by Lisa Nicol
Vincent pulled the red African shawl covered in elephants up around Florence’s shoulders. He lit a couple of Zelda’s muti incense sticks that smelt like licorice then hurried off to the hotel. As he ran across the grounds, the weather grew wilder and wilder. Bolts of lightning lit up the Mabombo Ranges as if it was daylight. The humming birds, confused, began beating their wings, filling the valley with a roar like a million motorcycles. And as he scrambled up the front steps, hailstones the size of golf balls began pelting down from the sky.
Guests had gathered in the lobby to watch the storm. Even those staying in the Extreme Weather Room. Vincent saw his family. Thom gently clutching his pocket dog, Rhubarb, Rose in her shimmering cape. His mum and dad, arm in arm, their whole bodies remoulded by happiness. Each and every one of their lives transformed by The Grandest Hotel on Earth.
Once Vincent was sure everything and everyone was all right, he grabbed a raincoat and headed for the door.
‘Vincent! You can’t go out in that!’ yelled Rupert. ‘A Mabombo storm is not to be messed with, trust me.’
‘I have to,’ cried Vincent. ‘She’s alone. I can’t leave her alone. Not tonight.’ Tears fell down Vincent’s cheeks. He felt as if, one by one, the lights on his runway were going out.
Rupert nodded. ‘Here. Give Min to me. I’ll take care of things back here. Take the side path. It’s longer but safer. And stay away from the trees.’
‘Thank you, Rupert.’
‘Come here,’ he said, tucking Min into his top pocket. He squeezed Vincent in a bear hug. ‘Kiss Florry for me.’
Vincent flew down the front steps, hail exploding all around him like ice bombs. He remembered Rupert’s advice and took the path that ran along the side of the hotel. The dark peaks of the Mabombo Ranges and his flashing boots helped him navigate as he ran as fast as he could towards the hospital. Then something strange happened. Vincent heard noises. It sounded like a voice. And it was singing. Surely no one’s out in this? There it was again. Like a spirit released from the Mabombo’s mighty black peaks. But it wasn’t coming from the mountains. It was coming from the ground. Without slowing Vincent looked down. My boots! It’s coming from my boots.
His boots had never sung before.
It was as if they had tuned into some radio station far out in the universe or a fireside song from an ancient civilisation way back in time. Lashed by the hail and rain, Vincent kept running. The voice swirled up around his body, then tumbled into his chest, wrapping itself around his heart like a warm blanket. Strings came in. Then stamping, mountainous horns. And above the horns that voice. Calling from the mountaintops and the deserts and the ancient deep blue seas.
Vincent’s legs gave way and he fell to the ground. ‘Argh!’
He lay on the sodden earth. Part of him wished he could sink beneath it and part of him didn’t. He kicked his boots into the ground and cried. Not Florence. Please. Not Florence. Please not Florence.
A flash of lightning lit up the valley.
Vincent saw something next to his arm. It was the emerald polish he’d used to clean Florence’s boots.
Another flash of lightning. Vincent realised he was in the Junkyard of Broken and Abandoned Dreams. Right next to the shrine he’d made to leave behind his dream to save Florence from the terrible thing in her future. The terrible thing that had now arrived.
Vincent picked up the polish. Struggling to see in the rain and darkness, he placed it back on the top of his shrine. Then Vincent spoke into the night. It seemed crazy, but he didn’t care: ‘This is my dream for Florence, the grandest girl on earth. I dream that she always has a bit of grand, wherever she may be.’
CHAPTER 21
FAMILY BUSINESS
The light of dawn woke him. At first Vincent had no idea where he was. And then he saw Emerson rising and falling, fast asleep on Florence’s chest. Relief flooded his soul. She was alive. Florence was still alive. So alive she was even snoring a little. Vincent smiled as he listened to her short sharp snorts. There was something reassuring about them. Something so alive. Without waking her, he tiptoed out of the room and headed back to the hotel.
Outside the skies had begun to clear. The humming birds had ceased beating their wings and a wet, golden silence filled the valley. As he walked into the lobby, the smell of coffee and croissants and melting chocolate wafted in from the Breakfast Hall.
Vincent’s family was still at the window, watching the last storm clouds disappear over the mountains.
‘Bow!’ said Thom, pointing at a rainbow stretching from one side of the valley to the other.
‘That’s right, Thom! A rainbow,’ said Vincent.
Thom turned and smiled. ‘Wainbow.’
Vincent’s dad looked him up and down. ‘What happened to you?’
Vincent looked at his uniform. It was covered in mud. ‘It’s a long story.’
‘You’ll have to fill us in over breakfast.’
‘I will.’
Vincent’s mum gave him a kiss. She took Thom’s hand. ‘Let’s go see the giraffes, shall we?’ And they wandered off to the breakfast room.
‘Bags not sit next to Vincent,’ said Rose, tap-dancing after them. ‘He smells like elephant poop.’
Vincent sniffed his jacket. Rose was right. He did pong a bit.
Before joining his family for breakfast, Vincent showered and changed his uniform. Then he headed out onto the balcony to check the grounds for storm damage. A tree on Fin’s Island had fallen, but otherwise it looked like everything had survived the night. The lake, a mirror, joined the ends of the rainbow together, capturing the reflection of the hotel in a colour-rimmed bubble of light. Inside the bubble, a perfect world, so perfect it looked as if it might float away.
Vincent saw a guest riding a llama around the lake towards the hotel. He pulled out his binoculars to make sure there was a pooper-scooper nearby and couldn’t quite believe his eyes.
It wasn’t a guest.
It was Florence! She was up! And dressed in her milk-blue velvet skirt and beaded and feathered hand-stitched jacket, her cinnamon hair glinting in the sun.
Vincent ran down the stairs three at a time. ‘Florence! Florence!’
He ran around the lake.
‘Florence!’ Vincent reached up to help her off her llama. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her as gently as he could although every atom of his being wanted to squeeze her as tight as a pair of five-sizes-too-small pants. ‘Oh, Florence. You’re all right! Are you all right? You’re all right! Shouldn’t you be in bed?’
‘Dr Nelson checked me out this morning. He said I’ve made a remarkable recovery. Nothing short of a miracle! In fact those were his exact words. He said he still wants to run a few tests and keep up my treatment, but it looks like I might be on the mend,’ she said, smiling.
‘That’s the best news ever. Ever, ever, ever!’
‘You sound like Rupert.’
‘You’re right. I do!’
They both laughed.
‘What about that storm last night?’ said Florence, her cheeks rosy and aglow. ‘Wasn’t it grand? Let’s have breakfast – I’m starving!’
Florence looked around the Breakfast Hall full of contented guests eating and laughing. At the windows giraffes chewed carrots like gumballs while the band played the kind of happy jazz that had at least one guest at each table up and dancing.
‘Oh, Vincent! Look at what a magnificent job you’ve done.’
This time it was Florence’s turn to cry. She hugged Vincent tight.
‘I’m so glad you’re happy, Florence, but more than anything I’m just so glad you’re all right.’
‘Well, after tomato toast and a stack of pancakes I will be!’
Vincent couldn’t help fussing as he sat Florence down at a table with his mum and dad and Rose and Thom. Before long they were joined by Luz and Tracee and Rupert and Zelda and Dr Maaboottee. So happy to see Florence back on her feet Luz and Tracee did the ‘living my best life’ da
nce around the table. Rupert broke down in a flood of tears and engulfed Florence in a bear hug. ‘Florry, my Florry. We’ve got our Florry back!’ Unable to wait for Rupert to release her, Zelda and Dr Maaboottee joined in and wrapped their arms around the two of them.
After the storm and Florence’s miraculous recovery, everyone was ravenous.
‘I see you like eggs, Thom,’ said Zelda, as she tucked into a spicy chip omelette with a side order of Swahili doughnuts.
Thom looked at his plate piled high with fried eggs, poached eggs, scrambled eggs and eggs every-other-which-way eggs can be cooked.
‘Eggs. Yano,’ said Thom. He slid off his chair and tugged Vincent’s arm.
‘What do you want, Thom?’
‘Yano. For Vincence.’ Then he ran towards the band, who were taking a break, and crawled up onto the piano stool. He put his hands on the keys and began playing Erik Satie’s Gymnopédie No.1.
Perfectly.
The entire room fell silent.
And still.
Everyone was astonished. Even the giraffes stopped chewing and turned their heads to watch as Thom’s small fingers danced gracefully and tenderly across the keys.
Vincent felt so proud to be his big brother. And as he looked across at his parents’ faces, at one particular moment Vincent could have sworn he saw their hopes and dreams return, floating in through the Breakfast Hall windows like a great big yellow hot air balloon.
‘I think we just found our new pianist for the lobby,’ announced Rupert.
Vincent and Florence nodded. Under the table, Florence grabbed Vincent’s hand and squeezed it tight.
In the months that followed, Florence finished her treatment and was given the all clear from Dr Nelson. Every day she became stronger and stronger. And together Vincent and Florence ran The Grandest Hotel on Earth.
One morning, somewhere in between inspecting goggles and tanks for the Aquatic Room and checking the atmospheric pressure in the Cloud Room, Vincent knew the time had come. ‘You know, Florence, you’re well enough now to run The Grand on your own. You don’t need us anymore.’
Florence stopped what she was doing. She pushed her green glasses back up her nose and looked at Vincent. It was a moment before she spoke.
‘Yes. You’re right of course. I can. But if I’m honest – I hope my ancestors aren’t listening – it’s pretty hard and lonely running this place all by myself. And realistically I don’t think my parents will be back any time soon. There’s always another mountain mist frog in need of saving. Being sick made me realise something, Vincent. Something I’d never thought about. Letting other people help you is just as grand as helping them. If not grander. Which is why I’ve been wanting to ask you something.’
‘Ask away.’
‘Do you think you and your family might consider staying? We have a school. All the workers’ children attend, myself included when I have the time.’ Florence bit her top lip and scrunched up her nose.
Vincent didn’t say anything for what seemed to Florence like the longest time.
He swallowed and then finally he spoke.
‘Well, if I’m honest, Florence, while I’ve loved running The Grand, there’s nothing I love more than shining people’s shoes. I’ve even been teaching Thom how to mix polishes; he’s a natural. Although I think he prefers piano. And Dad and I want to go into business together. Mr D’Silva’s already offered to put up the money. You wouldn’t believe how many orders we get a week for my Happy Feet High-Heel Inserts and my Fruity Boot Deodoriser. Dad and I thought we’d call it Barry Boots ’n’ Shoes.’
Florence, who without realising it had been holding her breath, exhaled. ‘That’s perfect. We need someone to shine the guests’ shoes and you need customers and a place to run your family business!’
It occurred to Vincent that now his shoeshine business really was a family business!
Vincent’s mind sparked with possibility. ‘I know my mother would love to keep helping with room selection. And Thom and Rose would be happy if they never had to leave.’
‘That’s settled then,’ said Rupert, who appeared from out of nowhere, carrying something large under his arm. ‘What do you think?’
Rupert plugged the thing into the wall and held it up. It was a brand-new neon sign: ‘Barry Boots ’n’ Shoes at The Grand’.
Vincent knew better than to ask how he knew.
‘Come, come, come, we have so much to do!’ declared Rupert. Arm in arm, the three of them headed back to the lobby, Rupert in the middle, his enthusiastic hips bumping into theirs with each and every step.
And so it was, Vincent and his family moved in permanently to The Grandest Hotel on Earth. Florence’s family completed their Gene Bank for the world’s endangered species and fast moved on to the next grand project. As was their destiny. Another five Wainwright-Cunninghams even made their way into the Guinness World Records in the same time it took me and my co-author to write this book!
And Vincent went back to shining shoes with his grandfather’s shoe-cleaning kit in the red leather chair next to the elevator. To this day, Florence and Vincent still race around the rocking-horse racetrack and take lunch on the Platform for the Reckless, eating tomato sandwiches, pocket dogs in their laps, eyes to their binoculars, watching wheeling eagles fly. All the while serenaded by their Beethoven-and-Bach-playing emerald boots.
To think!
All that.
From one little MOMENTOUS moment.
A NOTE ABOUT MY GRAND CO-AUTHOR, FINLEY WRIGHT CURNOW
In 2017, my very favourite godson, nine-year-old Finley Wright Curnow became very sick. He was diagnosed with an incurable brain tumour. Living just across the railway line, I visited Finley often. But as he became more unwell, sometimes I would write to him and leave letters on his front verandah. One day I told him about my idea for this book and asked Finley if he could help me create The Grandest Hotel on Earth. Perhaps he had some ideas for rooms? No mind if he didn’t. I knew just being sick took up a lot of energy.
Well, the very next day, I received a letter from Finley.
Did he have ideas for rooms?
Did he what!
He had incredible ideas for rooms!
The Levitation Room, the Roller-coaster Room, the Baby Memories Room … these were all Finley’s ideas.
But there was more. And one of his ideas struck me like a bat. ‘A Room of Mirrors of the Future. The shoeshine boy discovers the secret room and sees the bad future of the grandest girl and has to alter time to save her.’
BOOM!
It was like an explosion in my head.
Just like the one Vincent experienced when he entered the Mirrors of the Future Room.
Writing this now I am reminded how much I am indebted to Finley for this story. How much it is his story too. And I’m reminded what a terrible loss it is that Finley is no longer around to tell us all his wonderful, incredible, brilliant ideas. He had his own dreams and I know he would have grown into the grandest man.
Unfortunately, he didn’t get that chance, but together we have the chance to try to stop what happened to Finley from happening to other beautiful kids. Which is why a portion of the author’s proceeds from the sale of this book will go to the Children’s Cancer Fund. You too can donate at: donate.ccia.org.au/donations.
If together we can help find a cure, would that not be THE GRANDEST thing ever? Even grander than a baby elephant!
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Vincent and the Grandest Hotel on Earth is the most special book to me.
It will forever be the only book I got to write with Finley and that, as Rose and Finley would say, ‘sucks’. So my biggest thanks goes to Finley Wright Curnow, my co-author, for his beautiful, original and magical ideas.
In case anyone was wondering, all dogs lounging in front of lobby fires are chocolate Labradors who only eat chocolate dog food. And every one of them is called Maple. Maple 1, Maple 2, Maple 3 – you get the idea.
And since a tri
p to The Grand is unfortunately not something everyone will be chosen for, as a hidden extra I have been permitted to reveal some of the ‘Find Your Inner Sloth’ class teachings:
Sloth teaching #1: Always get room service instead of coming down for meals – just press the room-service button.
Sloth teaching #2: Always drop by at friends’ houses around mealtimes so you never have to cook.
Sloth teaching #3: Where possible, go nude – saves you having to wash your clothes.
Perhaps the other big contributor I have to thank is my publisher, Holly Toohey. Holly has been a solid supporter of The Grand since before a word was written. And when I did hand her those first words it’s fair to say I was dizzy and delusional after too long going round and round at Tenzing, the Grand’s rotating restaurant. But instead of mourning in the Junkyard of Broken and Abandoned Dreams, Holly handed me a detailed map, sent me to the You Can Do Way Better Than That Room, and a few months later I walked out with a publishable book. Also at Penguin Random House, I’d like to thank Laura Harris for green lights and Tim Tams and my patient editor, Jess Owen, for putting up with such second-book stroppiness!!! (And so many exclamation marks.)
Credits are also due to the imaginative Rohan Smith, who sent me a million cracking ideas for rooms, including the Time of Day Room, where it’s whatever time of day you want it to be (that unfortunately didn’t feature in the story but is in fact on the 7th floor, turn left after the elevator). He is also responsible for the never-melting chocolate couch in the Edible Room. At the same time I met Rohan, I met Hayley and Grace, one of whom had the brilliant idea for the rocking-horse racetrack. I just wish I could remember who! Apologies and thanks to both of you!
Special thanks to Katy Pike for early readings of the manuscript and her illuminating explanations of what the story is actually about (thank goodness someone knew). Anna Craney for listening to my struggles, untangling the meaningless from the meaningful and ambient guidance on all things story. Patrick Mangan for all things persnickety, which is never to be sniped at. (Yes, I know that’s two ‘all things’ in close proximity, Patrick. Now three.) My writers’ group for their top-shelf editorial advice and support: Marion, Denise, Jenny, Wendy, Debra, Sarah, Tracey, Katrina, Maala and Amanda.