Summer Nights at the Moonlight Hotel

by Jane Costello

  I sigh. ‘OK. Just one more,’ I concede, trying to avoid a scene.

  He turns back to the school, 90 percent of whom we’ve now completely lost – yawning, playing with their hair or, in the case of one Reception child, picking something dubious from the sole of his shoe before giving it a good sniff.

  ‘FANK YOU FOR MAKING X-BOXES . . . AND HOUSES FOR US TO LIVE IN . . . AND BAFFS SO WE ARE CLEAN . . . AND APPLES SO WE CAN EAT . . . AND BEDS SO WE CAN GO TO SLEEP . . . AND CLOTHES SO WE DON’T HAVE TO GO ROUND WITH OUR BUMS OUT.’

  At which point the entire school bursts into uncontrollable laughter and there is a near-riot while James Wesley, finally satisfied, goes to sit down. Edwin, mercifully, brings his usual calm authority to the whole situation by clapping loudly and getting all the children to quieten down.

  ‘Thank you, James, that was a very big list,’ Edwin says, as the Head rolls her eyes.

  ‘Scarlet, would you like to continue?’ I add. ‘And perhaps we’ll restrict our prayers to God to just one item each?’

  Clearly put out at this, Scarlet scrutinises the prayer she’s written and spends the next ten seconds in silence trying to work out which of her four things she should prioritise. Finally, she settles on, ‘FLOWERS,’ before we move on to Benito Harper – but not before Scarlet puts her hands up, distraught, and says, ‘Sorry, can I change that? I meant sunshine. I want sunshine. Please can I have sunshine?’

  ‘Sunshine, it is,’ I reply. ‘Benito, off you go.’

  The only child who seems completely decisive about what he’s thanking God for is Tom Goodwin, who stands up, says simply, ‘Dear God, thank You for my mum and dad,’ then sits down again.

  But as a result of the near-chaos I appear to have caused, assembly runs over significantly. While the children file back into the classroom, Tom lags behind.

  ‘Come on, Tom,’ I say gently, noting that the rims of his eyes are pink.

  I ask Angela to accompany the rest of the class back to the room, so I can speak to him alone. We take a seat on a bench and wait until the room empties.

  ‘Tom, is everything OK?’ I ask softly.

  He doesn’t reply at first, but it’s abundantly clear as a tear slips down his cheek that everything is far from OK.

  ‘Why don’t you let me know what’s wrong?’ I say. ‘Perhaps I can help.’

  His woeful little face breaks my heart as he begins speaking. ‘My dad might not be able to live with us any more.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ I ask.

  ‘They were shouting last night and I heard Mum say that they might get a divorce. I know what that means. It means that I won’t see my dad again.’

  I swallow. ‘Have your mum and dad spoken to you about it, Tom?’

  He shakes his head. ‘I just heard them. It was after they were shouting. Daddy did something bad and Mum shouted at him. She’s never shouted before but I heard it.’

  ‘I’m really sorry, Tom. But I think you should have a chat with your mum. Because whatever happens, I’m certain that they love you very much. Both of them. And that will never change.’

  His sobs become harder now and, before I can move, he climbs into my arms and hugs me, squeezing his little body into me.

  And I sit, helplessly, as the tears of a little boy drip on to my skirt and rain starts to pelt on to the window, snaking down the glass as if the world’s about to come to an end.

  At lunchtime, I bump into Edwin. ‘So have you done it yet?’ he asks.

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Handed in your notice?’

  ‘I’ve written my letter. I’m planning to do it after school today. I think it’ll make the Head’s day after the performance my class put in at assembly.’

  ‘Oh, absolute guff – they’ll be devastated to lose you.’ Then he nudges me with a smirk. ‘But tough – because now I’ve got you.’

  I hold on to those words as I knock on the Head’s door after school.

  ‘Come in, Lauren,’ she mumbles through a full mouth as she hastily shoves something into her desk drawer. ‘Sorry! Absolutely starving at the moment. Have you ever done the cabbage diet?’

  ‘No. I did try a broccoli smoothie once.’

  She pulls a face. ‘Well honestly, I cannot take any more cabbage. The human digestive system is not designed for it. I honestly believe that.’ Then she hesitates for a moment, her hand on her stomach, before suppressing a massive belch, then sighing in relief. ‘Sorry – terrible wind too. Never do it, Lauren. I’ve fallen off the wagon now anyway,’ she says, opening the drawer again and taking a massive bite of a Mars Bar, pulling a private, orgasmic expression, before thrusting it back in the drawer.

  ‘So . . .’ she says, finishing her mouthful. ‘Funny you wanted to see me as I’ve been trying to grab a moment to pin you down ever since Edwin handed in his notice.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘As you know, he’s Head of Year. I’m aware it doesn’t mean much when there’s only two classes, but still it’s good for your CV, and a little more money. Would you like the job?’

  I sink back into my seat. It’s not as if it’s the career opportunity of the decade. A nice little bonus maybe, but that’s it. So I wonder why I find it so hard to say the next words.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Margaret,’ I begin, ‘but I’m afraid I’m here to hand in my notice.’

  She lets out a weary sigh, clearly naffed off about the thought of having to conduct a dozen job interviews to replace both me and Edwin.

  ‘Oh gosh . . . Australia. You’re finally going. Well, I can’t say you never warned us – you always said it was your childhood ambition. Congratulations, Lauren. You need to live a little. I’m jealous.’

  I squirm. ‘Actually, it’s not Australia. It’s Singapore.’

  I let this information seep into her brain, and recognition, followed by surprise, appears. ‘Edwin’s going to Singapore,’ she states.

  ‘Yes. And I’m going with him.’

  Her eyes grow slowly wider. ‘You? With Edwin? Are you . . . an item, Lauren?’

  My jaw clenches. ‘Um . . . no.’

  ‘Oh, thank God for that!’ I wonder for a second if this would breach some sort of contractual obligation.

  ‘No offence to Edwin, obviously – I adore him, we all do. But I can’t see you two together,’ she guffaws.

  I straighten my back indignantly. ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh God no!’ she hoots. ‘I always saw you being whisked off by some strapping hunk, not our Edwin.’

  ‘Well, that’d make me a bit shallow, wouldn’t it? Besides, Edwin’s good-looking,’ I say defensively.

  ‘He’s got a face his mother must love,’ she laughs, and this is suddenly a conversation I don’t wish to continue.

  Chapter 33

  Marion has been banging on for the last few weeks about her annual ‘special salsa’ night. She used to hold these in Manchester Town Hall, a setting that glitzified her usual class, allowed people to let their hair down a little and, so the idea went, attracted newcomers. Tonight, she’s hired a room in the Willowgarth Hotel for her band of merry salsa dancers, for one evening only. It would almost feel like a party. Except it’s a Tuesday.

  Still, you can’t have everything and the hotel is nice: homely but elegant and set high above lush gardens that tumble down to the south shore of Windermere. It’s reasonably busy tonight, as you’d expect as we creep towards peak season. We have a function room to ourselves that spills on to a terrace, where fairy-lights twinkle above us and an early-summer breeze rustles through the trees. It’s the kind of gorgeous, glittering evening that I hope makes Cate thoroughly glad to be back.

  ‘Hello, stranger!’ Frank greets her, spotting Cate as she clutches Will’s hand. ‘Where on earth have you been?’

  ‘Bad chest infection,’ she smiles, thumping her sternum. ‘I hope I’m not too rusty.’

  ‘Marion will soon whip you into shape,’ he beams.

  ‘Oh, hi, Stella,’ Cate a
dds, as Stella responds with a hesitant smile. ‘We need to have our meeting this week about your flowers.’

  Stella nods. ‘Yes. I’d forgotten about that.’

  ‘Hopefully we can pin down those initial designs you liked and decide on a firm number of centrepieces,’ Cate adds.

  ‘Exciting, isn’t it?’

  ‘Er, yeah,’ replies Stella vaguely, as a burst of salsa music interrupts them and Marion starts firing out instructions.

  ‘Everything OK?’ I whisper to Stella as we shuffle into place.

  As her lip starts wobbling, I ask her quietly if she needs to go to the ladies. She nods and shuffles off, beckoning me to follow her.

  When I push open the door she leans over the sink and looks numbly in the mirror.

  ‘What’s up?’ I ask.

  Her jaw tenses. ‘There are less than five weeks to go before the wedding. The cake’s ordered. My dress is paid for. I’ve got a Pinterest board with 50-odd types of DIY chocolate favours, 150 guests who’ve all accepted their invitations and . . . and . . .’ She looks down at her bag and pulls out a tub of Vaseline, sliding it on her lips and considering her next words. ‘And I’m absolutely convinced that the groom is seeing someone else.’

  My mouth opens, but I’m too shocked to speak.

  ‘I’m sorry to spill this on you, Lauren. We hardly know each other. Problem is, all Mike’s friends are my friends and I’ve got nobody to talk to.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ I ask incredulously. ‘I don’t know Mike very well, but I honestly wouldn’t have had him down as the type.’

  She sniffs back emotion. ‘Neither would I. I’ve never been the possessive kind. But Mike used to have a quiet pint with his friends from work probably once a week, tops. Not any more. I hardly see him, Lauren.’ She picks up her bag and starts twiddling with the zip. ‘I’d thought nothing of it – assumed he was just enjoying single life before he tied the knot. Then this week, I bumped into his friend Richard, and his wife Alana. I mentioned something about them having been out at the Dog and Duck the previous night. Alana looked totally bewildered and said, “You weren’t at the Dog and Duck last night – you were watching Bloodline with me.” Richard looked distraught. It was obvious he knew something.’

  ‘It might not be what you think.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. Then I asked Mike about it and I swear I’ve never seen anyone look so guilty. It was ridiculous. He started blustering that Richard must’ve got mixed up, but he was beyond ruffled.’

  I bite my lip. It doesn’t sound good.

  ‘It was then that I realised something: every time a text arrives on his phone these days, he dives for it – as if he’s hiding something. It’s been like that for ages. I’ve got no proof about any of this, obviously. And I don’t want any of it to be true. I want someone to tell me that I’m imagining it all – and for me to believe them. But as it is, there’s just over a month before I get married and I cannot shake this feeling. In fact, I’m certain. Mike’s got another woman.’ I spend the next couple of minutes trying to comfort Stella, before becoming aware that people might be wondering where we are.

  By the time we return to the class and slip into the back, Marion is announcing that we’re to practise the one routine she’s been talking about for ages.

  ‘Everyone find a partner, please!’ she says. I look up as Luke gestures to me from the other side of the room and starts making his way over. But Joe steps in first.

  When he smiles, a tingle of warmth starts in my tummy and spreads through me, before I pull myself up with a sharp stab of panic. ‘How’s it going?’ he asks.

  ‘Fine, fine,’ I reply, apparently convinced that if I say it twice I’ll appear less flustered.

  ‘Cate seems to have made a good recovery,’ he says. Then he picks up my hands and lifts them into position as I feel myself grow hotter.

  ‘Well, yes. She’s been taking a lot of vitamin C.’ I look down and study my shoes, wishing I could have thought of a slightly less moronic statement.

  ‘Vitamin C always does the trick with me too,’ he replies.

  My eyes flick up and the second they connect with his, I feel my heart quicken. I swallow it back to whisper: ‘It’s good, isn’t it?’

  Then he just smiles this heart-stopping smile, as if to say that he knows this is the world’s most inane conversation, but he’s still happy to be having it. For a lingering moment, I find myself physically unable to look away from him. I’m temporarily spellbound, lost in those eyes as they refuse to break my gaze. I realise that I don’t know what is happening here . . . but I do know it shouldn’t be.

  ‘Where is Emily?’ I ask, finally pulling away my hands. ‘She didn’t want a lift tonight because she was going to be late home from work, but I hadn’t thought she was going to be this late. But, you know Emily – she works so hard. She’s really passionate about her job. She’s absolutely a lovely person. Such a good friend.’

  He listens to this soliloquy, watching my mouth run away with itself. Then he says: ‘Lauren, I—’

  Just then, the door from the function room bursts open and Emily emerges on to the terrace.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she says, flustered, and with strands of hair stuck to her forehead as she slips in behind us, sees Joe and me together, and grabs Esteban by the hand.

  When the music begins, dancing with Joe is far more pleasurable than it should be – in the most uncomfortable way. All I can think about, as I pretend to be entirely unmoved by this experience, is the heat between our bodies as the music throbs through my chest. Fortunately, my dancing is nothing like as awkward as I’m feeling.

  Joe has become such a strong, confident dancer that all I can do is submit to his lead, lose myself in the dance, let the rest of the world disappear.

  As he leads me into a turn then pulls me into his hips, I am, quite suddenly, forced to confront something I’ve done my best not to confront since the moment I met Joe.

  This is more than a crush. I’ve got real feelings for Joe that go beyond a passing admiration for his biceps and sparkly eyes. The music stops and I breathe in the glistening heat from his neck. Then I snap away from him.

  ‘So what’s the latest on the train-wreck you’re making of my dad’s hotel?’ I blurt out. I don’t know why I sound so aggressive. But I feel the need to underline to him, to everyone else – and most of all to myself – that this is not a man I’ll get my head in a tangle over.

  ‘Well, it’s all on schedule,’ he says, almost as taken aback as I am. ‘We’ve completed most of the major renovation works – all the behind-the-scenes stuff, like plumbing and electrics. And now the fun stuff has started: the decor.’

  ‘Hmm,’ I snort. ‘I dread to think.’

  ‘You’ll get to see it soon, so you won’t have to just take my word for it and rely on the artists’ impressions.’

  ‘I don’t think I will be seeing it,’ I reply, focusing hard on Marion as she yaps on about the state of everyone’s core. ‘I think I’d be heartbroken.’

  When I look up, a wrinkle has appeared above his nose. ‘Really? You wouldn’t want to come and see it?’

  ‘I’d prefer to keep the memory of the Moonlight Hotel as it was, to be honest. I’m sure you understand.’

  Then we switch partners and I realise as he takes Emily’s hands that I’ve regained the ability to breathe.

  After the session Cate, Emily and I walk through the windswept streets of Bowness, glancing into the warm glow of pubs, the restaurants full of people romancing over candlelight. They’re not the only ones who are feeling loved-up.

  ‘Have you seen that amazing new hotel in Ullswater?’ Cate asks me, skipping up the hill. ‘It’s super posh, all four-poster beds and fluffy dressing gowns. Well, Will’s booked us in for a night.’

  ‘Oh, that place is gorgeous,’ Emily sighs. ‘I had to pick up a group of travel journalists from there a couple of weeks ago. It’s really special.’

  Cate stops in her tracks.
‘Oh, Lauren – you don’t mind, do you? Two weeks ago I was dominating your Saturday nights. I don’t want you to think I’m dumping you because I’ve got a better offer.’

  ‘Cate, I’m enough of a realist to know that a four-poster bed in a posh hotel in Ullswater represents a much “better offer”. Please don’t worry about me. Besides, I’ve got a date with Edwin on Saturday night.’

  Now Emily stops dead. She and Cate look at each other, incredulous.

  ‘You’ve got a date on a Saturday with Edwin?’ Cate blusters. ‘How could you have forgotten about that?’

  I suddenly want to change the subject. ‘I thought I’d mentioned it,’ I shrug, and continue up the hill.

  ‘You don’t seem very excited,’ Emily says, to my alarm.

  ‘I’m ecstatic!’ I reply, probably too forcefully. ‘Ooh, honestly, I can’t wait. Ooh, gorgeous Edwin . . . ah, it’ll be amazing!’ Emily is frowning. ‘I’m very nervous, obviously. But I mean, wow! This is everything I’ve ever wanted.’

  I am unlikely to be nominated for a Golden Globe, but at least it seems to placate my two friends for the time being.

  ‘How are you doing your hair?’ Cate asks.

  I have put about as much thought into how I’m doing my hair as I have the Theory of Relativity. ‘I’ll watch some Youtube videos tonight. I’m thinking an up-do would be good. Or maybe down. A down-do.’

  ‘And are you still on your diet?’ Emily asks.

  ‘I’ve eaten nothing but celery sticks and raw spinach,’ I lie, shoving my hands in my pockets and fingering my Kit Kat wrapper from earlier.

  ‘Well, it’s clearly all happening between you two, isn’t it,’ Cate says.

  And as we reach the top of the hill and turn to look at the lake shimmering in the moonlight, all I’m certain of is that something is happening. But I’m not sure how much it’s got to do with Edwin.

  Chapter 34

  I wake up at 6.40 a.m. on Saturday morning desperate for the loo and, having stumbled to the bathroom and supposedly relieved myself, notice I’m not feeling as much relief as I ought to. The implications of this are immediately clear: I’ve suffered on and off for years with mild urinary tract infections and, with a Saturday-night date ahead, I’m just not prepared to risk this going any further.