Grimm

by Mike Nicholson

  Before Rory could think it through he came face-to-face with himself. The face looking back at him seemed a bit thinner than he thought he looked and there was something else that took him by surprise.

  “I look a little bit worried,” he said to Grimson.

  “Are you?” replied Grimson.

  “Sometimes,” said Rory thinking just how worried he had been recently.

  “I did it after you were up here the other week,” said Grimson. “I was watching you as you went around with Grog.”

  Rory was relieved to get confirmation that at least some of the shadowy figures, which he had thought he had seen in the background on his tour around the hotel, must have been no more than Grimson the artist eyeing up his next subject.

  “Well, I guess it’s fair to say that I was pretty worried at that stage. I didn’t know if I was going to get out of here alive,” he said.

  “Well, there you go,” said Grimson with an air of being satisfied but unsurprised that another of his paintings had been declared accurate. “You people in the town really are prone to exaggeration, aren’t you?” he added.

  Rory couldn’t think of what to say in response. Here in the relative comfort of Grimson’s room, the hotel seemed to have lost its sinister trappings.

  “Have you done yourself?” asked Rory.

  “Yeah. I’m just over there,” said Grimson pointing to the far corner of the room. Rory was curious to see just how Grimson pictured himself, given the accuracy he seemed to have achieved with everyone else. Rory found the picture, a thin face looming out of a dark background. What jumped out at him were Grimson’s eyes. They were piercing and intense and seemed to look right at you and into you.

  There was just one painting that had two people in it. Rory didn’t recognise the woman and at first glance thought that the man was new to him too. The woman was striking with a pale slender face, long dark hair pulled tightly back and a scarlet dress. With a closer look Rory realized with a start that the upright, smiling man with close cropped hair beside her, was a younger, brighter and happier Granville Grimm. Rory wasn’t quite sure what to say. The picture was so markedly different from the man downstairs that he wanted to comment but felt embarrassed to make reference to the fact. Rory realized that Grimson’s lean, striking looks came from his mother.

  “Is that your Mum?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Was that her gravestone I saw the other day?” Grimson said nothing in response. “I’m sorry she’s … sorry she’s not here any more,” said Rory.

  “Me too,” said Grimson.

  “Your Dad looks kind of different,” said Rory. Grimson’s responses dried up. “Should I stop saying stuff?” said Rory.

  “Sometimes I’m up for talking about it and sometimes I’m not,” said Grimson.

  “That’s okay,” said Rory. “It’s up to you.”

  “It’s been a few years now. Mum got ill and then just went downhill really. It’s been a bit rubbish since she died. That came after all the accidents with the guests and it seemed to be the last straw. Dad sort of … I don’t know … went to pieces really. So did this place as a result. Dad’s spent a long time just shuffling around and not really connecting with things. The fact that he asked you to come up is actually a really good sign that he might be getting back into things.”

  “Oh right,” said Rory, cringing at how wrong his first set of ideas had been and feeling a new pressure to get things right.

  “I just do my own thing a lot of the time. I get loads of time for painting which is what I want to do anyway, so I suppose it works out okay for me.”

  “Do you think things will ever change?” asked Rory.

  “That depends a bit on you, doesn’t it?” asked Grimson. Rory looked away embarrassed at the thought that his pretence with Zizz Cola was seen as the basis for a route out of trouble. “I think the old Dad is still in there. I reckon he’ll appear again some day, but in recent years it’s like he’s been living in a cloud of sadness. That’s the only way I can think of describing him.”

  Rory’s found his mind in a spin. He was so used to hearing stories of Hotel Grimm and its owner from the playground and from The Chronicle, but here was a completely different picture being presented.

  “I got it so completely wrong with my ideas for the hotel,” he said in a doom-laden voice.

  “Well, you wouldn’t be the first and you probably won’t be the last. Everyone thinks Dad’s odd. He’s just heartbroken. And he doesn’t have it in him to fight back against all the stuff that rumbles on about him in the town.”

  “I ought to say sorry to him,” said Rory.

  “Well the best thing you could do would be to come up with something that gives him a new way of looking at things.”

  “I thought I had that, but I should have listened to Bonnie and Grandad.”

  “Well it must be hard to be a marketing genius all of the time,” said Grimson with a grin.

  Rory forced a weak smile.

  “Come on,” said Grimson. “I’d better show you out. You never know … if you stay here too long you might not make it out alive.” His smile was mischievous but had a wisp of sadness through it. Rory shook his head, embarrassed not just at what he had presented at his meeting, but about the way the town had regarded Hotel Grimm over the years. He had a heavy heart as Grimson led the way confidently through the dim corridors and back down the stairs to the front door.

  “So there’s nothing else you think I ought to see in the hotel then?” asked Rory as they reached the exit.

  “Not really,” said Grimson. “You did the rounds with Grog the other day, and you’ve already done some exploring outside if you’ve been to the graveyard. I think you’ve pretty much seen the lot. I suppose you should see the pavilion …”

  “Is that the wreck of a place down on the rock ledge?” asked Rory.

  “Yeah,” said Grimson. “It’s been in that state for as long as I can remember. Apparently, it used to be where the wealthy guests strolled down to for afternoon tea. It used to be all posh and full of tables covered in white cloths. There were fish tanks around the walls and sun loungers outside on the ledge. So you’ve seen that too. Well in that case …”

  A great big smile crossed Grimson’s face. “I think you should take the easy way down the hill.”

  “What, jump?” said Rory, still feeling sorry for himself.

  “Next best thing,” said Grimson. “Take the cable car.”

  Before Rory could think of an excuse to match the anxious thoughts that flooded into his head, Grimson was off. He opened the hotel’s front door and began striding down the steps. Some crows flew off a tree as his loping figure approached at speed. “Come on,” he shouted over his shoulder. “I’ll buzz Stobo and let him know it’s needed.”

  “Don’t look so scared,” said Grimson as the cable car clanked into the station and came to a halt in front of them a few minutes later. “This will give you a chance to test out those telescopes I was telling you about. Who knows … it could be the beginning of your own artistic career!”

  Rory couldn’t share the joke as he looked apprehensively at the cable car. Although he had seen it trundling away in the distance over the years without incident, the contraption was so linked to Hotel Grimm in his mind — and that of everyone else in Aberfintry — that no one would ever think of going in it.

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” said Grimson, sensing his disquiet. “It’s not the death trap it’s cracked up to be. As long as you’ve got a good head for heights you’ll be just fine.”

  “Do you know what, Rory …” Grimson continued, seeing that he was hanging back. “You need to stop believing your own marketing campaign. We are not as weird as everyone thinks, or as freaky as you were probably planning on promoting us to be.”

  Rory didn’t know what to say in response. He took another look at the cable car. “I’d love to go in it,” he said.

  “Nice one,” said Grimson
, his face beaming in a way that Rory hadn’t seen before, as he strode over to the cable car station control desk, picked up a phone and waited briefly before speaking. “Hi, Stobo,” he said. “Passenger heading your way when you’re ready.” Putting the phone down, Grimson clattered open the door and stood aside to let Rory step in.

  “See you again soon, no doubt,” said Grimson cheerily. “Have a nice trip!”

  Rory watched as the door closed. As soon as it clicked shut he felt panic-stricken that he had made the wrong decision. The cable car seemed dangerously flimsy and he was very aware of being alone. It was only Grimson’s smiling face on the other side of the glass that stopped him hammering on the door and wrenching on the handle to get out. He knew that anyone in the town would think he was out of his mind to risk his life in this way, but he had no more time to think about it as he watched Grimson push a large red button next to the phone. Seconds later the cable car moved smoothly away from the safety of the station.

  Within seconds, the surface of Scrab Hill dropped away from below his feet and Rory was suspended in the metal and glass box making his way downhill. Looking to one side, he could see the graveyard where he had taken his wrong turning a week ago, the path down towards the ledge and the spot where he had sat to take in the view. Further below, Aberfintry sparkled in the sunshine like a picture with tiny moving pieces made up of people and cars and bikes. Rory remembered Grimson’s words and headed for one of two telescopes set on stands by the windows. Rory could see how an instrument like this would give Grimson the tool he needed to study people. The powerful telescope immediately picked out Lachlan Stagg’s statue so clearly that Rory could even make out features on the face.

  Rory became so engrossed in scanning the town for the familiar sights he knew that he didn’t notice that the cable car was approaching the end of its journey until it passed under the roof of the station at the bottom. Rory realized with a start that he was about to enter yet another zone that few in Aberfintry would consider doing lightly. After the calm of the journey his anxiety levels shot back up again. Whilst not as legendary as the hotel, the cable car station and Stobo were well known as things to avoid. Rory couldn’t recall ever hearing of anyone who had actually set foot in the building that housed the machinery and the mechanic. But now, as the cable car left the open air and came to rest in the station, he was about to do just that.

  “Quite simply, it feels like your life is hanging by a thread.”

  Sir Gregory Grimm on the opening of the cable car (1946)

  17. Stobo

  Everyone in Aberfintry knew that the cable car station was the sole preserve of Stobo. The place was his, and his alone. With the cable car having been built to serve Hotel Grimm, their reputations went hand in hand. As such, children were warned to keep away from the wee man who had taken over as mechanic since the death of his father who had overseen the building and installation of the machinery.

  One of the challenges at school was to see how close anyone dared to go to the cable car station, and as a further test of bravado to see how far they would go in provoking Stobo. Standard practice involved throwing stones on to the roof of the station. Being metal, the sharp bangs of the stones that landed on it sounded like bullets and for Stobo inside, it must have been like being under attack from the guns of a diving fighter plane. The stone throwing also extended to trying to pelt the cable car itself as it made occasional journeys up and down Scrab Hill. The competition wasn’t just to try to hit the moving target, but to see who could still get a direct hit when the car was getting higher and higher and further and further out of range. Gordon Goodman famously held the record for smacking a small rock into the underside of the cable car just after it had passed the first pylon.

  Now, Rory looked with concern through the window into the inside of the station. He felt trapped inside his own moving cell which had just delivered him to the heart of somewhere he didn’t want to be. His eye was drawn to a plaque mounted beside the platform which passengers used to get on and off the cable car. It read: “Constructed in 1946, this cable car was officially opened by Sir Gregory Grimm.”

  It struck Rory that he had arrived into a piece of history that might contribute more to his understanding of Hotel Grimm. Maybe Stobo could unlock some of the secrets of the place, if he was prepared to do so?

  Stepping tentatively out of the cable car and onto the platform, Rory could see that the station was in fact a giant workshop, which reminded him of his Grandad’s one, although it was now at least a couple of years since he had been in there. Here everything was on a much larger scale. Large workbenches, containers full of spare parts, an entire substitute cable car on its side, lengths of cable and spare winding mechanisms and more tools than Rory had ever seen in his life neatly stored around the walls. As his gaze reached the back corner however, Rory could see that the station was more than a workshop. Through a half-open door Rory could make out a rumpled bed. It seemed that Stobo either lived at his work or worked where he lived. Rory wasn’t quite sure which way round it was.

  A scuff of a foot on the concrete floor made him realize with a start that there was a silent figure, hunched over at work in the far corner. There was only one person it could be, so taking a deep breath, Rory walked towards him. Stobo looked up as Rory approached and then turned his attention back to his work without any acknowledgement. At a glance it looked like he was working on Malky Mackay’s black bike and Stobo continued to tinker with it as if Rory wasn’t there.

  Rory tried to look without staring. He had never seen such an oily man. Everything seemed coated in black grime from his flat cap, past his worn overalls, to his cracked stubby fingernails.

  “Um … hi there,” said Rory.

  The clank of Stobo’s spanner was the only noise that came in response. Rory paused and tried again.

  “I was wondering if you had time to talk for a few minutes,” he said hopefully. The same metallic sound was the only reply.

  “I was interested in the cable car and wanted to find out a bit about it.”

  “Oh aye,” said Stobo, continuing to work away, his face hidden from Rory.

  “Can I ask you a few questions?” said Rory, trying to sound as polite as he could.

  “Seems as though you’ve already started,” said Stobo straightening up and moving over to a workbench to search for something.

  “When was it all built?”

  There was silence from Stobo leaving Rory unsure whether he had heard the question or not. Stobo continued to let his fingers rattle through a tin of nuts and bolts to find what he was after.

  “You know the answer to that one already,” said the mechanic after a long pause. “Facts like that are in books. What is it you really want to ask me?”

  Rory paused. “Well, I suppose I’m interested in what it gets used for now … you know, now that there aren’t really any passengers coming and going.”

  “This and that,” said Stobo.

  “Is it all still in fine working order though?” asked Rory regretting the question as soon as it left his mouth. For the first time Stobo glanced at him and then looked away again. It was as if he was checking that Rory had asked a serious question.

  “Do you think I would be wasting my time here if I didn’t have it working?” said Stobo, finally finding what he was after and returning his attention to the bike. “It’s as smooth as the day it was opened,” he added.

  “Were you around that day?” asked Rory spotting his opportunity to prise some more information out of the reticent man.

  “Cheeky wee bandit. I’m not that old. My dad told me all about it though.”

  “What did he say?”

  Again Stobo left a long pause. “There were people everywhere. Everyone in the town queuing up for a go. There had never been anything like it here or anywhere close to here.”

  “Did your Dad get to go on it that day?” asked Rory.

  “Aye. Aye he did. The queues were enormous but Sir Gregory wa
nted him on there as a thank you. And maybe just to check that it was actually working. Dad always said it was one of the best days he remembered in this place.

  “Things a bit different now?” said Rory.

  Stobo snorted and for a moment Rory thought that this was the only comment that he would give, but he continued. “Aye just a bit. It was once a curiosity or even something exotic in the town. Now it’s just seen as part of the hotel and it’s rubbished because of that.”

  “But you’ve done nothing wrong,” said Rory.

  “Neither have they,” said Stobo with a fierce glare. Rory looked away embarrassed.

  “So what does it get used for now? What kind of ‘this and that?’” asked Rory before Stobo had a chance just to repeat his earlier answer.

  “Well let’s just say we do more goods than passenger transport now.”

  “Things to keep the hotel going?” asked Rory.

  “Food goes up,” said Stobo, “… and some of it comes back down again cooked.”

  “You get some of Ramsay’s food?”

  “I do. He looks after me very well.”

  “Is it as good as he says?”

  “Probably better I would say,” said Stobo, his mood lifting.

  “Do you get frustrated that it’s only used for carting stuff up and down the hill?” asked Rory.

  Stobo seemed to ignore the question. “What did you think of your journey?”

  “It was great,” said Rory. “Over too quickly I suppose. Those telescopes are brilliant.” There was a longer than usual pause from Stobo. When he did speak it was softer and more quietly.

  “Well there’s your answer. It’s a beautiful thing this machine, not something to be feared. It should be doing what it was made to do. It would have broken my dad’s heart if he knew what had happened here.”

  “At least you’re still caring for it. I mean still looking after what he built. He’d be pleased about that.”

  For the first time Stobo looked at Rory. He gave a short appreciative nod. “Aye, son, aye I think he would be.”