by Lisa Nicol
‘Vincent!’ she yelled. ‘What did you do that for?’
The men on the truck stood there, still holding the heavy container, the looks on all their faces asking Vincent the very same question.
‘Sorry, Florence! I thought that container was about to fall on you.’
Florence stood up and dusted herself off. Vincent retrieved her glasses, which thankfully hadn’t broken, but her knees were bleeding and the heel of her hand was grazed and red.
Both of them checked their pocket dogs. Min was shaking.
The men on the truck navigated the container safely down the ramp and onto the unloading dock.
‘What are you doing here anyway, Vincent?’
‘Um.’ Vincent had to think quick. ‘Um, my new polishes are meant to be delivered today. I thought I’d come down and see if they’d arrived. I’ve almost run out of mulberry purple and periwinkle blue. And I’m in desperate need of black and indigo and …’ Vincent listed off a long catalogue of colours he’d supposedly run out of. He even made some up, remembering the bigger the lie, the more likely people were to believe it.
‘Oh,’ said Florence, ‘I haven’t heard anything about a polish delivery. I’ll chase it up.’
‘And maybe just stand a bit further away from the truck next time,’ suggested Vincent. ‘Just in case.’
Florence looked annoyed. ‘I’ve supervised the loading and unloading of thousands of trucks, Vincent. Don’t forget I’ve lived at The Grand my whole life. And I like to think I run the place pretty well. I don’t want to sound rude, but it was you that mucked that up, not me!’
‘True. But you were standing very close.’
‘I know, you’re just trying to protect me. So I shouldn’t really be angry. Next time, I’ll stand back. Promise.’
‘Good,’ said Vincent, relieved.
‘You know you don’t need to worry about me,’ said Florence, a quizzical look on her face. ‘I do know what I’m doing.’
Another truck arrived and Florence went back to supervising deliveries. Vincent had no choice but to head up to the lobby. He only stopped worrying when Florence emerged from the elevator and went back to work behind the front desk where he could keep an eye on her.
Later that day, an old woman – not the one in the winged suit – arrived for a shoeshine.
‘Oh, this is a comfy chair,’ she said. ‘I’d be happy to sit here all afternoon.’
Vincent examined her shoes. They were old and the soles were worn through. They also ponged, but he did his very best to pretend they didn’t.
‘Sorry. They’re not very glamourous, dear,’ she said, ‘but they’re comfortable. I have terrible corns you see. Ooww, they’re so painful.’
While he polished and mended her shoes, the old lady told Vincent her life story. He loved hearing about his customers’ lives. It was one of the fringe benefits of the job. ‘I was a midwife for sixty years, you see. I’ve probably brought about twenty thousand babies into the world. The first baby I ever delivered is a grandmother now. Would you believe it?’
Vincent rummaged around in his box for the right shade of white. He also started thinking about llama wool and how he might use it to make some special patches to stop her corns rubbing.
‘This is a treat,’ said the old lady, relaxing back into the chair. ‘Don’t mind me if I nod off, will you?’
Just then Vincent saw Florence wander over to Luz and Tracee, who were mopping the lobby floor in their usual funky way. As they chatted Vincent’s bones clicked into high alert. He looked up at the ceiling. Florence was standing right under the chandelier, the same one Max had used as a swing.
‘That’s it!’ Suddenly in his mind Vincent saw chains snap. Moose antlers bouncing and splintering into twigs. Exploding light bulbs, scattering across the floor like diamonds. And Florence crushed, her two emerald boots sticking out beneath the fallen chandelier like the Wicked Witch of the East in The Wizard of Oz.
Vincent – still holding the old lady’s shoe – bolted across the lobby to rescue her.
‘FLORENCE!’ he yelled, ‘FLORENCE!’
Florence turned just in time to see Vincent slip and fall on the still-wet floor and come barrelling towards them like a bowling ball with a set of outstretched arms. Just in time to see it, but not, I’m afraid, in time to do anything about it.
‘Arghhhhhhhh!’
Vincent crashed into Luz, Tracee and Florence.
Strike! All three of them fell to the floor like bowling pins.
‘Oow, my mabungo!’ yelled Luz, rubbing her bottom while trying to untangle her limbs from the others. ‘Vincent, why you do that? How am I going to dance the Milly Rock with a broken mabungo?’
‘Oh, my knee!’ cried Tracee. ‘I can’t do Crispy Duck with bung knee!’
Florence, remarkably unhurt, helped Luz and Tracee to their feet. She ordered wheelchairs and cold packs and sent them both off to Dr Nelson at the hotel hospital. And, despite no broken bones, Florence insisted they take the rest of the week off.
‘I’m so sorry, Florence,’ said Vincent, unable to explain at all why he’d been running across the lobby in the first place.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘Accidents happen. Even at The Grand.’
But Vincent could tell Florence was furious. Twice in one day? Who wouldn’t be? No doubt what she really wanted to say was Listen, Vincent, you do your job and leave me to do mine! After all, running The Grand was hard enough without him making it harder.
Florence went back to her duties at the front desk. Vincent picked up the old lady’s shoe and returned to his chair. But when he got there, the old lady was gone. She must have hobbled off barefoot! Vincent was horrified. He had been so distracted he hadn’t even asked her name or what room she was in or anything. How was he going to return her shoe?
For the rest of the day, Vincent tried to bury his bad feelings by throwing himself into his work. By early evening, he’d managed to get through the pile of shoes that had stacked up and the disasters of the day began to fade. But Vincent was worried. How could he possibly keep this up? Protecting Florence from anything and everything was impossible. He was bruised from all the falls and completely frazzled from being on constant high alert. And then there was his own work. Vincent decided the answer was he didn’t have a choice. He packed up for the day and headed home. He felt sure if he could get a good night’s sleep he’d be better able to tackle things tomorrow.
CHAPTER 17
WEEK TWO OF CHANGING THE FUTURE
The next few weeks were more of the same. Every time Florence left the lobby, Vincent stopped what he was doing and shadowed her, ready to rescue her from anything and everything. But nothing bad happened. The only bad things that happened were Vincent’s attempts to save Florence from the dangers he imagined.
Beside Vincent’s chair, the pile of shoes grew, along with complaints from guests about the wrong colour polish, shoddy repairs or even worse, shoes that had gone missing altogether.
And each day Vincent’s behaviour became more and more erratic and the stories to explain himself more outrageous.
While Vincent was in a state of constant anxiety, waiting for the terrible event to occur, Florence became equally troubled. Vincent had gone from being her closest friend to someone she struggled to understand at all. When he started he was the best shoeshiner The Grand had ever had and now he was one of the worst. Florence began to dread seeing him. What was she going to do? It was her job to run The Grand the way The Grand was meant to be run. Vincent was not just messing up his job; he was messing up hers as well.
Florence’s insomnia worsened. She lay awake, worrying into the small hours of the morning. At times like these she wished she had her mum or dad around. They’d know what to do. But they were trying to track down a wild ass in the Horn of Africa and had been out of phone range for weeks. Eventually, she consulted Dr Maaboottee.
‘I wish I could help you, Florry, but elephants are my specialty, I’m afraid.
Zelda and I never had children so I’m no expert at what goes on inside the brain of an eleven-year-old boy. And I’m too old to remember! But I will tell you this, that boy loves you like family. He would never mean to harm you or The Grand.’
Florence knew that was true. Which only made things worse.
‘Why don’t you just ask him what’s going on?’ suggested Dr Maaboottee.
So the next day, as they ate lunch on the Platform for the Reckless, Florence did.
‘Is everything okay, Vincent?’
‘Of course!’ he answered through a fake smile. ‘Why?’
‘Come on, Vincent. You know and I know, your mind is not on the job like it used to be. I keep turning around and there you are. You’re hardly ever at your chair.’
Vincent apologised. He made up stories about troubles he was having at home and difficult guests, et cetera et cetera. ‘But I promise, Florence, I’ve got it under control now. You don’t need to worry, I’m back on track. You’ll see.’
Florence didn’t know why but she felt strangely unconvinced.
‘You can tell me anything, you know that, don’t you, Vincent?’
‘Of course I do. I’ll never forget my first night at The Grand and talking to you about Thom. You’re the only person I can talk to about a lot of stuff, Florence. That’s why you’re such a good friend.’
‘I feel the same way, Vincent. That’s why I’ve been so worried. I’d feel dreadful if you had a problem you felt you couldn’t talk to me about.’
After their conversation Vincent arrived early to work and left late. The pile of shoes shrank. The complaints stopped. But he couldn’t keep it up. Within days, the pile was growing again and Vincent returned to causing havoc as he shadowed Florence everywhere like a bad dream.
Florence ordered Vincent to spend his lunch hour in the Let It Be Room in the hope it would take the edge off his jittery self, which saw disaster everywhere. When that didn’t work she sent him to see Dr Nelson at the hotel hospital, thinking he must be suffering some sort of catastrophising disorder. But no matter how much Florence protested that she knew what she was doing, that she’d been running the hotel – successfully and safely – for years, Vincent kept insisting that she needed to beware. That the sloths could well become aggressive and shred her to pieces. (My co-author is in stitches!) Or that it wasn’t far-fetched to suggest baby turtles might be related closely enough to piranhas to eat her alive and she simply mustn’t put her hand in the fountain again.
Eventually, Florence was at her wits’ end. She called Rupert into the front office. She closed the door and burst into tears. Running a huge hotel was a lot for an eleven-year-old girl, even one as grand as Florence.
‘Oh, Rupert, I don’t know what to do! I’ve tried everything, but Vincent keeps messing up. Have you seen the pile of shoes?’ Rupert nodded sympathisingly. ‘And I can barely keep up with the complaints.’
Florence covered her mouth with her hand, a last-ditch attempt not to utter the words she was about to say.
‘I can’t keep Vincent as our shoeshine boy any longer, but I can’t bear the thought of him not being here. He’s my best friend. How can I ask my best friend to leave? But I can’t do my job with him leaping out from behind chairs and trees and tackling me.’
Rupert handed Florence a tissue and wrapped her up in a big hug.
‘Oh, Florry, I know,’ he said. ‘I know how hard this is for you. I love Vincent too. He’s such a lovely boy. And so talented with shoes! He rrr-really is the best shoeshiner we’ve ever had. Well, he was. I’ve no idea what’s going on with him, Florry.’ The ends of Rupert’s moustache rotated, a bit like a satellite dish following the night sky.
Rupert put his hands on Florence’s shoulders and looked her straight in the eye. ‘But you know as well as I do, Florry, we have a job to do. We are The Grandest Hotel on Earth! And it’s our job to make sure as many people as possible get a bit of grand. At the end of the day, nothing’s more important than that.’
Florence understood what Rupert was saying. She’d run out of options.
‘But Vincent loves The Grand as much as we do. He’ll be devastated,’ she sobbed. Florence’s glasses steamed up. Tears fell from her golf-ball cheeks and rolled off her feathered collar.
‘I know. It’s not easy being grand, but you’re doing a sterling job, Florry.’
She nodded. ‘I’ll tell him this afternoon.’
Rupert wiped away a tear from his own eye. ‘You’re doing the rrr-right thing, Florry.’
She gave him a hug. ‘Thanks, Rupert.’
Florence opened the office door to leave, but as she did a great weight pushed against it, sending it flying into the room and straight into her face.
‘Ooww!’ she cried. She reached up and cupped her nose. It was bleeding.
She looked down. There, lying on the floor, was Vincent.
‘Vincent! What are you doing?’
Rupert grabbed a tissue and sat her back down in the chair. ‘Tilt your head back, Florry, to stop the bleeding.’
Vincent picked himself up.
‘I’m so sorry, Florence. You don’t need to say anything. I heard everything. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Please don’t feel bad. This is all my fault. I’m so sorry for messing things up.’
Florence started crying again.
Vincent wanted more than anything to explain his behaviour to her. But if he couldn’t save Florence from the terrible future, at least he could save her from the crushing, unbearable burden of knowing what was to come. The dread he carried day in, day out. The feeling that the whole world was made of glass and his shoes were lead. Every atom of his being ached with tension, his entire body hummed with fear. He couldn’t do that to Florence! He would carry the fear for her. He had to.
‘Please don’t cry, Florence. Please.’
‘I can’t help it.’ Tears streamed down her face. ‘I’m so sorry, Vincent.’
‘You don’t need to be. Working at The Grand has been the best thing that has ever happened to me. Ever.’
‘I know. And that makes it so much worse,’ she sobbed. ‘I hope we’ll still be friends.’
‘Of course. Nothing will ever change that, Florence. Nothing.’ And they hugged each other tight.
‘Oh, I hope so, Vincent. Promise you’ll come back and visit me? And see baby Tommy? You could bring Thom. And Rose. The whole family.’
‘I promise,’ reassured Vincent.
‘You’re my best friend forever, Vincent, no matter what.’
‘Same,’ said Vincent, ‘same.’
Vincent went back to his chair to pack up his things.
Florence sat in the office and cried while Rupert rubbed her back. She hated the idea of running The Grandest Hotel on Earth alone again, without Vincent. But what choice did she have?
Before packing up, Vincent polished and repaired every pair of waiting shoes. Then he collected up all his pots of polish, all his brushes and rags, all his special inserts and potions and sprays. He took Min out of his pocket and sat her on his empty red chair. He took off his uniform and hung it up on the hook. He loved his grand uniform. It was the most beautiful piece of clothing he’d ever worn. How he would miss it. And how he would miss his green neon shoeshine sign and his grand leather chair.
Vincent picked up Min and walked around the lobby one last time. He watched the dog-sized ponies with their feathered headdresses delivering nibbles and drinks never spilling a drop. He marvelled at the epic view of snow-capped peaks and the tiny finches that swooped and flitted across the room. As the double bass players plucked their strings, it began to sink in just how much he was going to miss The Grandest Hotel on Earth.
Everyone gathered to say their goodbyes.
‘For you, Vincent,’ said Luz. She handed him a full set of instructional dance step postcards. ‘You good with shoes but possibly worst dancer we ever see. Practice, practice. And remember, for a bit of grand feeling, do “living my best life”.’ Luz held out her
hands as if she was holding two plates up high, shook her shoulders up and down like pistons and slid her feet from side to side. ‘Work every time.’
‘I will,’ he promised. He gave Luz and Tracee a hug.
Next it was time to say goodbye to Rupert. He engulfed Vincent in a bear hug. ‘Now Min is far too attached to you to be left behind, you take her with you, you hear? Once outside the hotel grounds she’ll grow twenty times in size, but she’ll be just as loveable.’
Vincent could hear Rupert’s voice crumble. He really was going to miss Vincent and Vincent was really going to miss him.
‘I wish I could but I can’t. Thom’s just not good with animals.’ Vincent’s voice crumbled too. He kissed Min and handed her to Rupert.
‘Don’t worry, Waldo loves company.’ Rupert’s pocket dog, Waldo, and Min rumbled as they worked out their squishy new pocket arrangement.
Vincent’s eyes stung with tears. The idea of not seeing Min every day felt like someone had punctured his heart and all the blood in his body was falling to his feet.
‘You’ll come back and see Tommy, won’t you, Vincent?’ said Dr Maaboottee, ruffling his hair. ‘And I can always use a spare pair of hands at the Elephant House.’
‘I will, Dr Maaboottee. And if you have any problems matching the colour of those sandals, Zelda, just bring them down to Barry. I’ll fix them for you.’
‘You will? Come here, Vincent, and let me give you a squeeze.’ Zelda gave Vincent a big hug. An ocean of feelings rose up inside him. The sadness he felt that his grandfather was gone, about leaving Min and no longer being the shoeshine boy at The Grandest Hotel on Earth. All his worries about Thom and his family. And worst of all the fears he had for Florence and the terrible vision of what was to come.
Vincent didn’t want to, but he couldn’t hold it back anymore. He began to cry. How he wished he could explain to everyone why he’d been behaving like a complete idiot. He wanted to tell them what he’d seen and to watch out for Florence. But while that might have made him feel better, he knew it wouldn’t help them.