by Lisa Nicol
‘What about the Rrr-room of the Unexpected?’ suggested Rupert, gleefully. ‘Many of our well-travelled guests enjoy the unexpected.’
‘Definitely not. We hate surprises. The D’Silvas are natural-born leaders,’ said Mrs D’ Silva. ‘We like to be in control at all times.’
‘And plus, you never know what a surprise is going to cost!’ chimed in Mr D’Silva.
‘Well, how about a bit of indoor skiing? Our Winter Wonderland Rrr-room has brilliant powder at the moment.’ Rupert made skiing motions, poking his bottom out and shifting his weight from side to side as if he was flying down a slalom course at high speed.
‘No,’ snapped Mrs D’Silva, shaking her head vigorously. ‘We only ever ski Aspen. And the last time we went the boys refused to leave the lodge. There was no wi-fi on the slopes. Can you believe that?’
‘Rrr-right you are,’ replied Rupert, happily. He was used to fussy guests. ‘The African Sky Rrr-room? You’d swear you were on the plains of Africa and the feeling of space is truly transcendent.’
‘Most certainly not. The African plains are for dung beetles not the D’Silvas,’ declared Mrs D’Silva.
‘What about our Tropical Island Rrr-room? It’s Caribbean to be precise.’ Rupert’s hips appeared to be hearing a band of steel drums from Trinidad and Tobago as they wiggled about while the top half of his body remained mysteriously still.
Mrs D’Silva rolled her eyes. Her lips squirmed like poisoned slugs. ‘We’ve just come from Barbados. Weren’t even allowed to drive our 4WD onto the beach! Something about nesting turtles. I mean, I ask you, how were we supposed to get to the water … walk?’
‘Indeed,’ said Rupert. ‘Hmmm. What about our Butterfly Rrr-room? There’s over ten thousand different species. It’s enchanting. Like being inside a kaleidoscope. And you wouldn’t expect it but they’re terribly affectionate butterflies.’
‘No. Definitely not. Flappy things. Disgusting. And where there are butterflies there’s bound to be caterpillars. Revolting.’
‘Hmm, that’s the Glow-worm Rrr-room out then. The Baby Owls and Toy Train Rrr-room perhaps? The train track goes rrr-right rrr-round the rrr-room perimeter and these baby owls just seem to love it! They rrr-ride around for hours. It rrr-really is one of my favourite rrr-rooms. Wait till you see them hop on and off, all fluff and eyes and tiny beaks,’ enthused Rupert, totally unable to hide his passion.
‘No animals! Unless we’re selecting them for dinner! Hahaha,’ laughed Mrs D’Silva. When she laughed she threw her head back and you could see right up her nose.
‘Of course.’
‘Crashing Waves Rrr-room?’
‘If we wanted waves, we would have gone on a cruise, man.’
‘The Sunrise Rrr-room? The view is spectacular!’
‘Gawd, no. We like to lie in.’
‘How about the Sunset Rrr-room then? The whole rrr-room is bathed in the most beautiful golden light. It truly is otherworldly.’
‘What if it’s cloudy?’ piped up Mr D’Silva. ‘We’ll take it if you give us a written guarantee there’ll be no clouds. And a full refund if there is!’
‘The Virtuoso Rrr-room? You can pick up any instrument and play it like an absolute master.’
‘The D’Silvas don’t play, Rupert. People play for the D’Silvas.’ Mrs D’Silva pursed her lips tight like a cat’s bottom.
‘The Breathtaking Rrr-room?’
‘Don’t tell me. It’s breathtaking?’ replied Mrs D’Silva, sarcastically. ‘I’m so bored with breathtaking.’
‘Anti-gravity Rrr-room?’
The three boys looked up from their phones, blinked, then returned to their screens.
‘Do we look like astronauts to you?’ snapped Mrs D’Silva.
‘Milky Way Rrr-room? It’s on the top floor. Brilliant stargazing. It’s not unusual to see hundreds of falling stars in a single night. In fact the lass who’s in the Guinness World Rrr-records for seeing the most falling stars did so in our Milky Way Rrr-room!’ declared Rupert, proudly, his head wobbling like a dashboard doggy.
‘Falling stars are so overrated. I have no idea why people get excited by a bit of burning rock. Do you, Harold?’
‘No, dear, I don’t.’
Vincent was shocked. He would have given anything to see a falling star, but the brown pongy fog from FishyKittys ruled out any sort of stargazing in Barry. The D’Silvas turned their already turned-up noses at everything! Vincent thought it a mystery how Rupert didn’t bonk them on the head.
Everyone except Rupert was surprised when the D’Silvas settled on La Chambre de Pommes Frites, which is just a standard hotel room except for two small sliding doors in the wall. Every time you open the first door you’re presented with a bowl of freshly cooked hot chips, a side order of chicken salt and tomato sauce. No matter how fast you open it! (Or how many times. Those D’Silva boys gave it an absolute flogging.) The second door took away the empty bowls, so no one could ever know how many you’d actually eaten. Not even the cleaners. Rupert had found a lot of posh people liked La Chambre de Pommes Frites, which was French for the Hot Chips Room.
‘Ah, Mr Cash,’ said Rupert, looking at the stressed-out businessman who was now twitching in time to the constant stream of message alert dings on his phone. ‘I highly rrr-recommend the Rrr-room of the Short Pause. You just have to rrr-remember, when you turn on a tap, it’ll be a minute or two before the water flows. Same with the lights. Even if you open the window expect a short pause before the breeze arrives. Trust me, you’ll be rrr-relaxed in no time. Or perhaps the Transit Rrr-room? It’s just like a bustling airport lounge. Here at The Grand we find terribly busy people like yourself struggle to rrr-relax unless you’re on your way somewhere.’
A look of hope flashed across the tired businessman’s face. ‘You’re right! I’m always missing my plane because I’ve fallen asleep in the gold-class lounge. And the rest of the time I can’t sleep. I’ll take it,’ Mr Cash picked up his briefcase and dashed off, twitching, to the Transit Room.
Next up was Chelsea. She turned down the Bird’s Nest Room, the Jelly Pool Room, the Cloud Room, the Moonlit Room and the Rocking-Horse Racetrack Room before settling on the Arcade and Roller-coaster Room. Her poor father looked queasy and turned the colour of an uncooked prawn when he discovered even the beds were attached to roller-coasters.
‘Don’t worry,’ whispered Rupert into Chelsea’s dad’s ear. ‘The Arcade and Rrr-roller-coaster Rrr-room adjoins the Japanese Wishing Well Rrr-room. You can slip on a kimono and slide in there when you’ve had enough of the Midnight Dipper and make a wish or two. Extremely tranquil.’
Chelsea’s father looked relieved and scurried off after his daughter.
Finally it was Vincent’s turn.
‘Now, Vincent! What have we got for you?’
The needle on Vincent’s thrill-o-meter nudged past Christmas again.
Rupert smiled and flicked through his bookings book. Vincent was amazed he wasn’t the slightest bit grumpy or weary after dealing with such fussy guests.
‘Hmm. What about the Edible Rrr-room?’ he suggested brightly. Vincent did appear in need of a good feed. His legs were so skinny they looked as if he’d swallowed two whole apples and they’d got stuck – right where his knees were meant to be. ‘The carpet comes in chewy caramel or cookies ’n’ cream and you can select sweet or savoury walls, whatever you prefer. You can lick, lick, lick away! And the peanut-butter lampshades and never-melting chocolate couch are to-die-for delicious, trust me. Or if you’re after a bit of excitement, what about the Experiments Rrr-room? You can blow things up to your heart’s delight in there. Or our Tiny Creatures Rrr-room? There’s mice, pygmy possums, baby hedgehogs, chipmunks, hamsters. Or how about the International Space Station Rrr-room? The actual view from the Station is beamed down onto all four walls, which means sixteen sunsets and sunrises every day! And you’re weightless of course. Except in the bathroom. That’d just be too tricky. Or one of my favourites, the Velcr
o Rrr-room. You can walk up the walls and across the ceiling – it’s fabulous fun! And very practical too if you don’t like hanging up your clothes or you tend to lose things. You just throw everything against the wall.’
Vincent looked wide-eyed at Rupert.
‘How can I possibly choose between sixteen sunsets and peanut-butter flavoured lampshades?’ he said. ‘I’d like to stay in every single one of those rooms.’
‘Or combine them all into one! Wouldn’t THAT be grand? As long as you didn’t blow up any tiny creatures I think it’s a marvellous mix. I’ll look into it.’ Rupert scribbled a note in his bookings book. ‘But for now, if your heart’s no help, can I suggest a process of logical elimination?’
Vincent followed Rupert’s advice. ‘Okay, Florence did mention buffet breakfast and something about chocolate fountains. So I guess I should rule out the Edible Room. I definitely don’t want to miss out on chocolate fountains because I’ve stuffed myself with too much caramel carpet.’ Vincent reminded himself that just two days ago he was dreaming of a bag of salt-and-vinegar chips and a sports drink and NOW he was turning down an entire edible room. Next Vincent eliminated the International Space Station Room. While he couldn’t quite believe he was about to pass up the opportunity to fly right around the Earth every ninety minutes, he’d never dreamt of being an astronaut so perhaps now wasn’t the time to start. Given his track record in science he felt it best to steer clear of the Experiments Room. It had taken almost two months for his eyebrows to grow back after his last efforts. Which left the Velcro Room and the Tiny Creatures Room.
‘This is impossible!’
Rupert knew too much choice – for someone who never had any – could be decidedly not grand indeed. ‘I’ve got it!’ he announced. ‘How about the Puppy Rrr-room? Basically you’ll just be sleeping with all our leftover pocket dogs. There’s at least another fifty who don’t have a nice warm guest to cuddle up to tonight. So you’d be doing us a favour. And someone from front desk comes and takes them all out for a pee before you turn in.’
The red needle on Vincent’s thrill-o-meter smashed through Christmas and pinged off into the universe somewhere. It felt like yet another scoop of ice-cream had been plonked on top of his towering cone. He wondered just how many scoops he could take before the whole thing toppled over.
A whole night with a roomful of pocket dogs! ‘I’ll take it!’ he said.
‘Wonderful.’ Rupert tinkled the call-for-a-pony bell.
‘Vincent,’ came a voice from behind.
He turned to see Florence strolling towards him, piano and violin music wafting out of her flashing emerald boots. ‘How was the tour?’
‘Unbelievable! The whole place … completely unbelievable!’
‘Have you chosen a room?’
‘I’m in the Puppy Room.’
‘Oh yay! The pocket dogs hate sleeping alone. They end up causing all sorts of mischief in the lobby if no one takes them. Emerson and I can take you there.’
Emerson was Florence’s pocket dog. Upon hearing her name, she poked her head out of Florence’s jacket and looked around.
‘Brilliant!’ enthused Rupert. ‘And don’t forget to call your mum, Vincent. Oh, that rrr-reminds me, Florry, your mum called. She can’t Skype tonight.’
‘Oh.’ A look of disappointment darkened Florence’s face. ‘Did she say why?’
‘She’s having dinner with the Rrr-russian President. Apparently he got all cranky when she gave him a Hawaiian shirt as a gift. Turns out he doesn’t like wearing shirts. And definitely not Hawaiian ones. She needs to get him back on side so they can find an Amur leopard for the Gene Bank.’
‘I thought they were in Istanbul?’
‘They were. They’ve had to fly to Rrr-russia specially, just for the dinner. There’s no getting out of it, I’m afraid.’
‘Of course. Never mind,’ said Florence, trying to sound as if she didn’t.
Florence and Vincent headed off across the lobby to the elevator.
‘What’s a Gene Bank?’ asked Vincent. He thought it must have something to do with the expedition Florence’s parents had embarked on three years ago.
‘Oh. It’s a project my mother and father came up with to save all the world’s endangered species from extinction.’
‘How will they do that?’
‘Well, they have to gather tissue samples from every endangered animal on the planet. And then cryogenically freeze them.’ Florence pushed the up button for the elevator. ‘Then if they become extinct in the future, they can be cloned and brought back to life.’
‘That’s incredible,’ marvelled Vincent.
‘That’s the easy part. Convincing governments around the world to cooperate is far trickier. Only half are on board so far. Thank goodness I have Rupert to help me or I don’t know what I’d do.’ Florence clicked the heels of her boots together like good-luck charms. After his grand tour, Vincent found it even more difficult to believe that Florence had been left to run the entire hotel by herself – even if she was a Wainwright-Cunningham.
As the elevator doors opened, Vincent just managed to stop his tongue doing the defrosted steak thing.
The elevator was as big as his entire house.
In the middle was a woman playing a grand piano.
‘Zelda,’ said Florence, stepping inside. ‘This is Vincent. He’s doing his orientation today and tomorrow he starts work as our shoeshine boy.’
Zelda looked up as her fingers danced gracefully across the keys. ‘Hello, Vincent,’ she said, smiling warmly. ‘Welcome to The Grand.’ With her head wrapped in a tall colourful turban and large gold earrings swinging from her ears, Vincent thought Zelda looked like a majestic African queen.
Without so much as a clunk the elevator, the size of a small house, began to rise. Zelda’s playing was exquisite. More soothing than gentle rain. Vincent thought if Thom had a chance to pick any room at The Grand, he’d surely choose the elevator.
‘Zelda’s been with us for fifty years, haven’t you?’ said Florence.
‘That’s right, dear.’
‘And she’s never missed a day’s work.’
Zelda laughed. ‘Well, I have missed one, dear. My wedding day when I married Dr Maaboottee. But that was long before your time. In fact our anniversary is coming up soon.’
‘Zelda’s husband, Dr Maaboottee, works with us too. He’s in charge of the elephants,’ explained Florence. ‘Oh, you have to celebrate, Zelda!’
‘Just being married to Dr Maaboottee is enough of a celebration for me.’ Zelda’s fingers danced a little livelier across the keys as she thought about her beloved husband.
‘When does Dr Maaboottee expect Winnie to give birth?’ asked Florence. ‘It feels like she’s been pregnant forever.’
‘I know, dear. Two years is a terribly long time to wait, but she still has a few months to go. Think how poor old Winnie must feel.’
‘Who’s Winnie?’ asked Vincent.
‘She’s one of our elephants,’ explained Zelda.
‘I’m so excited,’ cried Florence, clapping her hands together and springing up onto her toes. ‘There really is nothing grander than a baby elephant.’
‘When did you say your wedding anniversary is again?’ asked Florence as they stepped out onto the eleventh floor.
‘I didn’t!’ laughed Zelda.
‘Come on, Zelda,’ pleaded Florence, trying to keep the doors open a little longer.
‘Goodbye, Florry.’ The doors closed and the gentle piano music sunk down below.
‘Hmm, she’s not getting away with it that easily,’ said Florence as they headed off down the corridor. ‘Rupert will know, I’m sure. We never miss a chance to celebrate at The Grand, Vincent.’
As soon as Florence opened the door to the Puppy Room, a wave of pocket dogs crashed over them. Some were fluffy, others not, but all of them were impossibly cute in the way that tiny animals just are.
Lying on the floor, playing with the dogs, Flor
ence and Vincent yakked away like old friends.
Turns out they had oodles in common.
Both of them loved a game of poker and a bet with Monopoly money. Both of them loved cheese on pizza but hated cheese sandwiches. Both of them knew every word to rapper MZee’s ‘Too Loose’. And they couldn’t believe it when they discovered that both their dads had the same middle name – Benjamin! Although the chances were stacked in their favour since Florence’s dad had twenty-three middle names, which Florence agreed was excessive, even for a grand person.
As a blood-orange light seeped in through the windows, one by one the pocket dogs curled up and fell asleep, like balls of fluffy wool scattered across the floor.
‘I better go. I’ve left my glasses somewhere and I’ll have to retrace my steps till I find them. Why don’t you call room service, Vincent? You look pooped.’
‘Can I?’
‘Of course! Order whatever you want.’
Room service! Another scoop!
Vincent had never ordered room service.
Obviously. He’d never stayed in a hotel!
Instead room service was a game he used to play with his mother before Thom came along. He would jump into her bed and she would knock on the door and say ‘Room service’. And then she’d come in with his dinner on a tray and sit beside him while he ate it in bed. He felt like a king! Of course these days she was far too tired to play such games. She just focused on getting through dinner without having to clean food off the walls.
‘All right. Where’s the menu?’ asked Vincent.
‘There isn’t one. You just order whatever you want.’
Boy oh boy! Vincent hopped between sleeping dogs over to the phone. ‘Ah, could I please order one chicken pie, a pork chop with crackling, a bag of salt-and-vinegar chips, garlic bread, a bowl of hot chips and a caramel pudding with chocolate ice-cream and popcorn on top?’
