by Lisa Nicol
At another table Vincent spotted the D’Silvas. They were having breakfast with a guest who was still wearing his pyjamas. Vincent realised it was Mr Cash, the busy businessman. Despite the D’Silvas having turned their noses up at them yesterday, scampering about on the table were five pocket dogs running amok. The boys were feeding them bits of toast and bacon and pouring water into an empty butter dish so they could have a drink. Vincent scanned the table. Not a single phone in sight!
There was something else different about the D’Silvas too.
Aha, thought Vincent. It’s their ski-jump noses!
Yesterday they were a steep black run and this morning they were more like a gentle beginner’s slope. But how is that possible? Then again he was eating breakfast with a giraffe. How was anything at The Grand possible?
As he strained to get a better look, Rupert arrived at the D’Silvas’ table.
‘Ah morning, everyone! I see your midnight delivery of pocket dogs arrived safe and sound. So glad you changed your mind.’ The three D’Silva boys agreed, and cooed at their fluffy friends in those high-pitched voices people use when they speak to babies. ‘Ha wo, wittle fellwa! You da cooooodest puppy ever, squidgy-midgey, give me a kissy!’ The pocket dogs licked the D’Silva boys all over their faces.
‘Ah, Rupert,’ said Mr Cash, ‘I’ve called the office. Turns out they can get by without me for a while, so I was wondering if I could extend my stay? Perhaps for a month? Maybe two?’
‘Of course! Stay as long as you like. We never rrr-run out of rrr-rooms at The Grand.’
‘No work for a month. That sounds like a cause for celebration. Maybe we should stay too!’ said Mr D’Silva, wildly. He stood up and threw his arms in the air. ‘Champagne for everyone. On me!’
The breakfast room erupted in cheers.
Mr D’Silva sat back down again. ‘Just whack it on my bill, will you, Rups, and make sure it’s the good stuff!’
‘Of course, Mr D’Silva.’
‘And what time did you say those sloth classes were on again?’ inquired Mr Cash.
‘“Find Your Inner Sloth” classes start sometime around three. But they often begin late – as you’d expect. Sloths are not known for punctuality,’ said Rupert.
Everyone laughed – Mr and Mrs D’Silva, their three boys and Mr Cash.
‘Rrr-right you are then! Everything seems to be going grandly.’ Rupert rubbed his hands together with glee. ‘I’ll be at the front desk if you need anything. Enjoy your day, everyone.’
Rupert loved nothing more than happy guests. He sashayed off, back stepping and leaping every few metres or so as if he had a dance bottled up inside and someone had given him a mighty good shake.
‘Morning. Sorry I’m late, Vincent.’ Florence sat down with two slices of tomato toast and a cup of tea. ‘The Aquatic Room sprung a leak. The plumber’s only just found it.’
Vincent, with a mouthful of waffle, made a noise that sounded like ‘moew-ring’. A bit of chewed up blueberry fell onto his plate.
Florence laughed. ‘You remembered!’
‘Mer-rembered what?’ (My co-author has requested I don’t describe what Vincent’s mouth full of chewed up blueberry waffle looked like and I have agreed.)
‘A window table! It’s just not breakfast at The Grand if you don’t get dribbled on by a giraffe.’
Vincent smiled. He let out a loud, grumbly burp. ‘BWERP!’
Florence sniffed the air. ‘Blueberry and elderflower! My favourite. Looks like you’re getting the hang of The Grand.’
Florence had barely a bite of her tomato toast before declaring she needed to get cracking. She took a slurp of tea. ‘Come on, I’ll show you where you’re working.’
When they reached the lobby Florence took Vincent by the arm. ‘Close your eyes.’
Vincent could hear the excitement in her voice. He felt it too, mixed in with a good dose of first-day nerves.
‘Okay, you can look now.’
Vincent opened his eyes.
He was stunned. Expecting to see a small space where he could set down his box and stool, instead he saw a luxurious, specially designed red shoeshine chair. Sitting on a platform so the shoe mounts were just the right height for polishing shoes, Vincent thought it looked fit for a king!
Florence ran to the wall and flicked a switch. Above the chair, a large green neon sign buzzed on: SHOESHINE it said, and dangling from the last ‘E’ were a pair of neon boots.
She clambered up onto the platform and sat in the chair. ‘What do you think?’
Vincent put down his Pa’s box and stool. ‘Wow! It’s so … grand.’
Vincent marvelled at the chair. It was so beautiful and cleverly designed he worried if his shoeshining skills would be impressive enough to match it.
‘Oh, I almost forgot,’ said Florence, racing off. She returned carrying a large bag over her arm.
‘What’s that?’ he asked.
‘Have a look.’
Vincent unzipped the bag and pulled out a bright blue suit.
‘Oh my goodness,’ he whispered, ‘a suit.’
‘It’s your uniform. Look at the pockets,’ insisted Florence.
Above the right top pocket and stitched in red running writing was Vincent’s name. And in the left was a special The Grandest Hotel on Earth notepad and pen.
‘For orders. And all those wonderful shoe design ideas you told me about.’
Vincent was speechless.
‘Have a look at the back.’
He twirled the jacket round. Embroidered in yellow and white was a magnificent scene of the hotel surrounded by snow-capped mountains and beneath it the hotel catchphrase: ‘Everyone deserves a bit of grand.’
‘Put it on!’ said Florence, excitedly.
Beside the chair Vincent had his own bathroom. He took off his clothes and slipped on the suit. It was a perfect fit. Vincent had never worn a suit before. He barely recognised himself. He ran his hands down the sleeves that went all the way to his wrists. The material was so soft and luxurious.
‘Come out,’ cried Florence. So Vincent did. ‘Wow! You look like a million bucks!’
And he felt it too. Before putting on his uniform he had been ordinary, eleven-year-old Vincent from Barry. But now he felt completely different. Suddenly he felt like someone important. Suddenly he was the shoeshine boy at The Grandest Hotel on Earth!
Vincent wanted to do a good job so badly. He stood up tall, straight as he could beside his red leather chair. Standing up straight was somehow easier in a suit.
‘I guess I’ll just wait for my first customer.’
‘How about you practise on me! My boots are always in need of a polish,’ suggested Florence, diving back into the chair. She had a million other things to do, but right now she was having so much fun. She’d forgotten what it was like to have a friend her own age.
Vincent rummaged around in his pa’s box and to his surprise he immediately found a pot of emerald polish – exactly the same green as Florence’s boots. It seemed there was no end to the magic of his pa’s shoe-cleaning kit.
‘These are amazing!’ said Vincent, turning Florence’s boots over in his hands.
‘I know. I don’t think I could do my job without them. Bach and flashing lights somehow make everything seem possible.’
Vincent removed the lights and checked each and every bulb was working. He examined the electrical circuits and rewired one of the speakers in the heel. And then he polished and brushed the boots till they shined like new.
As Vincent applied the finishing touches, another guest arrived with a pair of trainers in desperate need of some love and for the rest of the day Vincent was so busy he barely had time to look up. He polished guests’ shoes and boots till they gleamed like new. He repaired their favourite high heels and put the bounce and pizzazz back into the fanciest of sneakers. He even found a spray in his grandfather’s box that got rid of foul odours and made every pair of shoes smell so good you’d be happy to drink sou
p out of them.
CHAPTER 9
NOT THE BEST GLASSES
When Vincent arrived home, he couldn’t wait to tell his family all about The Grand and his first day as a shoeshine boy.
Rose was sitting in the gutter out the front with cottonwool between her toes and a pot of bright red nail polish.
‘Hi Rose, I mean, Marilyn.’
She groaned a long theatrical groan, then rolled her eyes back into her head till they were nothing but white. The whole world was a stage to Rose, even the gutter.
‘What’s up?’
‘I’m sick of classical music, that’s what. It’s been going all day. It’s not fair. I never get to listen to my music EVER.’
‘Is Thom having a bad day?’
Rose screwed up her nose. ‘Does he have good ones? Mum tried to get him to eat spaghetti. I don’t know why she doesn’t just give up. He’s never going to eat anything but eggs.’
‘What did he do?’
‘Oh, you know. The usual,’ said Rose, painting her toenails and trying to sound as if she didn’t care. ‘He chucked the bowl of spaghetti at the wall and then climbed up on top of the kitchen cupboards and threw Mum’s best glasses onto the floor.’
‘Not the wedding ones from Aunty Ada?’
‘Yep. Then she yelled at me to go outside in case I got glass in my feet. If you go in there now, she’ll probably yell at you too. Better stay out here. Then you can’t get into trouble.’ Rose leapt to her heels, toes in the air so as not to wreck the polish. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to talk about Thom. Did you meet any big-time movie producers? Did you give them my card?’
‘No, but I met an eagle hunter from Mongolia. His eagle was this big!’ Vincent held his hands out to show Rose how big. ‘He held it in his arms like a sleeping baby while I repaired the yak fur inside his boots!’
Rose looked unimpressed. ‘What about movie stars? Did you meet any of those?’
‘No. But I did fix crampon spikes for a scientist from Antarctica who …’
Rose’s attention evaporated at ‘no’. She thought a scientist from Antarctica was about as interesting as an end-of-year assembly when they hand out the awards to the same kids who always get the awards. BORING!
‘Vincent!’ He turned to see his dad walking down the street. ‘How did you go?’
‘Dad!’ Vincent ran and gave his father a hug. ‘It’s unbelievable. It’s like an African game park meets Disneyland meets Shangri-la!’ Not that Vincent had been to an African game park or Disneyland or Shangri-la, obviously.
‘Great,’ scowled Rose. ‘I’m stuck at home, listening to rubbish Shostakovich for the ten-millionth time and you’re in African Disneyland.’ She pulled her cape up and over her head. ‘This is going to be the LONGEST BUMMER SUMMER EVER.’
SMASH!
‘THOM!’
The three of them turned towards the house.
‘Sounds like your mother needs me.’
Vincent’s father looked weary as he walked up the front steps and went inside.
Vincent followed.
Rose started counting. ‘One, two, three, four, five …’
‘DON’T COME IN HERE, VINCENT! YOU’LL JUST SPREAD GLASS ALL THROUGH THE HOUSE. GO OUTSIDE, WILL YOU!’
Vincent walked back outside.
‘Told you.’
He sat down on the front steps and wondered how many more hours till he could return to The Grandest Hotel on Earth. The Mirrors of the Future Room glowed in his mind’s eye like his neon shoeshine sign. He wanted to know if that room really could answer those questions. He wanted to know if the way his family had become was the way his family would always be. Right now, if the room could tell him, Vincent thought he’d walk right in.
CHAPTER 10
A GRAND FAMILY
Every morning, Vincent could barely wait to get back to the hotel. He flew out of bed, dressed in seconds, ate breakfast on the run and brushed his hair on the bus. Everyone who worked at The Grand was treated like family and what a wonderful big family it was. There were twenty-seven back scratchers, thirty-nine professional flyswatters, ninety-three pooper-scoopers, forty chefs, twenty bakers, ten chocolatiers, ninety-seven window cleaners, thirteen zoologists, two cobweb hunter and removers (they never destroyed a web, just moved it elsewhere), nine mechanics, twenty-eight foot masseurs, twelve dog walkers, one herpetologist who took care of the turtles and the lizards in the Lizard Lovers Room, seventy-seven gardeners, fifty sweet souls who turned down the beds at night and left chocolates on the pillows, fifty-eight comedians, three lepidopterists who looked after the butterflies, one sloth master – ’cause quite frankly sloths can take excellent care of themselves, seven professional card and backgammon players, nineteen baby whisperers, fourteen wilderness experts, thirty-two sets of willing-to-stand-in grandparents, one-hundred-and-one wandering minstrels, fifty baristas, four full orchestras and nine professional huggers. And then of course there was Florence and Rupert and Zelda and Dr Maaboottee. And now, Vincent.
According to Florence everyone who worked at The Grand was valued equally for their particular skill. But far and away the most famous workers were the lobby cleaners – Luz and Tracee. You see Luz and Tracee had discovered that the best way to clean the lobby was to slide across it at high speed with rags on their feet. Or dance. For one, it was much less boring that way, and two, they covered a lot of floor quickly. They were always up to date on the very latest styles. And at night they held dance classes in the Transatlantic Ballroom where they taught guests how to ‘crump’ and do the ‘signal the plane’ or the ‘throw them bones’. The most popular new dance at The Grand was the ‘living my best life’. And it had taken the place by storm. Everywhere you went you’d see guests doing it, staff doing it. Even Vincent had caught the bug. Between customers, he’d be practising away, giving the ‘living my best life’ a red-hot crack.
Luz and Tracee were such a hit the hotel printed a range of instructional dance step postcards. They sold like hotcakes as every guest clambered to take a slice of hotel life back into their own. And when it came time for guests to leave, it had become a tradition at The Grand for Luz and Tracee to dance them off. The lobby band would start up and every farewell turned into something more like a wild party – which had the added bonus of stopping guest farewells becoming weepy affairs.
‘I don’t know how you do it but my shoes and the boys’ sneakers have never looked so good,’ said Mr D’Silva, hopping out of the chair. ‘Here’s an extra twenty for you, son.’
‘Thanks, Mr D’Silva.’ Vincent tucked the tip into his shoebox.
‘You know sneakers are as valuable as gold these days. My boys are more attached to their shoes than their phones. And they certainly have more of them! You could make a fortune selling that polish stuff of yours.’
‘You mean my Kick-easy Sneaker Shield Gel? I’d never thought of that, Mr D’Silva.’
‘Well, you should. We’re headed home today. Here’s my card. If you ever need some money to get started, give me a call.’
Mr D’Silva headed off to the front desk to check out. After shifting from La Chambre de Pommes Frites, the D’Silvas had spent a night in the Butterfly Room, the Everyone Sings Sweetly Room and the Stephen Hawking Room before ending their stay in the African Sky Room. Apparently the dung beetles and the D’Silvas got along fine although Mrs D’Silva did enquire if one could be made into a brooch as a souvenir.
Apart from Mr Cash, who’d set up camp with the sloths on Fin’s Island, Vincent noticed all the guests he did orientation with were checking out to leave. The three D’Silva boys were bent over the lobby balcony, peacefully birdwatching with their binoculars, while pocket dogs tumbled around their feet. Max was sitting in the armchair he’d used to swing from the chandelier, reading a fat book of poetry while his mother and Mrs D’Silva were exchanging phone numbers. April, surrounded by sleeping dogs, was sitting on the floor, brushing her pony’s tail. Vincent pulled out some inserts he’d made to help
with her wobbly walk and headed over.
‘Hi April,’ he said. ‘I wanted to give you these before you go. I thought they might help you walk a little easier.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Vincent,’ said April’s mother. She took off April’s shoes and slipped the jelly-like inserts inside.
April stood up. Her mother hovered by her side, arms outstretched in case she fell. April took a step. Then another. A huge smile lit up her face. ‘Wow!’ declared April. ‘The ground’s stopped moving.’ She strode across the lobby. ‘Look, Mumma! I’m walking! By myself!’
Vincent watched as April walked around the fountain and back again. He had that same tingly feeling he felt after his first satisfied customer at Barry Train Station.
Back at his chair, Vincent pulled out his notepad and set to work designing a pair of shoes so that April could run. Everyone loves to run!
As he scribbled away, Chelsea came over to say goodbye.
‘Hi Chelsea. All packed and ready to go?’ Vincent reached out and patted Jess, the shaggy black-and-white pup he had first set his sights on.
‘Yes, um, I just want to apologise for snatching Jess off you,’ said Chelsea, sheepishly.
‘Oh, that’s okay.’ Vincent looked down at Min, whose head was poking out of his top pocket. ‘I ended up with Min so how could I be angry about that?’
‘Well, that’s nice of you to say, but it was pretty poor form.’ Chelsea reached out and patted Min. ‘Sometimes this bad feeling just comes over me and I get so …’