Vincent and the Grandest Hotel on Earth

by Lisa Nicol

  Although the meaning of the vision was never clear immediately, Vincent began to trust in time it would be. And when it was, suddenly everything slotted into place and Vincent would have to spring into action all at once. Like the second time Vincent went back to the room he saw a falling ladder and a tree bent over so far its leaves swept the ground like a broom. A week later when Vincent was having lunch in the treetops with Florence and the sloths, Florence mentioned to Fin that he needed to be careful because a howling wind was forecast for the afternoon. Vincent knew then and there that that wind was going to blow a ladder down. But which ladder?

  Straightaway Vincent excused himself from lunch, slid down the tree, pedalled the swan boat back across the lake and walked right round the whole hotel until he spotted a lone window cleaner high up on a ladder. He was scrubbing giraffe slobber off the breakfast-room windows. I can’t just stand here and hold the ladder till the wind comes, thought Vincent. So he ran as fast as he could back around the hotel and up to the breakfast room. Then he casually wandered over to the window and started chatting to the window cleaner about giraffe slobber and what messy eaters they were and an idea he had to make his shoes safer. Just when Vincent had completely run out of things to talk about, a huge gust of wind came out of nowhere. It lifted the ladder and blew it up and away from the wall. The window cleaner screamed and Vincent grabbed him by the arm, a microsecond before the ladder fell and crashed to the ground. Vincent held on to the cleaner – who was a solid fellow – until he thought his arm was going to rip right out of its socket, at which time Rupert arrived to help haul the cleaner inside to safety.

  The next time Vincent visited the room he saw a crying baby and a pile of dirty sheets. A few days later a guest came running through the lobby screaming, ‘I’ve lost my baby! Please! Someone help me! I CAN’T FIND MY BABY!’

  Rupert managed to get a description of the baby from its now hysterical mother and then grabbed his megaphone. ‘Attention, all staff. Stop what you’re doing. This is a rrr-red alert. I rrr-repeat …’ (Even in an emergency Rupert rolled his ‘R’s.) ‘This is a rrr-red alert. Stop what you are doing immediately and look for a baby last seen sucking a large blue dummy and wearing a penguin onesie.’ Vincent was about to join the search party when he realised he knew exactly where the baby was.

  What am I going to do? I can’t find the baby. It’ll look too suspicious. But I can’t just leave it there.

  The lobby cleaners Luz and Tracee flew past. ‘Here, bubba. Come to Luz and Tracee, bubba.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked Vincent.

  ‘Chocolate Lounge. Even baby can smell double fudge banana balls.’

  ‘He’s not there, I’ve already looked. You guys check the laundry. I’ll check the library.’

  Luz and Tracee made a U-turn and hightailed it off to the laundry. When they re-emerged with the infant in their arms, the celebration was – as you might expect – grand. A lost then found infant is a source of out-of-body terror and torrential relief – for everyone. And always requires the grandest of celebrations. That night nearly every guest joined in at the Transatlantic Ballroom. Luz and Tracee were the queens of the night and watching hundreds of folks dancing the ‘throw them bones’ was a sight to make the heaviest heart fly. Once the baby’s mother recovered, she danced with that penguin baby till she could dance no more. And the story of the baby that had crawled into a laundry chute and shot down four storeys only to land safely in a pile of dirty sheets would go on to become a favourite tale at The Grand, a hotel so full of stories you could sit in front of a fire telling them for a year without ever drawing breath or repeating a single one.

  Once again Vincent felt like he had done something incredible. He’d saved not only a baby elephant but a human baby too. And when Vincent herded all the animals from the lowest part of the valley to the top of the mountain, saving them from a flash flood and stopped a batch of off seafood being served to a full dining room he began to think he knew better than Florence or her grandmother about leaving some things up to the gods. As far as Vincent was concerned, knowing what was going to happen at The Grand was a necessity and if no one else was brave enough to do it, then it was going to have to be him. (Don’t you love how brains do that? Hide our real motives under a chair and then dazzle us with explanations that sound so good they must be true!) Not going into the Mirrors of the Future Room was never anything to do with bravery. Yes, Vincent had saved animals and people. Yes, he’d stopped bad things from happening. But did that make what he was doing right? Was he really in control of the future?

  My co-author just pointed out that the staircase from ‘being humble and having healthy doubts about yourself’ to ‘thinking you’re pretty special’ can be a very short one.

  And Vincent was about to learn that the hard way.

  CHAPTER 15

  TOMATO SANDWICHES ON THE PLATFORM FOR THE RECKLESS

  Singing rapper MZee’s latest song, Vincent skipped up the fire stairs to the sixteenth floor. He’d climbed them so many times he no longer bothered to be quiet or in any way discreet. He kicked the door wide open with his boot and headed straight down the corridor to the Mirrors of the Future Room, a swagger in his step.

  Every time Vincent visited the room, without noticing he was doing it, he opened the door the smallest fraction wider than the time before. But this time, he was so relaxed he turned the doorknob without so much as a thought. The lock bolt popped straight out, practically sucking the door – and Vincent with it – right into the room. Vincent stumbled forward. For the first time, he saw his own face in the mirror. Vincent wrenched the door back towards himself.

  But it was too late.

  A bolt of energy travelled up his spine pummelling him like a freight train.

  His body arched.

  His head flew backwards.

  The inside of his brain felt like an exploding star. His scalp and hair blown to smithereens.

  Vincent gripped the doorhandle, trying to stay upright as the bolt of blue-white lightning struck.

  And then the vision. Violent and rapid-fire like a machine gun straight into his brain.

  Florence lying in a hospital bed attached to machines.

  His mum and dad hugging him, the three of them laughing together in a happy embrace.

  Vincent looks down at his feet and sees Florence’s emerald boots.

  Vincent flew backwards. His head hit the floor as the door slammed shut.

  At that moment in time, somewhere deep inside, Vincent understood everything.

  He got up and charged towards the fire stairs. He flew down them as fast as he could, jumping three at a time, stumbling, getting up then stumbling again. He wished he could outrun himself. He wished he could run back through time. He wished he could undo what he had done. And more than anything, Vincent wished he could unsee what he had just seen.

  Standing in the stairwell, hands on his knees, Vincent tried to slow his breathing. Sweat dripped from his forehead. He watched it splash silently onto the stairs – drip, drip, drip – his heart thumping in his ears as if his head was inside a wooden drum. Vincent’s hands and feet went numb as a feeling of panic tightened around his body like a snake. Get a grip, Vincent. Get A GRIP!

  It took a while for Vincent to compose himself. When the elevator doors opened, Zelda looked up and smiled, same as she always did.

  ‘Weren’t you supposed to collect a pair of shoes?’ she asked.

  ‘What?’ replied Vincent. He was so completely rattled he’d forgotten the little insignificant lie he’d told Zelda on the way up. ‘Oh, yes … yes …’ He swallowed. ‘They … they must have forgotten. I looked everywhere. Couldn’t find any shoes.’

  ‘Never mind,’ said Zelda, brightly. ‘One less pair to polish!’

  Vincent nodded and stared at the floor. He touched his hair nervously, checking it was still there. He was too scared to even look at Zelda. Surely she’d be able to see right through him.

  Vincent got out
at the lobby and walked over to his chair. He pulled Min out of his pocket and held her up to his cheek

  What had just happened? What had he done?

  Vincent knew the visions were connected, just like all the other visions had been. And while the future looked great for him, the future for Florence looked frightening. How could his happiness be connected to something terrible happening to her? It didn’t make sense. How could that be? And why? Why? Why would this be?

  Vincent’s whole body filled up with deep regret. And fear. A fear so bad it made him want to scream. A fear so bad it made him want to run and run and never stop.

  ‘Hey, Vincent. What’s up?’

  Emerald boots. It was Florence. He looked up into her kind, beautiful eyes.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Florence. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost!’

  ‘Do I? No, I’m fine,’ said Vincent, scrambling to look and sound normal, as if he hadn’t just seen the most terrible future imaginable for Florence.

  ‘You sure? You look a bit pale.’

  ‘Well, I do have a bit of a headache actually.’ (Which was the truth.) ‘Sometimes I breathe in too much polish. I think I just need some fresh air.’ While he was saying one thing, inside his head Vincent was screaming. What’s going to happen to you? Whatever’s going to happen to you?

  ‘Well, how about lunch on the platform then? Plenty of fresh air up there.’

  Vincent nodded.

  ‘Great! See you in fifteen.’

  Vincent watched Florence as she skipped across the lobby. Her cinnamon hair swished from side to side. Her emerald boots playing Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major. Along the way she stopped to fix a pony’s headdress, hug a guest’s baby, applaud a wandering minstrel and talk to the herpetologist who was polishing the turtles. Vincent’s head throbbed and his heart stung. Being friends with Florence was the best. She was generous and kind and worldly and smart and capable and funny. Why hadn’t he listened to her? Why had he done what he’d done? And why did she have to get sick? What if it was worse? What if Florence … Vincent shut the thought down. He couldn’t bear to even think it.

  Florence couldn’t not be around.

  She just couldn’t!

  Surely without her there would be no Grand! As far as Vincent was concerned, Florence was The Grand!

  But why was he wearing her boots in the vision?

  How could his happiness and Florence getting sick coexist, let alone be connected? It just wasn’t possible.

  Vincent caught the chairlift up to the platform. He watched as an old lady wearing a winged suit jumped off and flew down over the valley while Florence, legs dangling, kept an eye on her through her binoculars.

  ‘I hope I’m that fearless when I’m old,’ said Florence. She tossed Vincent a brown bag. ‘And I hope tomato sandwiches are all right.’

  Vincent sat down next to her and unwrapped his sandwich. ‘You’ve converted me.’

  His head still throbbed where it had smacked against the floor. Everything in his body felt like it was going too fast. His heart. His blood. His brain.

  ‘Oh, look! An eagle,’ cried Florence. She dropped her half-eaten sandwich into her lap and grabbed her binoculars again.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Over there,’ she said, pointing, ‘above the tree house.’

  ‘Oh, I see him. I think it’s a condor.’

  ‘It is too. It’s an Andean condor. Look at its wings! They must be ten feet across.’

  ‘I hope there’s no small kids in the tree house,’ worried Vincent. ‘He’s big enough to take one.’

  ‘Don’t worry, a wildlife ranger will be close by. They’ll be keeping an eye on things.’

  Florence and Vincent ate their tomato sandwiches and watched the condor glide in circles as it rode the thermals down, then up, then down again. But Vincent wasn’t really watching. All he could see was the vision of Florence lying in a hospital bed. He wanted to tell her so badly. She was as wise as an owl. She’d know what to do.

  But he couldn’t do that.

  Knowing something really bad was going to happen was a terrible, terrible thing. Already Vincent’s whole body was bracing itself. Like that terrifying freefall feeling when you miss a step.

  Florence lay back on the platform and looked up at the sky. ‘Do you know, I never even took a lunch break before you started working here.’

  Vincent lay back too.

  ‘I always told myself I had too much to do – which I did! And I still have too much to do, but I think it was because there was never anyone to have lunch with. I mean, there’s Rupert and Zelda and Dr Maaboottee and everyone, but they’re more like aunties and uncles. It’s not the same as having a friend my own age. I mean, you know who MZee is. And you don’t mind getting thrashed on a rocking horse.’

  ‘I do mind getting thrashed on a rocking horse,’ protested Vincent, weakly.

  Florence laughed.

  She had the best laugh.

  ‘This has been such a fun summer. It’s made me realise how much I’ve missed having a friend to talk to and do stuff with. You know, regular kid stuff. And you understand my work too. Most kids don’t have to work like we do.’

  ‘I don’t think you can compare my work to yours. What you do matters. I just shine shoes.’

  ‘You do a lot more than just shine shoes, Vincent.’ Florence reached across and grabbed his hand. She squeezed it tight. As they lay there staring up at the sky, Vincent knew Florence was the sort of friend he might be lucky enough to find once in his life but never twice.

  While in the past he’d accepted the future in the visions was going to happen, this time he couldn’t.

  This time he had to STOP it happening.

  Somehow, someway, he had to stop the future before it arrived if it was the very last thing he did.

  And while he couldn’t say it out loud, lying there Vincent solemnly committed every bone, every muscle and every cell in his body to the protection of Florence.

  ‘I better get back to work,’ said Florence, hopping up. ‘The llamas are getting shampooed this arvo, the Fizzy Room’s not fizzy for some reason and we’re completely out of whatever-flavour-you-think-of balls. You have no idea how many thousands of those things we go through in a week, Vincent. It’s impossible to keep up.’

  Vincent scrambled to his feet. ‘Hey, careful! Don’t stand so close to the edge.’

  ‘Don’t be a worrywart. Come on, I’ll race you.’ Florence turned, jumped off the platform and ran down the mountain.

  Vincent ran after her. ‘Watch out, Florence!’ he yelled, leaping over rocks and hollows. ‘You’ll fall!’

  CHAPTER 16

  STOPPING THE FUTURE

  From that moment on, Vincent approached every day as a mission to keep Florence safe from harm. He had no idea how or even what he needed to protect Florence from. That was the hardest part. How do you prepare if you don’t know who or what someone needs protection from? Or even where! Would he need brains or strength? Cunning or intuition? Did he need to be her sword or shield? Vincent reassured himself he just needed to be vigilant and ready at all times. He’d managed every other time to know when the future was about to happen. And he hoped with all his heart this time would be the same.

  Luckily for Vincent, Florence spent a lot of time at the front desk where he could keep an eye on her. But every time she walked off, Vincent stopped what he was doing and followed her. He followed her to the Grand Theatre to meet the new director who’d flown in from New York. He followed her to a meeting with the lepidopterists, who were preparing for the arrival of three new species of butterfly. He followed her to Tenzing, the rotating mountaintop restaurant where window cleaners were carrying out the dangerous job of de-icing the glass roof. And he followed her to the doughnut bar to sample the latest flavour – the hot-fizzing-double-dipped-treacle-cream kaboom.

  But a few days later, with the vision as clear as a picture book in his mind, Florence walked past Vincent’s
chair on her way to the elevator.

  ‘Morning, Vincent!’ she said, bright and breezy. ‘Hot springs or sloths for lunch?’

  ‘Hmmm, sloths?’ he replied, trying to sound just as bright and breezy.

  As soon as the elevator doors closed, Vincent rushed over. He watched the light flick from ‘L’ to ‘GF’ and down to ‘B’.

  The basement.

  Florence was getting out in the basement. Vincent took the fire stairs and ran down as fast as he could. When he opened the basement door he heard a loud beeping sound. BEEP BEEP BEEP. A huge truck, rear lights flashing, was backing into the loading bay. And Florence was standing right behind it!

  ‘Keep coming …’ she yelled, waving at the driver. ‘You’ve got plenty of room.’

  Vincent panicked. He sprinted towards Florence. But before he reached her, Florence had stepped out of the way and the truck reversed safely into the loading bay. Vincent ducked behind a pylon. A man got out of the truck and walked over to Florence.

  ‘Here you go, love.’ He handed her a clipboard.

  ‘Oh, goody, the new bedspreads from Kashmir. I can’t wait to see them.’

  Two more men got out, opened the back doors and pulled down a ramp. Then they picked up a huge wide container and tried to manoeuvre it out of the truck.

  ‘Dip the left front side down a bit and swing the right back up,’ said Florence.

  But the men struggled.

  ‘Watch out!’

  ‘Grab it underneath!’

  ‘I am!’ yelled the man on the ramp to the man inside the truck. ‘It’s heavy!’

  ‘Try tipping it to the left.’

  ‘I can’t, my hands are slipping!’

  Florence was standing at the bottom of the ramp as the man, his face as red and shiny as a ripe cherry, began to slide backwards.

  Vincent didn’t wait around to see which way the huge container was going to fall. He leapt out from behind the pylon and dived at Florence, knocking her out of the way. Florence slammed onto the concrete floor, Vincent on top of her. Her glasses flew across the ground. Min yelped. So did Emerson.