Bedlam & Breakfast at a Devon Seaside Guesthouse

by Sharley Scott

  Only that morning, I’d looked in the mirror and thought my skin looked like tissue paper that had been screwed up into a tiny ball and then pressed flat. The creases would never disappear. I’d pulled the edges of my face taut, imagining myself with a face lift but when I let go everything drooped back into place, my jowls, my crow’s feet, the crepe paper lines. I’d scowled and stuck out my tongue. Even Jason had bags under his eyes. It was 58 days since our last lie-in with another 75-day stretch before our next day off, when we could go and see Emily and Lucy again. Okay, we had the odd afternoon of freedom, but each morning felt like Groundhog Day. The alarm clock beeped and we’d roll out of bed. Once dressed, we’d head downstairs to set up for breakfast, where I’d serve guests while Jason cooked, then we’d clear up and say goodbye to guests checking out. I’d go up and clean the rooms while Jason finished the kitchen, when he’d join me to finish the rooms. We’d stop for lunch and do the washing and ironing. Depending on how many arrivals we had, our day could be anything from seven to fourteen hours.

  Kim and Shona’s B&B may be half the size of ours, but they’d been doing this job much longer than our three months or so. It must be exhausting to keep going day-in day-out. I was beginning to see why they said the average B&Ber around here lasted about six years.

  “Have you got a full diary? Can you block out any time?”

  She treated me to her throaty chuckle but her eyes didn’t sparkle as they usually did. “We haven’t got a clear day until October. I’m just worn out, that’s all.”

  We were in the same boat – clinging on while we were pitched into the relentless summer season – but when we’d spotted a few days free at the start of October, I’d blocked them out. I’d got carried away then, closing out the calendar for a few weeks in November, the whole of Christmas – although that depended on how well our summer went – and a few weeks more in January. It felt decadent to do so, although I suspected I wasn’t being ruthless enough.

  “Well, if we can help, do shout.” I’d tossed her a platitude. We both knew there was little Jason or I could do to help with the day-to-day workload at Jetsam Cottage. We had more than enough to do with sixteen breakfasts each day and eight rooms to clean, before we even started the laundry.

  The more she spoke, the thicker and claggier her voice became. “Just ignore me. We hit this point last year and no doubt we’ll be here moaning next year.”

  Like them, Jason and I were bickering more lately. Tiredness shortened our tempers, especially in the heat of the breakfast kitchen. I couldn’t remember our last meal out together. Perhaps I should ask him if we could go somewhere and have an evening away from the B&B. I still dreamed of mussels and bass. No Mike, no Josie. Just the two of us.

  I checked my watch and swigged the last of my tea. “I better get going. We’ve got a check-in coming soon and I don’t want to leave Jason to it. I hope you and Shona get things sorted soon and you feel better too.”

  “We’ll be fine. We always are. B&Bing has its ups-and-downs, just like us.”

  And like Jason and me too, I thought. But I didn’t say as much.

  As I stepped from Jetsam Cottage, I spotted Jason in the car park over the road, hefting suitcases from the boot of a guest’s car. I crossed over to greet them. The man’s firm handshake made me wince, but the woman gave me a warm smile and air-kissed my cheek. Her fragrance smelled like vanilla; a lovely fresh aroma rather than synthetic. I made a mental note to ask her what she wore.

  “I’m Lisa and this is Ja… Matthew.”

  Matthew shot her a look and frowned as she giggled, “Listen to me! That journey was so mind numbing, I can’t remember my partner’s name.”

  “I can,” he said drily. “It’s still Matthew.”

  She smiled at him. While he turned back to shut his car boot, she pointed to the church next door. “I’ve been watching that lot come out. You’re a God-fearing bunch down here, aren’t you?”

  Confused, I gazed to where she pointed. Did she mean we had a lot of churches in Torringham? But then I spotted the groups of people heading away from the church hall, leaving a dozen or more mingling outside.

  “Not God-fearing. Fat-fearing.” I pointed to the slimming club sign.

  She blushed and ran her hands over her flat stomach. “I should go there. I need to watch my weight too.”

  Jason handed me a small case, while he took the two larger suitcases. We followed him and Matthew across the road and into the guesthouse. As I took Lisa inside, I told her where to come when they were ready to check-in.

  “I think James will want to come straight down. We missed lunch, so we’ll have an early dinner,” she said.

  Puzzled, I didn’t respond as I took her up to her room. Had she got memory issues or was there another reason why she kept getting Matthew’s name wrong? Back downstairs, I found Jason in the day room setting out the registration forms.

  “Have you noticed she keeps calling him James?” I whispered.

  “Maybe she thinks he’s her chauffeur.” He grinned but clamped his mouth shut as the stairs creaked and Lisa and Matthew appeared. While Jason took them through to the day room to check them in, I headed for the lounge and the ironing pile.

  Jason took ages. After dealing with Lisa and Matthew, he bumped into two guests in the hallway who’d had a wonderful time visiting Dartmoor. I could hear their laughter above the TV and the hiss of the iron. As he wandered back into the lounge, smiling to himself, I decided to broach the idea of a romantic night out.

  “You want to go out for a meal?” He scratched his head. “I’d love to but what with buying those mattresses and needing to sort the roof, we’re running on fumes. Plus, I thought you wanted to put minifridges in the rooms when we had a bit of spare cash. We could just about manage a pint at The White Hart if you’re desperate.”

  Shrugging, I turned back to the ironing board so he wouldn’t spot my disappointment. He was right. With the recent dry spell, I’d completely forgotten about the leaking roof. Jason and Mike had put in a temporary patch which had worked so far but we were looking at a couple of thousand to fix the small area of flat roofing so the general room improvements – and fancy evenings out – had been put on hold.

  He came over and hugged me. “You look so down. How about I make you a nice cup of tea?”

  With as much enthusiasm as I could muster, I said, “Sounds wonderful.”

  Leaving his arm resting on my shoulder, he added, “Then leave the ironing for me and you can have a rest while I rustle up a spag bol.”

  “No garlic. You don’t want to stink out the guesthouse again.”

  He grinned. “Lesson learned.”

  ♦

  I rushed back into the kitchen with the next order, to be hit by the smell of burnt toast. At this rate I’d run out of bread. Jason darted between the cooker and the griddle, flustered and red-faced. As a tomato rolled onto the floor, he cursed and kicked it away. I snatched the toast from the toaster and threw them and the tomato in the bin.

  “Two more full Englishes and an Eggs Benedict.”

  To the sound of clattering pans, I put the order form on the side, just as the telephone shrilled. I glanced at the clock. Eight thirty. Who on earth would ring a B&B at this time? As it rang on and on, I fought my irritation and answered.

  A well-spoken man’s voice responded, “Hello, can I speak to Lisa?”

  Jason gestured me to get the plates. When he saw me on the phone, he threw his arms in the air and stomped over to the hot plate.

  “Can you give me your number and I’ll call you back when we’ve finished breakfast.”

  Jason ran a finger across his throat. Cut the call. Now.

  “I want to speak to Lisa,” the man repeated.

  “I can’t get her right now.”

  “I know she’s there. Just put me through to her.”

  Did he think we were a massive hotel with a switchboard? The only switchboard we had was my legs as I ran up two floors to hand the p
hone to her. That wouldn’t be happening at this time of the morning. Not only did his tone unnerve me but I couldn’t leave Jason to plate up the four breakfasts, especially when he needed to get on with the next batch. I hung up on the man.

  “Why you answered, I don’t know.” Jason tonged a sausage onto each plate while I filled the ramekins with beans. When the telephone started to ring again, he snapped, “Ignore it.”

  I hurried out with two of the plates.

  “You’re busy,” a guest said as the telephone rang on and on. I shook my head to let her know what I thought of the caller.

  Returning for the other two plates, I pulled out the phone socket rather than switch the answerphone on. Now he could ring all he liked. With a fixed smile, I headed out with the other two plates. “Your toast is just coming,” I promised. “More coffee? No problem.”

  I dashed back into the kitchen, flicked the kettle on, grabbed the butter dish and the toast and put the four halves in the rack, rinsed the cafetière, refilled it, and disappeared back to the breakfast room, ignoring Jason’s call for help with the scrambled eggs. Two guests wanted extra toast and tea and another two were waiting to order, so I took their empty cereal dishes – promising to return with the pad and pen – and stacked the bowls by the dishwasher, refilled the kettle, popped on more toast, before heading back out to take orders, ignoring Jason’s cry for plates.

  ♦

  Lisa and Matthew didn’t make it down to breakfast. A relief as it hadn’t been one of our finest services and two fewer guests lessened the crisis. After we’d cleaned up the breakfast room, I’d gone up to tell her about the caller, but they’d already gone out. By now, I felt guilty for hanging up. What if the man had been trying to get hold of Lisa to tell her about a death in the family or something? But why hadn’t he called her mobile? Even if hers didn’t work, he could have called Matthew’s. Maybe they’d turned off their phones or neither had a signal.

  The phone call played on my mind while I serviced the rooms. Even when I sat down to lunch with Jason, I felt ill at ease.

  “That man was odd.”

  “What man?”

  “The one who called this morning.”

  Jason shrugged and pushed the rest of his tuna and lettuce sandwich into his mouth. He slapped his hands together, so the crumbs fell onto his plate, and got up. We had little time to waste lunching with a busy day ahead including four check-ins.

  Gulping down the last of his sandwich, he picked up the shopping list. “Give Lisa a ring if you’re that worried.”

  He picked up the car keys and headed out the door, leaving me to the washing and ironing. I wondered if I should call Lisa, but I told myself this morning’s caller would have got hold of her by now. Instead I turned on the TV, picking an old favourite: a series of Friends I’d seen countless times. Jason wasn’t a fan of the show, so each time an episode finished I flicked to the next recording, making the most of him being out of the house. Ross was talcum powdering his legs in a vain attempt to get a pair of leather trousers on, when the guesthouse doorbell rang. Three o’clock. Probably someone checking in. Not bothering to press pause on the TV – I knew the ending – I switched off the iron and hurried out.

  A man stood under the door canopy, his large Range Rover parked across two of the driveway spaces. There was no one in the passenger seat and we weren’t expecting a single person. Crimson blotches stained his cheeks and sweat prickled his forehead. His chest heaved as if he’d sprinted here. Perhaps that wasn’t his car.

  “Can I help?”

  “My name’s James. I’ve come to see Lisa.”

  He sounded familiar. But we never had people calling for guests without warning. “Lisa?”

  “Don’t play games. I know she’s here. I can see that bastard’s car over there for a start.”

  As he leapt forward, I tried to slam the door shut but he rammed it open. No way was he coming in. I held my arms wide, barricading myself between the wall and the open door. Close up, he stank of alcohol.

  “For goodness’ sake. I just want to talk to my wife.” Scanning the dark hallway behind me, he shouted, “Lisa! Lisa!” and shouldered my arm aside.

  I blocked his way. Looking down at me, he grinned, clearly thinking I was a little woman he could swat aside. Okay, he could, but fury made me strong and I shoved as hard as I could. “Go away! Or I’ll call the police.”

  Taken by surprise, he staggered back, grabbing the door jamb to stop him tripping over the ledge. As I slammed the door shut, he screamed, a high-pitched shriek of pain. Shocked, I wrenched the door back to find him clutching his fingers.

  “You bitch!” Hands between his legs, he bent over, gasping. “You’ve broken my fingers!”

  Trembling, I watched him. What would he do? Probably sue me.

  A young couple stood in the middle of the road, waiting for a break in the traffic. While they stood there, I felt safe. But soon they’d be gone and I’d be left with this man. Red-faced, James gazed at me, gritting his teeth and clutching his hand. Should I call them? When a white van slowed to let them cross, to my relief the woman headed over, leaving the man by the edge of the driveway speaking urgently on his phone. I could hear the odd words: ‘stranger, breaking in, still here’.

  The woman turned to me. “Are you okay?”

  “Her?” James spluttered. “What about me?”

  She ignored him. “We saw him trying to force his way in.”

  A witness! Thank goodness! She turned to James, who’d turned a plum colour. “Chris is on the phone to the police.”

  “The police? What the hell for?” He shook his hand.

  The woman kept calm. “We saw it all. If you got hurt, it was your own fault.”

  Kim appeared from behind the Range Rover. She looked drawn, as if she’d just woken up. “Is everything okay?”

  “No, I’m not,” the man said.

  “I don’t care about you.” Kim draped her arm over my shoulders. She broke into a coughing fit, stopping for breath before she could speak. “Is he a guest?”

  I shook my head. “He just barged in screaming for Lisa.”

  “My wife!” said the man.

  “He tried to force his way in,” the woman said. “We saw it all.”

  Chris cut off his call and looked at his watch. “They’re on their way. The station’s only around the corner, so give them…”

  From the opposite direction, a police car pulled up on the road outside, blocking the Range Rover. Great! We had four check-ins and Jason arriving any moment. This would be a lovely welcome to new guests. One of the policemen spoke to James, while the other addressed the young couple who’d gone over to the police car. Heart thumping, I stood by the door wondering what would happen – would I get in trouble for injuring him? – while Kim wheezed beside me. Soon the officer left the young couple and headed over.

  “They say he tried forcing his way in.”

  Kim hugged me tighter, as if I needed protecting. While the confrontation with James had shaken me up and I could do with a cuddle, her height meant I was planted on her right boob. I extricated myself from her grip.

  “I wouldn’t let him come inside but he barged in. I pushed him back out and he hurt his hand when he tried to stop me closing the door.” Not a perfect summary, but it would do. “Apparently, his wife is here but that doesn’t give him the right to do that.”

  Kim coughed and banged her chest. Her eyes watered.

  “That sounds nasty.” She looked terrible too with black smudges beneath her eyes and an ashen tinge to her skin. She flicked her hand, brushing my concern aside.

  “I don’t want to take it further,” I told the policeman. “I just want him to go and not come back.”

  On the other side of the driveway, the man had started shouting about his rights. Flinging his arm in the air, he narrowly missed the policeman. His colleague left us and hurried over to the commotion, blocking much of our view but we caught glimpses of the man’s swinging arms and h
eard him bellowing ‘You don’t tell me what to do’, ‘She’s my wife’ and ‘What do you mean drinking?’. Before we knew it, the man was being handcuffed and led to the police car.

  “Oh no!” I said.

  “He’ll learn not to start on lone women.”

  “But his car. It’s taking two spaces.”

  With a voice thick with phlegm, Kim said, “Selfish twerp.”

  I sighed. Now we’d have to pay for the guests to park across the road until James was released. They wouldn’t be happy, expecting a driveway parking space. As the police car pulled away, he glared at me from the back seat. Not usually one for swearing, I stuck two fingers up at him. And I meant it.

  Chapter 14

  Hours later James’s hulk of a Range Rover still hogged the drive, telling me he was probably spending the evening in the police station, if not the night. What had he said or done to the police to cause them to arrest him? Perhaps drink driving, as he’d smelled of alcohol. When they did release him, I prayed he would slip away quietly or else he risked coming face-to-face with a furious Jason.

  Lisa and Matthew didn’t arrive back until six o’clock, tanned and smiling after their ferry trip to Berrinton. But when they spotted James’s car and learned about the day’s events, they insisted on packing and leaving immediately, even though they’d paid for four nights. The worry about James diminished Lisa. Her petite features sunk into her bones, her shoulders sagged and even her blonde hair dulled. As we stood on the driveway, a jittery Matthew bobbed up and down like a meerkat scanning the road.

  “We should go,” he said, as Lisa apologised for the tenth time for leaving early.

  She placed her hand on my arm. “It’s just that you don’t know him like I do.”

  One dose of James had been enough for me. Who cared whether she was having a weekend liaison with Matthew or if she’d left her husband for him. It wasn’t my business. Anyone married to a bully like James had my sympathy.