The lane narrows as Mel drives further up the hill and heads a little way out of the village, the hedgerows and trees above closing in and blocking out the daylight. As another car comes towards her, she’s careful not to scrape the crumbling, ivy-choked wall to her left as they pass.
And then she spots it. Moreton Inn – unmistakable from the photos she’s already seen online and just as pretty in real life. Her heart pounds, and she can barely take her eyes off the old, thatched building as she approaches, gazing up at the place. Some of the paintwork might be flaking, and there are weeds growing all around but, behind the slightly shabby façade, Mel sees the potential, sees nothing but the perfect home for her and Kate.
She parks on the verge opposite and pulls on the handbrake, looking for signs of life, if anyone is here to greet them.
‘Are we here?’ Kate says, waking and stretching the moment Mel cuts the engine.
‘We are indeed,’ Mel replies, feeling another flutter in her heart as she takes it all in – though she’s not sure if it’s from excitement or trepidation. ‘What do you think?’
Kate stares out at the building. ‘And that’s all ours?’ she says, rubbing her eyes. Mel nods proudly. ‘Moreton Inn,’ she reads from the faded painted sign hanging above the sloped-roof porch. ‘Looks more like a country pub than a hotel.’
‘You’re right,’ Mel replies, spotting the wooden tables and chairs set out in front, some broken and rotten. There’s a stack of half a dozen or so beer barrels beside the entrance to the car park, along with a few brightly coloured plastic bottle crates. ‘Come on, let’s investigate.’ And if we don’t like it, we get back in the car and go, she thinks, though has no idea where to.
Tony was very reasonable about ending the lease on the flat with only two weeks’ notice, rather than the required four, but only because his cousin from Ireland was coming over and needed a place to live. She knows Michael would put them up for a bit if necessary, but his place isn’t huge and she wouldn’t want to impose for long.
No, Mel thinks, shielding her eyes from the sun as she walks across the quiet lane, there’s no other option but to make a go of it.
‘It’s, like, insane that you got given all this,’ Kate says as they stretch their legs. ‘And the air smells weird,’ she adds, tipping her face to the sky, breathing in deeply.
‘What you mean is it smells fresh,’ Mel says with a smile. ‘All this sea air and countryside,’ she says, heading towards the front door of the hotel. ‘We’ll sleep well, if nothing else.’
And a decent night’s sleep is what Mel craves most after two weeks of lying awake, startling at every sound. By the time they’d packed up and left, she was even more convinced that Billy had been sniffing around, and certain he’d been in the flat more than once. But that was Billy’s style – to slowly toy with her, raise her anxiety, make her believe she was going mad. No, she thinks as she approaches the front door, I’ve done the right thing. He’ll never find us here.
Thirteen
‘Hello?’ Mel calls out tentatively as she opens the oak front door. She glances up at the hand-painted licensing sign above the stone surround, but it’s worn and faded and impossible to read. She thinks she makes out the name Joy but can’t be sure. ‘Anyone here?’ When no one replies, Mel goes in, with Kate following behind.
What strikes her first is how dark it is inside, though that’s because the curtains are closed. The faint smell of beer catches in the back of her throat as she sees they’re in some kind of reception area. There’s an old wooden counter to the right with a slightly wilting bunch of flowers and, to the left, a staircase with a worn carpet. The two windows either side of the door are draped in heavy velvet curtains, the burgundy fabric faded at the inner edges.
‘Mum?’ Kate whispers, taking hold of Mel’s sweatshirt sleeve. ‘Should we be in here, do you think? It doesn’t look open.’
‘It’s OK, love. Probably everyone’s busy out the back.’
Mel swallows, not even sure who ‘everyone’ is. She opens a door to the right of the desk and goes through, finding a much bigger room than the reception area, also with the curtains closed. It seems to be a lounge bar – an array of pub-style tables dotted around with velvet-topped stools and wooden chairs set next to them. A polished oak banquette lines one wall, again with a row of small circular tables. Down the other side of the room is a bar – Mel can just make out the glint of the glasses hanging upside down above the counter, as well as the many bottles along the back, stacked up in front of a mirrored wall. The usual beer pulls line the bar, mats and drip trays placed at intervals. The beery smell is stronger in here, but Mel can see it won’t take much more than a good clean and a lick of paint to transform the entire space, and in winter the big open fire will make it so cosy.
‘Hello?’ she calls out again, beckoning to Kate to follow her. There’s a door at the other end of the room, so they go through and find themselves in a light and spacious hallway with various doors off – one of which leads out to the car park.
‘Yuck, it stinks,’ Kate says, holding her nose.
‘It’s just disinfectant,’ Mel says, thinking that’s a good sign. Someone is cleaning the toilets, at least, which she can see are located just down the corridor. It’s brighter out here, too, with a couple of skylights, lots of windows and a few houseplants balanced on the low sill that runs the length of the atrium. ‘Guess that’s the kitchen,’ she says, hearing a clattering sound coming from behind the double swing doors. ‘Come on. Let’s see who’s in there.’
Suddenly, one of the doors bursts open and a girl in her twenties is standing there with a pile of metal trays stacked in her arms.
‘Oh!’ she exclaims, grabbing onto the top few trays as they start to slide off. Mel lunges at them, placing them back.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Mel says. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’
‘That’s OK,’ says the girl. She has bleached-blonde hair swept up into a tight knot on top of her head, the darker roots tugging at her temples. A floral hairband helps keep it in place. Her face is pale; her cat-like eyes, a piercing sea green, almost out of place on such a young face. ‘Can I help you? If you’re after food, we don’t open for evening meals until five.’
‘No, no… I was wondering if the manager was here? Or someone in charge? I’m Mel. Mel Douglas.’ She pauses, waiting to see if the girl recognises her name, but her face remains blank.
‘That’ll be me, I suppose, then. No one else here, really. Apart from Rose, and she won’t arrive for another hour. She does the cooking, you see. But there’s a complaints box in reception. You can just fill that out if you like, and…’ She trails off. ‘And we’ll see something is done about it.’ A little shrug from behind the tower of trays. ‘Maybe.’
‘You’re the manager?’ Mel doesn’t doubt the girl’s capabilities, and she seems confident enough, but she’s very young – probably only twenty-one or two – and can’t have had much experience running hotels. Even places like this.
‘Not really, but no one else is going do it, are they?’ She giggles then, though chases it up with a sigh. ‘Someone’s got to keep the old place going.’
‘Well, you can relax. I’m not here to complain. Is it you I should see about… about the hotel? About the transfer?’
‘Transfer?’ The girl makes a puzzled face, shifting her hold on the stack of trays.
‘Do you want me to help you with those? They look heavy,’ Mel offers, feeling awkward just standing there.
‘Sure, thanks.’ The girl eases the stack forward for Mel to take the top few. ‘They’re going out to the storage shed. There aren’t many in for dinner these days, so we don’t need half the cooking stuff in there. I was going to give the kitchen a good clean-out. Don’t think it’s been done in years, and it’ll give me something to do. Make me look busy.’ The girl laughs again. ‘Keep me in a job.’
Mel follows her out of the back door and into the car park around the side of the build
ing. It’s a large space which opens up into a decent-sized garden and seating area too, though it’s rather overgrown and the patio is uneven and broken.
Mel nudges Kate with her elbow, grinning as she sees her daughter sizing it all up. She’s never really had a proper garden to play in before.
‘Over here,’ the girl says, leading them towards a stone lean-to store attached to the side of the hotel.
Mel follows, glancing up at the rear of the hotel. She doesn’t know a lot about building works but is pleased to see that the thatch doesn’t look in too much need of repair. The windows could do with a coat of paint though, she thinks and, just as she’s looking away, she catches sight of a face at a top-floor window – a flash of something that could have just been a trick of the light. When she looks again, there’s no one there.
‘Key’s in my pocket somewhere,’ the girl says, balancing the trays with one hand as she rummages in her apron pocket. ‘There we go,’ she says once the padlock is off. ‘Just dump them anywhere.’
Inside the store room, Mel sees that it’s mainly filled with broken furniture, old linen bulging out of cardboard boxes and stacks of crockery. She puts the baking trays on a table as the girl directs, knowing that with a skip on site, she could have it all cleared out in a day.
‘I’m Nikki, by the way,’ the girl says, wiping her hands down her apron. ‘Are you staying with us or just passing through?’
‘We’re the new owners. Well, my mum is. I’m Kate.’ She puffs up proudly – something Mel hasn’t seen in a long while.
Nikki pauses for a moment, the glimmer of a smile spreading across her feline-like features. ‘Well, very pleased to meet you, Kate.’ She reaches out a hand to shake and Kate reciprocates.
‘I’m Mel. And it’s true – by a strange turn of events, I’ve…’ Mel hesitates, not sure how much she should reveal. ‘I’ve become the new owner, yes. Has anyone informed you and the other staff?’
‘No,’ Nikki says brightly, accompanied by a little grin, as if such strange occurrences are completely normal.
She heads off back to the hotel then. Mel and Kate follow, glancing at each other and shrugging. They end up in the lounge bar area where Nikki pulls open all the heavy curtains before opening the wooden shutters behind. The afternoon sun streams in through the old glass panes, making the whole place seem much more homely.
‘No one tells me anything,’ she says, laughing. ‘But I’m pleased you’re here. Is it a buy-out or something? Are you from a brewery or one of those big hotel chains come to take us over?’
‘Nothing quite so corporate,’ Mel says, sensing the girl’s disappointment. ‘And I have no experience running hotels, just so you know.’
‘Oh,’ Nikki says. ‘That’s a shame. I was hoping the place was going to get a massive makeover, like on one of those TV shows. Then we all get new uniforms and secure jobs and customers actually start coming and give us something to do.’
‘Sorry to disappoint,’ Mel says. ‘It’s strange that no one has mentioned us arriving. The solicitor said it was all in hand.’
‘Don’t know anything about a solicitor, I’m afraid,’ she says, going behind the bar and flicking some switches beneath the counter. Lights come on all around, making it almost seem as if one or two people might be tempted to stop by for a beer. Nikki crouches down, disappearing for a moment. Glass bottles rattle as she mumbles to herself, standing up again and jotting something down in a notebook.
‘Got to bottle up,’ she says, glancing at her watch. ‘Not much in the fridge, and you never know…’
‘Never know what?’ Kate says, perching on one of the stools. She leans her elbow on the bar, eyeing all the upside-down bottles in the optics rack.
‘If anyone might come in, of course.’ Nikki blinks slowly at Kate. ‘We have to be prepared. I mean, imagine if a coach party turns up. How silly would we look then?’
‘Has a coach party ever turned up?’ Mel asks.
‘Well, no, but that’s not the point. And in theory makes it more likely to happen.’
‘No it doesn’t,’ Kate says, cupping her chin in her hands, watching intently as Nikki busies around slicing lemons, checking the ice buckets, testing the beer is flowing correctly.
‘Joyce always used to say, “We should live our lives as though Christ was coming this afternoon”. And to be fair,’ Nikki continues, glancing up from picking out cocktail cherries and placing them in a bowl next to the lemon slices, ‘she had a point.’
‘That’s stupid,’ Kate says.
Mel nudges her in the ribs.
‘Oww, Mum,’ she says, shying away.
‘How so?’ Nikki replies, unfazed by Kate’s directness. In fact, the two seem drawn to each other.
‘Because Christ is dead, of course.’
‘True,’ Nikki says, placing her forearms flat on the bar and leaning forward. She gives a couple more slow blinks. ‘But… He came back from the dead once, didn’t He? And what if He does that again and ends up here? Where would we be then? That’s what Joyce said. Anyway, I just do as I’m told.’
‘Is Joyce here, Nikki?’ Mel says. ‘Is she the manager?’ Perhaps this is the person Mel needs to speak to about the transfer. The solicitor had told her that she was expected. ‘Can I speak with her?’
‘That might prove hard,’ Nikki replies, wringing out a cloth under the tap in the sink. She turns round, leaning on the bar again. ‘Joyce is dead.’
Fourteen
‘This is quite cute,’ Kate says, standing in the doorway and peeking inside one of the bedrooms off the creaky landing. ‘But it’s small.’
‘It’s still twice the size of your bedroom back in Birmingham,’ Mel says with a laugh, incredulous at all the space as they explore the hotel. ‘Let’s check out some of the other rooms. Apart from the final paperwork, the place is as good as mine, so we can take our pick. Have a different one each night if we choose.’
‘That bed looks like an antique,’ Kate says, running her hand along the carved wooden headboard.
‘It’s lovely, but it could do with some new linen,’ Mel adds, eyeing the dated nylon bedspread. ‘Come on, let’s dump our bags in here for a bit and have a look around.’
Earlier, when Nikki had revealed that her old boss, Joyce, was dead, Mel had been reluctant to probe too much in case it was still raw. What if it was the stress of running Moreton Inn that had finished her off, or the terrible reviews made her take her own life? Or perhaps financial pressures and huge debts had given her no other option but to end things. But when Nikki had revealed that Joyce, in her mid-seventies, had died of a stroke, Mel had breathed out. Nothing sinister after all.
‘I’m so sorry to hear that, Nikki. How upsetting for all the staff,’ she’d said, relieved at least that the hotel wasn’t to blame.
Nikki had shrugged then, her green eyes blinking slowly. ‘Oh no,’ she’d said before trotting off back to the kitchen, ‘don’t be sorry. Things are much better now.’
‘How about this one?’ Mel says, peering inside room number eight.
Kate walks up to her, having rattled the handle of the room next door. ‘Number seven is locked,’ she says.
‘There’s probably a key somewhere,’ Mel replies as they go inside, making a mental note to find it.
‘This one is OK, I guess,’ Kate says, going through into the tiny en suite shower room. ‘Wow, look at this funny thing. Why would you put a doll on a toilet?’
Mel laughs. ‘Good grief, I’ve not seen one of these in a long time. My foster mum’s aunt had one in her bathroom. Look.’ Mel lifts up the plastic doll and reveals a toilet roll beneath its knitted skirt.
Kate bursts out laughing, her hands covering her mouth, her eyebrows raised. ‘No waaay…’ she squeals. ‘That’s so kitsch, it’s unreal.’ She pulls out her phone to take a photograph. ‘This is going on Insta—’
‘No,’ Mel says suddenly, taking hold of Kate’s wrist. ‘No pics online, love.’ Her heart speeds up. ‘Not�
�� not until we’re settled, right?’ She smiles, hoping Kate won’t press for the real reason: that she doesn’t want to give Billy a single clue as to their whereabouts. Even if he’s not on Kate’s list of followers, she wouldn’t put it past him to have fake accounts.
‘Sure,’ Kate replies, tucking her phone away again. ‘I’m not convinced about this room either. Let’s look at the others.’ She skips off ahead, going down a low-ceilinged, beamy corridor, up a short flight of steps and onto another landing area with four more bedroom doors.
‘How about this room then?’ Kate says, her hand on the knob of room twelve. ‘Whatever it’s like inside, I’m gonna have it, OK?’ she says with a cheeky grin. Mel is so relieved that her daughter’s mood has lifted since they left Birmingham, that she seems excited at the prospect of a fresh start.
‘It could be filled with spiders and snakes,’ Mel jokes. ‘But you’ve got to sleep in it whatever, though. That’s the deal.’ She gives Kate a little tickle.
‘Oh, Mu-um,’ she laughs. ‘I’m going in and it’s mine, all mine!’ With her hand on the knob, she screws up her eyes, a big grin on her face, and pushes the door open but, a moment later, she opens her eyes and lets out a surprised squeak.
Mel comes in, taking her by the shoulders, staring at the floral armchair by the window. There’s a woman sitting in it. A very pale and thin woman with mousy hair scooped up and neatly fastened on top of her head. Her skin is smooth and waxy, as if she’s never been outside, making her difficult to age. She is reading a book and doesn’t glance up.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ Mel says. ‘I had no idea anyone was staying here. Please, do forgive us.’ She waits for the woman to say something, but she doesn’t. She just continues to read, slowly turning a page. Mel wonders if she might be hard of hearing, so she goes up to her, waving her arm a little.
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