Love Me Or Leave Me

by Claudia Carroll

  As Jo stood on the street outside the previous night, slightly apart from where the rest of the guests had congregated, she’d stayed quiet and just listened to the never-ending rumours that were circulating all round her. An electrical fault up in one of the bedrooms, that American woman with the white blonde head of hair had insisted. No, apparently it was nothing more than a chip pan down in the kitchen that had got out of control, someone else swore blind.

  And then Hemp Boy himself came out of the hotel, with Chloe hot on his heels, looking even more stressed than Jo herself usually did. Next thing Kirk – if you could indeed believe that there was anyone outside of Star Trek who actually went by that name – bowed his head to his fellow guests and in a deep, low voice made a brief apology, saying that it was all his fault, as apparently he’d been smoking up in his room.

  Cue a few exasperated groans, filthy looks and a lot of tsk tsking, but most guests seemed fairly understanding and just glad that they could get back to the warmth of their rooms. Even though it was July, it was a cool evening and the vast majority were in flimsy nighties and slippers.

  ‘Could have happened to any one of us, man,’ Jo distinctly heard Dave telling him, patting him on the back. She could only hope he caught her glaring icily into the back of his head, dark and all as it was. Cheek of him, acting all nice to Kirk when he’d just gone and disrupted a night’s sleep for everyone.

  As for Jo herself, the minute the fire brigade had checked the place over and given the all clear, she was the first back up the steps and into the hotel, clattering her wheelie bag alongside her and with a ‘whatever any of you do, don’t dare approach me’ vibe practically pinging off her.

  She’d had quite enough drama for one night, tomorrow was another day and scheduled to be a busy one at that. Much to do, much to get through and not one bit of it was going to be easy. Certainly not if Dave’s carry-on to date was anything to go by.

  *

  First thing on Saturday morning, Jo ordered breakfast to her room. She was just stepping out of the shower, when there was a low, discreet knocking on her door.

  Excellent, she thought. Room service and bang on time too. It had been well past 2 a.m. before she’d even got back to her room last night and she’d slept badly after all that unnecessary drama, no thanks to that git with his stray fag end, not to mention all of Dave’s antics earlier in the evening.

  But a good strong Americano and some fresh fruit (all the calories she ever allowed herself at this time of day), would surely revive her a bit. These days, she couldn’t even risk taking a sleeping pill, not with the whole other cocktail of medications flooding through her system.

  She wrapped a towel round wet hair, slipped into an oversized hotel dressing gown and flung the door wide open.

  But it wasn’t room service at all.

  Instead there was a very sheepish looking Lucy Belton. At least she might have looked sheepish; it was a bit difficult to tell underneath all of that make-up.

  ‘Can I come in?’ she asked Jo in a quiet little voice.

  ‘Bad time, as you can see,’ Jo replied briskly. ‘I’m afraid I’m just about to get dressed.’

  ‘It’s just … there’s something I really need to say to you.’

  ‘To be perfectly honest, I think you said quite enough to me last night. Don’t you?’

  ‘Won’t take two seconds,’ Lucy pleaded, looking at Jo with such desperation in her wide blue eyes, that she found herself wavering. Immaculately made-up eyes too, Jo thought from out of nowhere. God Almighty, how early did this one have to get up in the morning to get herself looking like this? And quite apart from anything else, where did she find the time?

  ‘Two seconds then,’ she sighed, stepping aside to let Lucy in and folding her arms as much as to say, ‘Just tell me whatever it is and get the hell out ASAP.’

  ‘I just wanted to tell you how very sorry I am,’ Lucy began tentatively, ‘for being so out of order down in the bar last night.’

  ‘Fine. You’ve said your piece,’ Jo told her curtly. ‘Can you leave now please? I still have to get dressed and organized, as you can see.’

  She sounded rude and knew it, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. When she thought of what Lucy had drunkenly said to her last night, actually talking – in public – about IVF and the strain all the synthetic hormones can have on a woman’s personality … well, to Jo, it had felt the exact same as being slapped across the face.

  And now here she was, standing in front of her, all healthy looking and young and probably blooming with fertility. Wait till you see, Lucy would turn out to be one of those women who’d go on to have a whole clatter of effortless pregnancies and for some reason, this made Jo irrationally angry and jealous.

  Suddenly she knew she couldn’t listen to another word. She put one hand on the door as though about to show her out, but it seemed Lucy wasn’t finished.

  ‘Jo … I couldn’t sleep a wink for thinking about all the awful things I said to you –’

  ‘Well, that certainly makes two of us.’

  ‘There’s no excuse for how I behaved or for sticking my nose into your private business and believe me, I’m utterly mortified, but …’

  ‘I’m afraid I really must ask you to leave. Now. Please.’

  ‘If that’s what you want,’ Lucy sighed dejectedly, as though she sensed she was only wasting her time here. ‘But just before I go –’

  Jo didn’t answer her though. Just stood, arms folded, foot tapping impatiently, waiting on her to leave. Another quick rapping on her door and this time it actually was room service with her breakfast order for real.

  Good, she thought, a distraction and with any luck, Glamazon here would take this as her cue to go. But as she busied herself with tipping the waiter and telling him where to leave the breakfast tray, still Lucy stood there, like she absolutely wasn’t budging.

  Silence as Jo swished about the room saying absolutely nothing, just whipping the towel off the top of her head, turning to face the mirror and starting to roughly dry her hair with it. But the two women’s eyes locked in the mirror and Jo felt a sudden flash of frustration. What was this one still doing here anyway, standing like a deaf mute? She’d already made her apologies, couldn’t she see she was in the way now?

  ‘Was there anything else?’ Jo asked, a bit rudely, but not really caring. It was after all, no worse than this one deserved after some of the home truths she’d dished up to Jo last night; the brazen neck of her.

  ‘Well … I guess I probably should leave you in peace,’ Lucy eventually said, shrugging her shoulders and finally making to go.

  Jo did absolutely nothing to stop her, just stayed focused on drying off the ends of her hair.

  ‘But look … can I just say one last thing before I go?’

  Christ, what now? Jo thought.

  ‘Well … there’s at least one aspect of all this that I really do envy you.’

  And suddenly out of nowhere Jo wanted to laugh right in her face. The idea that anyone could look at her life from the outside and find something to envy, was beyond a joke at this stage.

  ‘If you don’t mind, I’m afraid I’d far rather not hear it.’

  But Lucy moved a step closer to her, towering over her now and twisting her hands nervously, like she wasn’t quite sure how to put this.

  ‘The thing is Jo … I know I’m always getting in trouble for sticking my nose into other people’s business, but there’s something I really have to tell you. I think Dave still loves you, you know. So much, far more than you know. You were all he talked about down at the bar last night. He’d do anything for you. He’s only here in the first place because he genuinely thinks this is what you want. There’s a man down there that would do anything to make you happy. And I for one would kill to be in that position, believe you me.’

  And suddenly Jo was flushing, with her face raw red.

  ‘I’m afraid I have to ask you to stop right there –’ she interrupted, bu
t Lucy still wasn’t done.

  ‘Do you know how rare it is to find someone like that? Who loves you through thick and thin? Because after what I’ve just been through, I can tell you that I certainly don’t have that luxury. So please Jo, take a look at what you’ve got here. Someone who adores you and wants to be with you no matter what! It’s easy to be happily married when everything’s going great. It’s only when the tide goes out that you really see what your relationship is made of.’

  Jo shook her head wearily.

  ‘I appreciate your concern,’ she said tightly, ‘but please bear in mind you’ve only heard one side of the story. Dave’s. Did he tell you the primary reason why we’re here in the first place? What happened between us not so long ago?’

  Lucy shook her head, starting to look a bit puzzled now.

  ‘No, I didn’t think so,’ Jo went on, pouring herself a large, strong coffee. ‘Dave’s an actor, you know. Highly persuasive at getting his side of things across, not so hot on cold, hard facts, I think you’ll find.’

  ‘It’s not my place to say this, of course,’ said Lucy, ‘but he genuinely seems gutted about losing you.’

  ‘Then I suggest you go and ask him about what came out in the wash just a few short months ago. And then you can barge in here and start telling me how much my husband loves me.’

  ‘Jo … please … I’m so sorry if I offended you … I only meant well …’

  ‘Or maybe you’d like to save all the bother and let me tell you here and now?’

  *

  Ten minutes later, Lucy said goodbye, too shell-shocked even to apologize any more.

  Sweet baby Jesus and the orphans, she thought. And I thought Andrew and I had problems?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chloe.

  ‘Chloe, could I have a quick word?’

  Barely eight thirty in the morning and if I had a euro for every time someone has said that to me so far today, etc, etc.

  I’m in the Yellow Dining Room on the first floor, which is one of my favourites at the hotel; all sun-drenched and airy with the most breathtaking view down onto the Square below. I’m mucking in and generally helping out with service here, plus smoothing over ruffled feathers and making sure no one wants to lodge a complaint after, ahem, the events of the last twelve hours.

  Luckily though, most guests are fairly understanding about the fiasco that was last night, with Jayne Ferguson even managing to have a good old giggle about it.

  ‘You know, I was certain that was my Larry who set off the fire alarm,’ she laughed as I chatted to her over breakfast earlier. ‘Just so he could get to see me in my night attire for the last and final time!’

  So far, so good, but you never can tell. Given the fact that everyone under this roof is currently operating on about five hours’ sleep thanks to last night’s mini-drama, would it hardly be any wonder if guests felt like having a good old gripe at me?

  ‘Chloe?’

  And now it’s Dawn who’s caught me this time, my little pet and favourite guest, so I instantly beam down at her and give her my full attention.

  ‘I just wanted to talk to you … well, about … you know,’ Dawn says, shoving aside a plateful of half-eaten eggs Benedict.

  ‘I hope you weren’t disturbed too much,’ I smile warmly back down at her, resisting the urge to act like an Irish Mammy and tell her to eat up the rest of her brekkie, like a good girl. ‘But I’m afraid it’s standard procedure though. Once a smoke alarm is sounded, we don’t have any choice but to evacuate the entire building.’

  ‘No … it was actually you I was worried about,’ Dawn says simply, twisting a stray stand of red hair round her fingertips. ‘Such a shitty thing to happen on everyone’s first night – oops! Sorry, didn’t mean to use bad language in a posh place like this.’

  ‘Don’t you worry,’ I whisper, bending down to her. ‘I said far worse myself last night, believe me.’

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ she says, in that unflinchingly direct way the girl has. ‘Exactly how much trouble is Kirk in right now?’

  And I could be mistaken, but it’s almost like she’s hopeful that the answer will be ‘So much trouble, you wouldn’t believe it.’ And that I’ll tack on for good measure, ‘Don’t you worry, we’ll be packing Kirk’s bags for him, fining him two hundred euro and I’ll personally see to it that he gets a police escort off the premises, just as soon as I’m done in here.’

  ‘Well, I’m afraid this is a non-smoking hotel,’ is what I actually tell her though, discreetly omitting to mention what it was that he was puffing away on, though I’d say Dawn could hazard a guess. ‘But of course, accidents will happen.’

  Subtext: it’s highly unlikely any five-star hotel would ever throw out a paying guest, just because of one slip-up. Providing, of course, he doesn’t try it on again. For a split second, I swear the girl looks a bit disappointed.

  ‘What a roaring eejit, to go and do something like that,’ she says, twisting a coil of her long red hair round her finger. ‘I mean, how thick do you have to be to realize that a non-smoking hotel means exactly that? And that dope is considered a bit of a no-no in any fancy hotel? Barring you play lead guitar with the E Street Band, that is.’

  I don’t answer, mainly because I one hundred per cent agree with her.

  ‘But … how about you?’ Dawn persists knowingly. ‘Will Kirk’s antics land you in it?’

  Actually a very good question. When Rob the Bossman unexpectedly landed in on us last night, there was barely time for he and I to exchange two syllables. Instead he seemed to guess at a glance exactly what was happening and just started to help me and the rest of the staff to escort guests safely back to their rooms. Not a word passed between us otherwise, apart from him briefly grabbing my elbow, steering me towards a taxi and saying, ‘We’ll talk properly tomorrow. Too late right now. Go home and try to get some rest.’

  Rest? Yeah, right. Instead I just lay awake in my old bedroom back at my parents’ house thinking, when this weekend is all over, my arse is so fired. Let’s face it, your boss unexpectedly landing in on top of you in the middle of a fire evacuation is never good news. The mental image of twenty-four guests, shivering in nighties and PJ’s in Fitzwilliam Square in the middle of the night, just as a taxi pulls up and Rob McFayden hops out, is going to take a long, long time to dislodge.

  For the moment though, here I am in the dining room, coffee pot frozen in my hand while Dawn is still looking expectantly up at me, so I make an effort to act all relaxed and just smile back. ‘Never mind about me,’ I say. ‘You’ve got a busy day ahead, don’t you?’

  ‘Don’t start,’ she groans, rolling her eyes. Not that I blame the poor kid either. Apart from a conflict resolution session this morning, the bulk of today is all about division of property and joint assets. We’ve booked estate agents, property valuation experts and even an expert on pensions to liaise with each of our couples throughout the day. And it’s gonna be a long ’un.

  There’s a brief, fleeting moment where Dawn and I each look at each other, each silently thinking ‘good luck with yours, love. But I don’t think I’d swap places with you for a million quid.’

  And then suddenly I’m called away. Rob’s waiting at Reception, one of the wait staff whispers discreetly in my ear, he asked for you the very second he arrived. Was he brandishing a P45 ‘welcome to dole-land’ form with him, I can’t help but wonder?

  I take a deep breath and keep repeating the one thing that’s been running through my head all morning. Smoke alarms have a habit of going off and after all, how much trouble would I be in if I hadn’t chosen to follow procedure and evacuate? Palms still sweating a fair bit though, I have to say.

  Rob is standing by the door by the time I get to Reception, as ever, dressed down in chinos and a light blue shirt. He sees me coming, holds open the main entrance door for me and immediately says, ‘Hi there. You okay?’

  ‘Yes, Rob. Thanks,’ I answer tersely.

  Shi
te. Am I to be shown the door this fast? I mean … isn’t that illegal, for starters?

  ‘Good. Come on then. Let’s go. After you.’

  ‘Leave? You want me to leave the hotel?’ I ask him, dumfounded. ‘Because I just can’t! I’ve a meeting in like, half an hour and then it’s all hands on deck for the early lunch sitting –’

  ‘Oh now, surely you can spare me a few minutes,’ Rob says, looking me straight in the eye, really taking me in, head to toe. ‘By the look of you, I’d say a bit of fresh air wouldn’t go amiss.’

  Why does he want me out of the building, I think, my blood pressure suddenly rocketing. To haul me over the coals? Away from the hotel, where I might cause a scene in front of all our guests?

  We’re standing right at the bottom of the steps in front of the hotel now and I’m just wondering exactly where he was planning to go anyway, when he suddenly takes a sharp left and says, ‘This way.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Well, to get some breakfast, for a start. I’m starving and I’d hazard a guess you haven’t eaten either.’

  I don’t argue. I’ve been at the hotel since first light and even then, I only managed to grab a coffee on the run. No time. Throw that in with the fact I’m operating on about four hours’ sleep and I suddenly realize I’m ravenous.

  Next thing, Rob and I are power walking side by side to Café Sol on Baggot Street, just around the corner. He politely asks me what I’d like, takes care of all the ordering and two minutes later, we’re back out in the warm sunshine, laden down with takeout cappuccinos, a cream cheese bagel for him and a passion fruit granola for me.

  Wordlessly, Rob leads the way back up to Fitzwilliam Square, but then surprises me by steering clear of Hope Street and heading into the square itself. Next thing he plonks down on a secluded park bench, just inside the gates, which faces out over an immaculately maintained rose garden.

  ‘Here okay for you?’ he asks, stretching long legs out in front of him.