“I’ve found him!” Margaret called and waved me over.
♦
Jason shook his head as he walked in and slumped onto the sofa. His fingers tapped the armrest; a signal to be left alone after a long and frustrating day. I’d wrapped a hand towel round my hair, but it wasn’t tied securely so I had to keep my head upright while I slurped my tea.
He glanced over in irritation. “Most people drink tea, not suck it.”
“I’m not most people.”
“Don’t I know it.” He picked up the remote control and stabbed it towards the TV. “I found him at a petrol station in Kentingbridge. Can you believe it?”
“Kentingbridge? I thought his wife was joking when she said he had no sense of direction.”
“That’s not the best part,” he said. “From what he told me, it seems he’s been to Berrinton and followed the coast road before giving up and heading in the other direction.”
“He must have done twenty miles. Why didn’t he call?”
“He forgot he had a phone.” Jason looked at my mug and at the empty space on the coffee table beside him. “Didn’t you make me one?”
Thankfully, the outside bell tinkled – a definite saved by the bell moment – and I leapt up.
Mrs Morris stood in the hallway, holding an empty jug of milk. “It’s been so miserable I stayed in all day. I came down a while back but you’d gone out. It’s a long way down these stairs, you know.” Her look suggested we’d been partying when she needed her cuppa. She had a thin, reedy voice and a lifetime of wrinkles, but when she smiled the years fell from her, as they did now when she added, “I’m as dry as my old bones.”
When she’d arrived a few days before, she’d told me she’d come down for a break to get away from a house filled with memories of her Len, who’d died almost a year ago after a long illness. We’d chatted about him and how she missed being a ‘we’. The longing for her beloved husband oozed from her. I hoped it would be sunny tomorrow, so she could get out, rather than being stuck inside all day with just a TV for company.
“You go back to your room and keep comfy. I’ll bring you another jug right away.” As she rested her hand on my arm in thanks, I added, “And more tea.”
I’d flick the kettle on for Jason too. Behind me, Mrs Morris clutched the bannister as she hauled herself slowly up the stairs. On second thoughts, I’d take her milk and a few extra biscuits and stop for a chat. Jason could wait.
♦
We’d just finished cleaning the kitchen after another busy breakfast service, said goodbye to a lovely couple, and were trying to work out which guests had gone out, so we could service their rooms, when there was a tap on the breakfast room door. It squeaked open and Margaret’s head poked through the gap.
“I’m leaving Keith in the room and going out for a walk.”
“Have fun. Don’t forget if you want your room cleaned, we’ll need to get in by twelve,” Jason said.
“We’ll be out by then but you should know he’s on his own.”
“We won’t disturb him,” I said, as the door snapped shut behind her.
Without speaking, we both wandered over to the front window as, with a furrowed brow, she paused to gaze at her bedroom window before striding down the road. Behind her, Mrs Hollacombe rumbled along in her mobility scooter. This week’s advert offered a free cup of tea with every meal at her son’s café, aptly named Hollacombe’s Café.
Puffs of cloud floated in a sky the colour of Keith’s car, which sat across the road glinting in the sun. Impossible to believe that less than twelve hours ago I’d been drenched and cold. Thankfully, the weather forecasters had got it wrong again. Or I hoped they had. A sunny day made for happier guests. Not too hot, mind. Guests don’t like hot rooms.
The front door clanged shut and the couple from room five headed over to their car. He’d arrived two days before and parked his Land Rover over the middle of the white line between two bays, saying our spaces were too tight, even though they were the same size as the average supermarket parking bay. When we’d insisted he either move into one space or move to the car park across the road, he’d plumped for the drive, which was a shame as if he’d moved we might not have had the previous night’s palaver. Even Keith couldn’t have got lost if he’d been given parking on the driveway.
The woman – I didn’t know her name as they were too busy for pointless chit-chat – flagged the traffic to a standstill and stood in the middle of the road, waving her husband out. Unable to watch, I turned away.
“Their room’s free now,” Jason said. “Mrs Morris has also gone out.”
“I’ll do Mrs Morris’s room first, in case she comes back. Fetch some towels for me.”
♦
The bell dinged for the second time in seconds. Swiping my arm across my face to dampen the perspiration, I rushed from the guest room and down the stairs. Margaret stood in the hallway, hand hovering over the bell, ready for a hat-trick strike. She glared at me, eyes glistening, her cheeks blotchy.
In a querulous tone, she said, “I told you to look after him.”
She strode towards me, giving me no option than to step back or be nose-to-nose with her. “Didn’t I?”
Hands on hips, she stood demanding an answer. It took all my willpower to stop myself from pointing out we weren’t a care home and whatever Keith had done was not our business – unless he’d damaged the room – but rather than inflame her further, I said, “We were cleaning. Does he need anything?”
“How do I know if he needs anything?” she spat.
My tongue must be an inch shorter for all the times I’d bitten it, but now it shrank to the back of my mouth fearful of being chewed off. One of us had lost the plot and I was sure it wasn’t me.
“Look, I’m sorry but I don’t know what you mean.”
“For goodness’ sake, how much clearer do I have to make myself? I need you to find him. He’s gone!”
Chapter 26
Thankfully, we’d cleaned every room in the guesthouse, apart from Margaret’s room and the one we were finishing when she’d interrupted us. My decision to service Mrs Morris’s room first had been proved right, as it was just after eleven o’clock when she returned to tell us she was putting a few things away, having a quick cuppa and then she’d be out of our hair. An hour later we hadn’t seen her leave, but we hadn’t seen Keith either.
After I asked an unhappy Jason to finish the cleaning before he went shopping, I went back to Margaret who sat beside the window in the day room, hands entwined in her lap as if in prayer. She turned as I walked in.
“Have you found him?”
I shook my head. I hadn’t even started looking. “He’s definitely not in your room?”
“I’m not stupid, you know.”
“And he hasn’t popped to the shops?”
“Keith doesn’t like shopping.”
“You’ve tried his mobile.”
She gave an exasperated hiss. “Of course, I have. It’s in the room. Why aren’t you helping me?”
I crossed over to the window and peered out to the car park opposite where Keith’s Fiesta sat gleaming in the sun. It didn’t make sense. Why was she so worried about her husband being gone for less than an hour? But this was a man who couldn’t drive twenty yards without disappearing on a trek of the South Devon coastline and now he’d vanished while resting in his room. Then it struck me. It would explain everything.
“Margaret, does Keith have…”
She swivelled round, eyes glinting with anger as if she was daring me to say the word. I swallowed, my cheeks burning.
“…dementia.”
She leapt to her feet. “Of course not! How often do I have to tell you? He has trouble with directions.”
I sighed. If he’d had dementia, we could have got help from the police. They’d be concerned about a man with dementia on his own in the middle of a strange town, especially with the harbour being so close.
“I’ll get my trainer
s,” I said.
“Isn’t your husband going to help?”
“He needs to finish cleaning before he goes shopping. He’s got to get to the butcher’s before it closes.”
“Sausages are more important than Keith?”
I didn’t stop to answer. Putting it like that she was right. But we had twelve other guests tonight and the butcher had put the sausages by for us. Maybe, we should go to the supermarket later to get the rest of the bits after the new guests checked in, but we needed coffee sachets for the rooms and we’d run out of cereal packets too, which meant a trip to Booker which closed early on Saturdays. I shoved my feet into my trainers and pulled the laces tight. She insisted it wasn’t dementia but he’d been only gone an hour, so why the panic? Anyhow, she’d gone out and left him, not us, so she wasn’t getting both of us racing around the countryside. It would just be me.
Jason passed me in the hallway, clutching a tray loaded with cups and jugs.
“What are you doing?” he hissed.
I dragged him into the breakfast room and closed the door. “I’ve got to go out looking for Keith.”
“No way!” he said. “We’ve got a million and one things to do today and babysitting isn’t one of them.”
I put my finger to my lips to shush him. Margaret might hear him.
“We’ve got no choice,” I whispered. “I’ve told her you can’t help.”
“Too right,” he said. “And neither can you. I thought you were going to catch up with some admin while I was shopping?”
He was right. After a flurry of bookings and bills, yet again I was behind with the paperwork. But what could I do? I had an angry wasp-like woman in the day room and Jason standing here, red-faced, in the breakfast room. Both furious that I wasn’t doing enough to help.
“I’ll sort it later,” I muttered and shot out into the hallway, leaving the door to snap shut.
I handed Margaret a business card. “My mobile number’s there. Make sure you phone me if he comes back.”
As I strode from the room, she called out, “Don’t you want me to come with you?”
I kept going.
♦
The harbour bustled with humans, dogs and gulls, which meant I spent as much time checking for tripwire dog leads as I did for Keith. I wished I’d brought my sunglasses as my hand was a poor substitute for a sun visor. Discounting the estate agents and restaurants, I’d stopped at the newsagents, the convenience stores, the ice cream parlour and three tea rooms. I headed into Hollacombe’s Café, hoping the advertised offer of a free cup of tea might have attracted Keith.
“Have you seen a man, about seventy, with grey hair and glasses,” I asked Gary.
He smirked and pointed out of the window to the milling crowds. Before he uttered a word, I knew what he was about to say. It had been said at every place before.
“Just about describes every grockle out there, don’t you think?”
“Tell me about it. If someone comes in who looks a bit lost and is called Keith, can you give us a ring?”
“Will do.” He turned to a customer, who fitted Keith’s description and laughed. “You’re not this Keith, are you?”
Racing off along the promenade towards the beach, I slalomed past families with buckets of crabs, while dogs with wagging-tails circled each other as their owners chatted and blindly hogged the walkway. Couples sat on benches watching the boats churning past, their outstretched legs creating a further obstacle. Many looked like Keith but none were Keith. Or were they? Gasping, I slowed and plonked myself down on the sea wall. I’d seen him briefly last night and served them at breakfast this morning, but it had all been such a rush. Would I be able to spot him in a crowd? It seemed impossible he would be any place other than the shops or the beach, but what if he did have dementia and Margaret wasn’t being honest for whatever reason. He could be anywhere. My chest heaved and my heart pounded. I’d run myself into the ground and not find him.
My flowery lounge pants caught my eye. Worse, I still wore my bleach-speckled top. Perfect choices for cleaning showers and making beds but never to be seen outside the guesthouse, especially when matched with trainers and pink socks. I’d been seen by just about every trader in central Torringham, except the other guesthouse owners who’d still be working. Which I should be. I checked my mobile. No calls, although I had full signal. He must still be missing.
Sighing, I stood up and headed towards the beach. The smell of brine and seaweed greeted me as I stood at the top of the steps, scanning for a grey-haired man amongst the holidaymakers dotting the beach. One man stood apart from the couples and families, but he bore more than a passing resemblance to Donald Trump in hair and skin colour. The only other solitary soul was a young woman who sat on top of a rock, her dark hair flapping in the wind. Unless Keith had infiltrated a family group, he wasn’t here.
In the other direction, there were other smaller coves dotted along the coastline, but I couldn’t believe Keith would trek up the steep Furzeton Hill to reach Summercombe Cove and beyond. As frustration overwhelmed me, I clenched my fists, my nails cutting into my palms. We had so much work to do at the guesthouse but instead I was out here on an impossible search. If Keith had driven the eight miles to Berrinton and then turned back on himself, somehow bypassing Torringham before Jason found him in Kentingbridge, he could be anywhere.
I’d keep an eye out as I headed back but I couldn’t do much more. I sighed. I didn’t look forward to Margaret’s reaction when I got back without him.
♦
A tear-stained Margaret and teeth-gritting Jason met me in the hallway. She held out a shaking arm and collapsed into Jason’s chest.
“You haven’t found him!” she sobbed.
Jason patted her back. “Don’t worry, Margaret. I’m sure he’s fine.”
“How do you know?” Her muffled voice sounded as if she was buried deep in Jason’s chest. He’d have a sodden t-shirt when she dug herself out. “You don’t know him.”
Obviously, she wasn’t telling us the whole story about Keith. “Perhaps we should call the police?”
Margaret nodded, although she kept her head entombed in Jason’s top.
“We’ll go into the day room and wait,” Jason said.
I watched in amusement as Jason, unable to tear her away, shuffled her forward. As I went to find the phone, the front door opened and Mrs Morris stepped into the hallway, her handbag in one hand and a Co-op bag in the other. A pack of prepacked sandwiches jutted through the thin plastic. Salmon, no doubt. Something she insisted on every morning for breakfast. The waft of perfume filled the air and I chuckled. Her daily routine included a stop at Boots to spray herself with one of the tester bottles. I wondered what the staff made of her daily outings. Had they missed her yesterday?
“Racing about as usual?”
“Just another busy day.” I felt mean brushing her off but I had no choice. “Excuse me, I have to make a call.”
“She’s not saying much but I’m sure there’s an issue like dementia or something,” I was telling the 101 call-handler when I heard a scream. A woman’s scream. Mrs Morris!
“Hold on! I’ll phone you back in a minute!” I cut off the call.
I raced into the hallway and up the stairs where I met Jason and Mrs Morris in the landing.
“There’s a man in my room.” Her shaking, crooked finger pointed towards the door.
“Give me your key,” Jason said.
“It’s on the latch,” she said.
Jason shot her an odd look but said nothing. He pushed the door ajar and crept inside, turning back with a frown.
As the door brushed shut, a man’s indignant voice echoed into the landing. “I’m trying to sleep!”
“This isn’t your room.” Jason’s voice. A moment later, there was a thud. “Flaming bag! Who left that in the middle of the floor? Look Keith, you really need to go to your own room.”
The door shot open and a red-faced Jason appeared. “Go and get Mar
garet. He’s refusing to move.”
I ushered Mrs Morris downstairs to the day room and sat her in the chair opposite Margaret, who was fanning her face with a magazine.
“We’ve found your husband,” I told her. “Can you go upstairs as he won’t get out of Mrs Morris’s bed.”
“What on earth is he doing there?” She shook her head as if it was my doing and strode off.
Clutching her chest, Mrs Morris waited until the stairs creaked before she turned to me. “He could have killed me. I’ve got a dicky heart.”
I patted her shoulder. How could I have not locked her door after cleaning? We didn’t need to put the door on the latch as we each had a set of keys.
“I’m really sorry. I don’t know how he got into your room.” I said. “I’m sure I locked it.”
Her gaze fell to the floor and her cheeks flushed. “It’s a mystery. No harm done though.”
I laid my arm around her shoulders. She still trembled, although not as much as before. “Let me get you a cuppa and a biscuit. You can sit here while we sort out your room.
An hour later I sat in the lounge, waiting for the new arrivals. We were expecting two couples at three thirty and another set around five o’clock. We’d replaced Mrs Morris’ bedding and tried to check on Margaret, but she’d shouted through the door to say she needed a bit of peace. I’d called the police back too and told them we’d found Keith.
Jason ducked through the doorway as he came into the lounge, carrying a tub of sausages in the crook of his arm and a small polythene bag stuffed with coffee sachets. Kim and Shona had come up trumps. I took the sachets from him, the OCD part of me dismayed to see they were a cheaper brand than ours and would look out of place on the refreshment trays. But they and the supermarket sausages would have to do, thanks to Margaret barricading the door to stop Jason from going shopping because ‘she wouldn’t have a sausage put before her darling Keith’.
Bedlam & Breakfast at a Devon Seaside Guesthouse Page 23