‘But I didn’t want them to have to stand in a queue for an hour,’ I say.
‘You’re right, that line was ridiculous,’ PK says.
Of course, he’s been spying on us through the cameras. He was probably glued to the screen, taking petty little notes all weekend.
‘Well, given that it was your job,’ he says, ‘you should have been a lot better at checking them in.’
‘That’s a little harsh,’ I murmur.
‘It’s not harsh. It’s the professional reviewers’ judgement. We’ve spent all this money turning the hotel around, and it’s clear that the staff’s not up to the job. That’s why we’ve moved the new kitchen team in. The wait staff gets there tomorrow to start training.’
‘You’re replacing Janey and Cheryl?’ Rory asks.
‘Not replacing. Supplementing. You have to be on the ball for the opening, and clearly, you’re not.’ PK glares into the camera at us.
‘Rosie’s right, that is harsh,’ Curtis says. ‘What’s the matter with you, PK? Did you forget your pills?’
‘Why don’t you go back to the beach where you belong?’ PK snaps. ‘You couldn’t run a clam shack, let alone a hotel. Dad was right. The only reason you’re not living under your surfboard is because you were such a suck-up mama’s boy.’
‘Oh blah blah blah, you’ve always been an insecure little whiner. I’m sorry you can’t be dictator, but Mom gave us both the company to run. She wanted me here because you have no heart.’
‘And she wanted me here because you have no brain. I can’t wait to be rid of you,’ PK says ominously. Then, to us, he says, ‘I’ll fax all the feedback forms. I want every issue addressed before opening day. Every. Single. Issue.’
I’m seething, but I nod. I will get this hotel running smoothly, because I am a professional.
But I’m not about to sit back and let the Philanskys ride roughshod over us while I do it. ‘Get out, please,’ I tell Rory after the Skype call ends. ‘I need to make a call.’
The Council’s housing officer picks up on the first ring. His voice becomes friendlier when I explain who I am. Sure, he might be friendly now, but wait till he knows that our owners are trying to make more work for him and drive out the tenants that the Council has gone to all the trouble to place with us.
‘Yes, they’re three-year contracts,’ he confirms. ‘This was a first for me. I had no idea we had arrangements directly with housing providers. Usually the Council pays the benefit and the tenant signs the lease.’
‘From what I’ve heard, it started back in the nineties,’ I tell him. ‘The previous owner’s sister arranged it with the Council. She didn’t like the idea of tenants worrying about being evicted. The long-term leases just carried on from there. I guess it is unusual that the contracts are signed between us and the Council, though, rather than us and the tenants.’
‘Like I said, it’s a first for me,’ he says. ‘But it seems to work.’
‘Anyway, I’m ringing because there’s been a change you should know about.’
I explain the situation and the new rules that the Philanskys are trying to impose. The housing officer sounds as concerned as I am when he hears that the residents are being barred from most of the hotel. He doesn’t go quite so far as to promise to get a solicitor on it, but I think he will. I hope so.
Rory is waiting for me outside the office when I hang up. ‘That was the Council, I take it?’
‘It’s impolite to eavesdrop. They’re very concerned about these new rules.’
‘Rosie, you shouldn’t have told them. If PK finds out, he’ll fire you.’
‘I don’t care, let him. I’d rather be out of a job than see Lill and Miracle and Peter put out of their home.’ I shrug. ‘I’m losing my job anyway in a month, remember?’
Rory flinches.
The hotel officially opens tomorrow and almost everyone’s on edge. Except Chef, who’s gone to the pub with Lars, Ola and Per. It turns out that they’re not such chalk and cheese after all. Lars did his national service in the Swedish Army just before the country ended the programme, so he understands the way Chef’s mind works. Which is more than the rest of us can say. Chef might not like being pushed aside, but his training won’t let him disrespect the chain of command. Lars understands this. And Ola and Per, younger by several years, have worked with Lars for long enough to have that military mentality too.
At first I was surprised to hear the way Lars talked to Chef. I’d never dare do that, especially when he’s close to the knives. Lars doesn’t make suggestions. He makes commands, but he does it so reasonably that Chef doesn’t stab him with the potato peeler.
‘Is the coast clear, doll?’ Lill asks from the stairs.
‘All taped up,’ I tell her. We won’t be able to get away with our camera sabotage for much longer. The technicians have suggested to PK that the trouble lies with the users rather than the cameras. It’s only a matter of time before he figures out what we’re doing.
We really unleashed the glamourista in Lill when we told her about the new dress code. Even though it’s not applicable because, technically, she’s not here, she’s got on her pale-yellow gown tonight. It’s a sight not lost on the Colonel.
‘Good show, Lillian!’ he says.
‘Thank you,’ she says. She even goes to sit beside him. It’s not Armistice Day quite yet, but it feels like they’re making progress.
‘What can I get for you?’ Cheryl asks me.
‘You don’t have to make our drinks!’ I tell her. ‘Get yourself something and come sit down.’
She and Janey are out of their uniforms, though they’re still identically dressed in jeggings and tunic tops with sparkly black cardigans. As usual, Janey’s apple-green top is more subdued and Cheryl’s is a fun paisley. It’s been a hard few days for the friends. The new waitresses showed up, just like PK threatened, and they’ve been running the girls off their feet. The new women do know what they’re doing, though. They’re Swedish, like the new chefs, and they’ve been trained in posh food too. I didn’t even have to introduce them to Lars and his team when they turned up. They’d worked together before, which makes everything that much easier. Well, maybe not easier for Janey and Cheryl.
Tonight feels like the old days, when we all used to sit together in the evenings after my shift ended and the night receptionist was on the desk in the (very unlikely) event that a guest turned up. I’ve missed that lately, I realise.
I catch Lill’s eye as the Colonel reaches for her hand. She purses her lips, then smiles. Things look back to normal for them, and I’m glad.
I can’t say the same for Rory and me. The job hasn’t just come between us at the hotel. It keeps rearing its ugly head in our relationship too. I know that’s my fault, but I can’t help myself. Those snarky comments keep slipping out. If snarks were parps, I’d clear the room. The more I think about losing my job, the angrier I get. Not at Rory specifically. He’s collateral damage.
I’m doing my best to enjoy the evening, but we all know this is the calm before the category five hurricane. Tomorrow everything officially changes. We become a posh hotel – toilets, bidets and soft furnishings notwithstanding – and who knows how much time we have left to be together? I have no idea whether the Council really will challenge the hotel’s new rules. If they don’t, then the residents will have to live out their leases in their rooms while a whole new breed of guest has the run of the place. And I’ll be living out my job in the restaurant while Rory manages the hotel.
Chapter 23
I am on fire the morning of the opening. Every check-in has gone perfectly so far. I’m anticipating the guests’ requests before they even open their mouths. As much as I hate admitting it, having the reviewers here last week did sharpen my game. It’s amazing how hard you try when you’re scared you’re going to screw up at every turn.
Which probably means I’ve just jinxed myself and it’s all about to go pear-shaped.
I love seeing the hot
el alive with activity like this. It hasn’t happened often since I started here. We used to get the stag parties and hen dos a few years ago, and those were always lively. Chaotic but lively. Those guests were very forgiving. They were just grateful to have somewhere to stagger back to at the end of the night, and somewhere to nurse their hangover the next day.
I’ve got to give credit where it’s due. The Philanskys have managed to lure paying guests to a seaside hotel out of season. Maybe their idea of a destination hotel isn’t so daft after all. Though we won’t be competing with the Bahamas any time soon.
There’s no doubt that these guests have higher standards than usual. Just because they’re not critics doesn’t mean they’re any less critical but, so far, their only comments have been about the Miami-inspired decor. If the cushions and bidets are the worst thing they can find to nitpick about, then this isn’t going so badly.
I’m smiling broadly – dare I say confidently – when the next family arrives. They look pleasant enough. The children, a boy and a girl, around eight or nine, are clinging to each other and whispering as they follow their parents through reception. They’re red-haired like their mother, with her wide blue eyes, though her hair is a darker reddish-brown, cut spikey and short.
‘We’re checking in,’ she says. ‘O’Bannon. Dougie, stop that,’ she hisses, barely looking behind her when the girl starts whining. ‘For two nights.’ I catch the girl pinch Dougie. ‘Ow, Mum!’ he cries. The look she gives me behind her mother’s back is pure evil.
‘Dahlia, stop it, please.’ Mrs O’Bannon starts filling in the form I give her. ‘Have you booked our rooms beside each other?’ When I say yes, she says, ‘Couldn’t you put a room or two between us?’
‘Now, Colleen,’ her husband says. ‘The rooms will be fine, I’m sure.’
Dougie sends Dahlia to the floor with a punch straight to the middle of her chest. Whump!
At first, she can’t make a sound with the breath knocked out of her.
‘Oh, Dahlia!’ Her mother gathers her up. ‘Dougie! What have I told you about punching?’
Mr O’Bannon grabs Dougie hard by the shoulder. ‘You apologise to your sister right now.’ He positions his son in front of Dahlia, who’s managed to get enough breath to start crying.
‘Sorry,’ Dougie mumbles. His father is still holding him in front of Dahlia.
The girl’s foot comes up lightning-quick, catching Dougie right in the bollocks.
He slips from his father’s grip.
Now they’re both crying on the floor.
‘I’m so sorry about this,’ frazzled Mrs O’Bannon says. ‘They’ve been cooped up in the car.’ But she doesn’t look nearly as traumatised as I would be. In fact, she goes back to filling in the hotel form as if her children haven’t just assaulted each other in our reception.
‘Could you suggest some things for us to do here?’ she asks when I hand her their room keys. ‘Outside the hotel, I mean.’
Is she serious? She can’t be thinking of letting those two loose in the town. There’ll be a traffic incident or a mysterious slip into the sea within the hour.
‘Oh, well, we have an activities menu right here.’ Although I feel stupid calling it that. Such wanky management-speak when it’s just a bunch of A4 pages stapled together. ‘Depending on whether you’re interested in nature or history, culture, shopping?’
Or maybe a kickboxing ring?
It took us all quite a long time to come up with those lists after Curtis suggested the activities menu but, as I like him marginally more than his brother, I didn’t ignore him completely. Lill knows all there is to know about the clubs, bars and theatres, where guests can catch a band or an act or go dancing in town. But we were stuck on the other sections. The biggest natural attraction here is obviously the beach, which loses its allure when it’s freezing and rainy. We only have two museums and there are a few gardens dotted around. We’ve got loads of games arcades, but we’re pretty light on arts and culture that doesn’t ding and flash.
Then Peter remembered something. ‘What about TotallyLocally?’ he’d wondered. ‘Barry and I are listed on it. It’s for independent shops and businesses. You could list all those and make a big deal about them. I’m afraid it’s the best we’ve got.’
So, that’s what we did. ‘They’re all local shops,’ I tell the Mrs O’Bannon. ‘Antiques and housewares and there’s even a craft shop that does handmade quilts. It might not be something they’d want to do.’ I hope she’s not offended when I hoick my thumb at her family. ‘So they might enjoy one of the games arcades instead. If they like that sort of thing.’
‘You just saved my weekend. They’d love it. Thank you.’ She turns to her family. ‘Children, Mummy’s going shopping while Daddy takes you to the games arcade.’ Mr O’Bannon doesn’t look pleased with the arrangement, but he keeps quiet.
‘Well done there.’ Rory nods at the retreating O’Bannons as they make their way to the stairs.
‘Thanks. Plus, it’s all on tape in case the courts need evidence for any wrongful death inquiries later. Those children are scary. How’s breakfast going?’ Until I’m officially demoted next month – sorry, laterally moved – I’m still running the hotel and leaving the restaurant to Rory. Damn him, he doesn’t seem to mind.
‘Slick as spit, to quote Janey just now,’ he says. ‘Go see. Actually, it’s very impressive. I can cover the desk while you’re gone.’
‘Test-driving your upcoming job?’ I say.
‘Careful. You’ll cut your mouth on that tongue.’ But he’s smiling as he says this.
I’m the one with the problem. I know that. I just can’t seem to keep the snarky comments to myself. Eventually he’s going to get fed up. And it’ll serve me right.
The restaurant is still busy with guests having a late breakfast. Since we’re not serving lunch anymore, the Philanskys decreed that breakfast should run until 11.30. Chef just loves that.
‘It’s not enough that they’re gorgeous,’ Janey grumbles about the new waitresses when I ask how it’s going. ‘Of course they’d have to be perfect too.’
I’d love to make Janey feel better by disagreeing, but I must admit she’s right. Sofia is predictably blonde while Hanna has dark hair, but both still look Swedish – tall, long-legged and scarily competent, like they’d know how to butcher a moose and perform minor surgery while building a boat.
‘Are you two doing all right, though?’ I ask Cheryl and Janey. Because they’re the ones who matter to me.
‘Oh, yeah.’ Cheryl pulls a face. ‘So far they’ve had us fetching the serviettes and polishing the water glasses. Fetch and polish. Polish and fetch. We’re experts now.’
‘We could learn to do the actual service if we were given the chance,’ Janey says.
‘We won’t be given the chance,’ says Cheryl.
‘Oh yes, you will.’ I wave the women over. Their smiles never falter as I ask that they start training Janey and Cheryl for the dinner service.
‘See? Easy.’
‘Now I feel b–’ Cheryl starts to say.
‘Better!’ Janey cuts her off.
‘Good, and I do understand how you feel,’ I tell them. They’re not the only ones being sidelined. ‘I’d be cross too, but it’s okay now, right?’
There’s something building in my tummy, and it’s not just because I had breakfast hours ago. I can’t be sure, but it feels a lot like a sense of achievement. We haven’t fielded any complaints so far. Nobody has had coffee spilled over them or found anything unexpected in their porridge. The room keys work and aside from a little GHB between siblings, everybody seems happy. As I watch our guests having breakfast, just like they would in a real hotel that wasn’t Fawlty Towers, I realise how much I’ve missed this kind of buzz over the last few years. I kidded myself to think that this was just a job. Well, it might have been once, but not now. For the first time in years, I can glimpse my career again. It’s not straightforward yet, or out in the open, but I
can see it there behind a few obstacles.
So imagine how I feel when Rory comes storming into the hotel that evening. ‘I thought you were going home?’ I say. He did the early shift this morning.
‘Care to explain this?’ he says, waving the Scarborough News at me.
‘Well, if you’d hold it still so I can read it …’ I scan the short article. ‘I don’t understand.’ But the headline says it all: ‘Welcome to Hotel Apartheid’.
‘What the hell’s going on, Rosie?’
I don’t like the tone of that question. ‘Why are you asking me? And like that?’ Then the penny drops. ‘You don’t think I had anything to do with this?’ I’m torn between reading the article and defending my honour. My curiosity wins. I yank the paper from his hands.
The article claims that we’re barring the townspeople from the hotel, cancelling all the events and allowing only paying guests inside. They say we’ve cancelled ‘badly needed social events for the lonely and elderly’ – they must be talking about the bingo – and ‘charity work that feeds those in need’. The bring-a-dish buffet, I guess. We’ve also nixed ‘fundraising events for small but important charities’ – no idea what that is – and ‘closed down workspaces, jeopardising local businesses. That would be Paula’s Pooches.
Put like that, it does sound really bad. I should have known my smug feeling of achievement wouldn’t last.
‘Well, technically you can’t really disagree with any of it, can you?’ I say to Rory. ‘They say they’ve contacted the hotel but had no response. Did they ring you?’ He shakes his head. ‘Me neither. Will you stop looking at me like that?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like I was the one who grassed us up. I had nothing to do with this article.’ Although I did make threats, so I can’t be too indignant that Rory thinks I might have followed through.
‘Have you read the end yet?’
I’m just getting to it. ‘Well, it’s just stupid to call for a boycott. The people who live here never stay here, so they can’t boycott what they don’t buy in the first place. I’m sure that’s nothing to worry about.’
The Big Dreams Beach Hotel Page 21