by Alex Milway
Lemmy’s joy turned to sadness.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Anna.
‘Good,’ said Mr Sweet. ‘Come on then. Let’s get out of this nasty weather.’
Anna stepped back a little, lifting her umbrella high as the three band members left the tour bus. With slashed T-shirts, ripped trousers and boots up to their knees they absolutely looked the part. And although she tried not to look at them, she found it impossible not to peek. As did Lemmy. He whispered their names as they passed.
‘That’s Kool Bananas. He’s a bushbaby and plays drums. And that’s Anji Wax …’
Lemmy was so star-struck he found it hard to breathe, let alone speak.
‘She’s a wombat and plays bass. She never talks in interviews – she’s too cool for that. And that’s Suzi Suzi, a bat-eared fox. She’s the singer and guitarist –’
Suddenly Mr Sweet grabbed Lemmy by the collar. ‘Did you hear what I said about looking at the band?’ he growled. ‘Show them respect.’
Mr Sweet was even more terrifying than Madame Le Pig. Lemmy didn’t know what to say or do. His tail fell limply to the floor.
Thankfully T. Bear intervened. He placed his very firm paw on Mr Sweet’s arm and removed it from his friend. ‘Respect needs to be earned, Mr Sweet,’ he said.
Anna could see that there would be trouble ahead.
‘Everything should be as you need,’ she said calmly. ‘I’ll show you to your rooms.’
Mr Sweet growled at T. Bear. ‘The roadies will bring the kit in,’ he said menacingly. ‘Keep your paws off it.’
‘My pleasure,’ said T. Bear.
The band skulked their way across the lobby and into the lift.
‘Fifth floor, Squeak,’ said Anna.
‘Right away,’ he replied, looking at the floor.
‘Nice hotel,’ said Suzi Suzi as the lift started to move. ‘I love the flamingo vibe.’
‘Sure is,’ said Kool Bananas. ‘I could live here. Loads of space for drum kits.’
Anji Wax stood silently, her fringe hanging over her eyes.
Anna wondered why anyone would be too cool to speak.
The lift bell chimed and Anna stepped out. ‘Here are your rooms,’ she said, passing Mr Sweet their keys.
‘We’ll need room service,’ he said. ‘It’s been a long ride, and we’re hungry.’
‘You want food? Now?’ said Anna.
‘We’re nocturnal,’ said Mr Sweet with a growl. ‘I thought this place was a hotel! Don’t you do night meals?’
If only Lemmy had let her know about the band sooner, thought Anna.
‘Yes, sir,’ she said. ‘Of course. Just call the front desk.’
She stepped back into the lift, feeling grumpier by the second.
‘Manners cost nothing, do they, Squeak?’ she said as the lift doors closed.
‘No, miss,’ said the mouse. ‘Can I sign off for the day now, miss?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Anna. ‘Thank you, Squeak.’
6
The Midnight Feast
Anna rested on the front desk, growing sleepier by the minute. It was way past her bedtime, and waiting for the phone to ring was as bad as waiting behind a sloth in the queue for the toilet.
The band’s roadies started dragging crates of instruments and concert gear through the lobby, guided by Lemmy. Anna called him over.
‘You could have told me they were nocturnal animals!’ she said.
‘I thought it was obvious from their name,’ said Lemmy with a shrug.
‘But they need feeding, Lemmy. And there’s no one to cook. Madame Le Pig will be fast asleep.’
An escaped snare drum rolled across the carpet and Lemmy ran after it.
‘Sorry!’ he said, making a hasty escape.
•
Anna was very nearly asleep when the phone finally rang.
‘Reception!’ she said, pulling the phone to her ear.
‘It’s Mr Sweet,’ said the honey badger. ‘I’ve got our room service order.’
‘Fire away,’ said Anna, her pen at the ready.
‘A snow grass and ginger root smoothie,’ he said. ‘One termite tortilla. A bowl of honey chips – oh yeah, and a dragonfruit salad. Got that?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Anna said. ‘I’ll have it with you as soon as it’s ready.’
She put the phone down and rubbed her eyes. It was time to wake up Madame Le Pig, and she was not going to like it one bit.
Anna crept downstairs to the chef’s bedroom, which was a little further along the corridor from her own. Madame Le Pig slept as loudly as she shouted. Her rasping snore rattled the door handle.
After a brisk – if cautious – rap on the door, Anna waited nervously. The snoring stopped, but there was no reply. She knocked again, and then the floodgates opened.
‘WHO IS THIS DISTURBING MY BEAUTY SLEEP?!’ squealed Madame Le Pig through the door.
Anna cringed. ‘It’s me. Anna,’ she said. ‘The Nocturnal Animals have requested food.’
‘At this hour?’ blasted Le Pig.
‘They’re awake at night,’ said Anna, ‘so they eat at night.’
‘I am not stupid!’ declared Madame Le Pig. ‘I know what nocturnal means.’
‘Sorry, yes, Madame,’ said Anna.
‘But I,’ continued Madame Le Pig, ‘am not nocturnal! So go away!’
Anna so desperately wished she could make the food herself. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘They’re really important VIP guests.’
Madame Le Pig’s door creaked open. She was wearing bunny-rabbit slippers and unicorn-covered pyjamas. ‘VIP guests?’ she snorted. ‘Who are these VIP guests?’
‘It’s a rock band called the Nocturnal –’
‘THE NOCTURNAL ANIMALS!’ squealed Madame Le Pig, cutting Anna short.
‘That’s right.’
Madame Le Pig hurried back into her room and threw on a dressing gown and her chef’s hat.
‘Why didn’t you say?!’
‘I did …’
‘They are the biggest band in the world,’ snorted Madame Le Pig as she raced down the corridor. ‘And easily the best! Not even my food is good enough for them!’
Did she really just say that? thought Anna, running after her.
Madame Le Pig was nothing if not surprising.
7
A Different Class of Guest
The following morning T. Bear arrived at the front door ready for work. It had rained all night long, and the pavement outside the hotel was littered with leaves and rubbish. And that was not all.
‘Excuse me, sir?’ said T. Bear, stepping outside.
A large, shaggy old sheepdog was lying by the gutter. Wrapped up in a quilt of dirty newspapers, he looked asleep. T. Bear nudged him gently and a sprinkling of fleas burst from his damp, smelly fur.
The sheepdog grumbled a few unrecognisable words.
‘Sorry, sir,’ said T. Bear. ‘I don’t think you can lie here.’
‘Why not?’ growled the sheepdog.
‘It’s a busy road,’ said T. Bear.
‘Well, I ain’t got nowhere else to go cos of this stupid carnival,’ replied the sheepdog and promptly rolled over.
‘What’s the carnival got to do with it?’ asked T. Bear.
‘They cleared us all off the streets,’ said the sheepdog. ‘They don’t want us dirtying the place. So here I am.’
‘Who doesn’t want you on the streets?’ asked T. Bear.
‘Them Glitz folk,’ grumbled the sheepdog.
‘Hmph,’ said T. Bear gruffly.
He plodded back inside the hotel to find Anna. ‘We have a problem,’ he said, scratching his ear.
Anna was barely awake after just a few hours’ sleep. She sipped a cup of tea, hopeful that it might rouse her.
‘Have the slug family left trails across the carpet again?’ she asked.
‘Not that I know of, miss,’ he replied.
‘Have the tarantulas spun another web across the corridor?’
‘Not since yesterday,’ said T. Bear.
‘Oh,’ said Anna. ‘Then what is it?’
‘We’ve an old sheepdog lying in our gutter,’ said T. Bear. ‘What should I do?’
‘Is he in the way?’ asked Anna.
‘Very much so,’ said T. Bear.
They walked to the front windows and Anna peered out over the road. ‘Doesn’t he have a home to go to?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said T. Bear.
‘Surely everyone has a home?’
T. Bear had seen a lot of life. He knew how hard it could be at times. ‘I don’t think so, miss,’ he said.
‘You’d better invite him in then,’ said Anna. ‘We can’t have him lying out there.’
‘But …’ said T. Bear, pausing. ‘He … well … he smells of wet dog.’
‘It can’t be that bad, surely?’
‘Maybe you should wait and see for yourself.’
•
It was true the sheepdog did smell of wet dog, thought Anna. But he had been asleep out in the rain.
‘Excuse me, sir?’ said Anna kindly. ‘Don’t you have somewhere to be?’
‘Not any more,’ growled the dog.
‘Then would you like to come inside for some breakfast?’
All dogs are the same. They love food whether they have a home or not.
‘Breakfast?’ said the sheepdog, his ears lifting up.
‘That’s right,’ said Anna. ‘We have the best chef in town.’
The sheepdog sat upright, revealing his dense, shaggy fur. ‘But I don’t have money,’ he said.
‘That doesn’t matter,’ said Anna. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Wilbur,’ he replied with a smile.
‘I’m Anna,’ she said. ‘In you come. Let’s get you a cup of tea.’
8
Pamper Time
‘I smell wet dog!’ announced Hilary Hippo as she walked into the lobby.
Anna pointed to Wilbur, who was filling a small armchair while enjoying a cup of steaming-hot tea. His breakfast had vanished in seconds, and a tower of plates were piled up alongside him.
‘It’s Wilbur, our new guest,’ said Anna.
Hilary sneezed as she caught sight of the sheepdog. Loose hairs and fleas were cascading from his legs on to the floor.
‘I spent hours cleaning the carpet this morning!’ said Hilary. ‘It will need a thorough going-over again!’
‘I’m sorry, Hilary,’ said Anna. ‘But everyone is welcome here, you know that.’
Hilary gave a firm nod. ‘Don’t let him move an inch,’ she declared.
She raced from the lobby only to return a few minutes later carrying a smart bag.
‘What’s that?’ asked Anna.
‘My grooming kit,’ she replied.
‘Grooming?’
‘I am much more than just a cleaner,’ scoffed Hilary.
‘But what if he doesn’t want to be groomed?’ asked Anna.
‘I would never groom an animal without their permission first!’ said Hilary. ‘What do you take me for?’
She hurried over to Wilbur, sneezing on arrival. ‘Mr Wilbur,’ she said, ‘when was the last time you visited a grooming parlour?’
‘A what, miss?’ asked Wilbur with a sniff.
‘When were you last pampered?’ asked Hilary. ‘Groomed? Brushed? Washed?’
‘Oh,’ said Wilbur, tapping each claw on his left paw, ‘now that would have to be four years ago, before I lost my job. Grooming’s not cheap, not with all this fur.’
‘Hotel Flamingo offers a pampering spa service for all new guests –’
‘It does?’ interrupted Anna.
Hilary furrowed her brow and continued. ‘We can do manicures, pedicures and even flea treatment,’ she said. ‘All part of the service.’
Wilbur lifted off his tatty hat. A moth flew out. ‘You can do all that for me?’ he said, his ears lifting.
‘All part of the service,’ repeated Hilary.
‘I think I may have died and gone to heaven,’ said Wilbur.
‘No, it’s just Hotel Flamingo,’ said Anna happily.
•
‘We can’t just let Wilbur stay here forever,’ said Lemmy. ‘We’re fully booked up and, besides, our other guests might get annoyed that they’ve paid and he hasn’t.’
Anna scratched her head. Of course, Lemmy was correct, but she really wanted to do the right thing. If only she knew what that was.
‘It doesn’t seem fair to send him back out on to the street,’ she said.
‘Try talking to him,’ said T. Bear. ‘There might be some way we can help.’
When Anna found Wilbur he was sitting in the Piano Lounge, resting his weary bones in one of the fancy armchairs. He was almost unrecognisable. His freshly cleaned fur was silky smooth and ballooned around his head and shoulders like a pompom.
‘Is that you, Wilbur?’ she asked.
‘Yes, Miss Anna!’ he said, smiling.
‘Is there anything we can do to help you?’ she asked.
‘You’ve already done enough, miss,’ he said happily.
Anna wasn’t so sure. ‘Do you have a job to go to?’ she asked.
‘I did. I was in the army,’ said Wilbur. He flexed his arm muscles. ‘I’m strong, good at reading maps, and I can polish shoes to within an inch of their lives –’
He lifted his feet, waving around his sweet-smelling fur, but he seemed to have forgotten he wasn’t wearing any shoes.
‘But they don’t want you once you get old.’
‘And you couldn’t get another job?’ asked Anna.
‘You can’t get a new job without a home, and you can’t get a new home without a job,’ said Wilbur.
‘I can see that makes life very complicated,’ said Anna.
‘It does, miss,’ said Wilbur.
Anna sighed. ‘We don’t have any job vacancies,’ she said sadly, ‘or else you could work here.’
Wilbur shook his head and his fluffy hair wobbled about him. ‘You’ve done plenty enough already,’ he said.
Yet despite Wilbur’s insistence, Anna wanted to do more. Perhaps there was something she could help with.
‘We have empty staff bedrooms downstairs,’ said Anna. ‘They’re not pretty, but you can use one of those until you find a new job.’
‘No, no,’ said Wilbur, ‘that’s too much.’
‘I insist,’ said Anna. ‘It’s a chance to put things right. It’ll be up to you to make the most of it.’
‘Do you really mean it?’ asked Wilbur.
‘I do,’ said Anna. ‘You said yourself, if you have a home, you can get a job. It’s one part of the problem solved.’
Wilbur howled in happiness. ‘I won’t forget this, miss!’ he said.
9
The Riotous Rehearsal
Anna was lying in bed when a loud knocking broke her sleep.
‘Miss Anna,’ said Lemmy, ‘I’m so sorry, but I could do with some help.’
It wasn’t like Lemmy to bother her at night. Anna rubbed her eyes, threw on her dressing gown and opened the door. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
‘It’s the band, miss,’ he said. ‘They’re rehearsing!’
‘What time is it?’
‘Three in the morning,’ said Lemmy. ‘They’ve woken up nearly four floors. I’ve got two sad llamas, three honking baby geese and Mrs Turpington is in tears!’
‘That’s the last thing we need!’ said Anna, steeling herself. ‘Right! Let’s go and have a word.’
Anna walked into the lobby and could hear the thumping of drums and the screeching of wild, distorted guitars coming from the upper floors.
‘I thought they wanted to keep their stay a secret?’ said Anna. ‘Everyone’s going to know about them after this.’
Eva was consoling Mrs Turpington with a nice dandelion tea.
The ageing tortoise shook her head. ‘Is this what they call music these days?’ she said to Anna. ‘You can’t dance to this!’
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‘I’m sorry,’ said Anna. ‘It’ll be quiet soon. I’ll see to it.’
She took a deep breath and rode the lift to the fifth floor. Bleary-eyed guests poked their heads out of their doors as she passed. The music pounding out of the band’s room was loud, angry, yet quite incredible, and with her fist firmly clenched she banged on the door.
‘Can you turn it down, please?’ shouted Anna.
The music continued and she banged again. ‘Mr Sweet, will you open the door?’
A second or two passed before the music cut out. Anna’s heart started to race. The door opened, and Mr Sweet’s snarling face appeared before her.
‘What?’ he snapped.
‘You cannot play music at this time of night,’ said Anna. ‘You’ve woken all our guests up.’
‘We rehearse at night,’ snarled Mr Sweet. ‘That’s when we’re awake. Deal with it.’
He slammed the door. The music started again.
Anna stood silently for a moment, allowing her anger a chance to come off the boil. Nobody, not even a terrifying honey badger, could talk to her like that and get away with it.
She banged at the door once more. The music stopped and again Mr Sweet opened the door. ‘What is it this time?’ he snarled.
Faced with the terrifying creature her voice seemed to stop working. She coughed and forced out the words, ‘In my office, now!’
Mr Sweet laughed. ‘Are you threatening me, miss?’ He bared his sharp teeth.
‘In my office, now,’ repeated Anna, finding her strength. ‘I will not be spoken to like this in my hotel.’
And with that she turned and ventured back downstairs. Her heart was pounding, but she was feeling stronger for confronting Mr Sweet.
By the time Anna had reached the office, most of the staff were awake and placating upset guests. Even Jojo, who was better equipped to deal with swimmers than sad skunks, was doing her best to calm everyone down.
T. Bear was at the front desk, looking ready for action. ‘Want me to deal with Mr Sweet, miss?’ he asked, rubbing his paws together. ‘I don’t mind.’