s tall, with a long hipster beard and dark hair, shaved around the sides and long and swept back on the top. The woman’s about five foot five with blonde wavy hair, a sturdy physique and a scowl on her face. Her expression couldn’t be more different from the man’s. He positively beams at me as he crosses the lobby, his heavy boots reverberating on the polished wooden floor.
‘Joe Armstrong.’ He holds out a hand. ‘You must be Anna. David told us all about you.’
I shake his hand and return his smile. ‘Has he now?’
‘All good!’ David calls as he hangs his coat on a hook. ‘Well … mostly.’
‘Fiona Gardiner.’ The blonde woman squeezes herself between Joe and the wall.
‘Nice to meet you.’ I offer her my hand and she shakes it firmly.
‘Okay … um …’ I tap at the keyboard. The system is showing that they’ve been allocated separate rooms. ‘Mr Armstrong, it says here that you’re in Room 6, which has a view of the mountains. Ms Gardiner you’re in Room 3, with a view of the sea.’ I look back up at the guests. ‘You’re welcome to choose which of those rooms you’d like. I can cancel the second room. You won’t be charged twice, there’s obviously been some kind of mistake in the booking.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Joe Armstrong looks at me blankly. ‘I’m not sure I understand.’
Fiona gives me an equally confused look and I feel the colour rise in my cheeks. David, heading into the dining room, chuckles as he opens the door. He knows exactly what I’ve done.
‘I thought you were a couple,’ I explain. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just when you walked in together I assumed—’
‘Oh, God, no!’ Joe laughs heartily then catches the hurt look on Fiona’s face and quickly corrects himself. ‘Not that … Fiona’s lovely. I’m sure you’d make a wonderful girlfriend but …’ He runs a hand over his hair. ‘We’re not a couple. We don’t know each other. We only got chatting on the dock.’
‘It’s my fault, sorry.’ I shoot Fiona an apologetic look. ‘I’m new. I haven’t worked on reception before.’
‘Right.’ The edges of her lips rise but it’s more of a grimace than a smile. She holds out her hand. ‘If I could just have my key?’
‘Of course.’ I hand her the key to Room 3 and Joe the key to Room 6.
‘Can I take that for you?’ Joe says as Fiona adjusts her rucksack.
‘No, thank you,’ she says tightly. ‘I’m quite capable of carrying it myself.’
I turn back to the laptop as they plod their way up the stairs, Fiona leading and Joe following behind. As their footsteps reverberate on the guest corridor above my head, David pops his head out of the dining room door.
‘Sorry,’ he says with a laugh. ‘I could have corrected you but where would the fun be in that?’ His eyes flick towards the top of the staircase. ‘We’ve got a few interesting personalities this week. I think they’re going to keep us on our toes.’