Grimm

by Mike Nicholson

“It’s a petition, Zizz Boy. We want the whole school to sign it.” Marnie di Angelo sounded just as hostile.

  “What’s it for?” asked Rory stalling for time.

  “Closing the hotel. Next stage of the “NO IFS NO BUTS” campaign,” said Fletcher, sticking the clipboard an inch from Rory’s face.

  “I might sit this one out,” said Rory ducking around it.

  “Just sign it, Zizz Boy,” said Marnie.

  “I’d prefer not to,” said Rory, “Thanks all the same.” He headed away from the gate feeling eyes boring into the back of his head as he went.

  “You’ll regret that,” shouted Marnie. “Whatever it is you’re doing up there … it’s a big mistake.”

  The last thing he heard was Fletcher saying, “I’ll go and let Gordon and Gracie know.”

  Rory walked away, the heat creeping up the back of his neck. He was in a small and very silent minority and it didn’t feel like a good place to be.

  23. The Halfway House

  Rory was keen to spend some time with Bonnie and Grandad trying to work out if there was any way to counter The Chronicle’s campaign. At the same time he was no further forward with an answer to rebranding Hotel Grimm, with only a day to go until he was expected back there with solutions. Things seemed to have gone backwards instead of forwards. The three had all just settled down with mugs of tea in the living room at Boglehole Road when they heard the front door open.

  “Yooo Hooo!” Rory’s heart sank at the arrival and imminent interruption of his mother. To make matters worse, while Rory often felt a bit embarrassed by some of the outfits that his Mum wore, today she had taken things to a whole new level. Her shoes, skirt and top were perfectly split vertically into two halves. One side of her wore red and the other green. She had also extended the effect to her eyeshadow and Rory cringed to see that her hair sported two colours too, split perfectly down the middle of her new centre parting.

  To make matters more bizarre, Momo was carrying a speed restriction road sign on a pole like giant lollipop. Half of the circular sign was missing creating a semi-circle. In the other hand she had a bag, which appeared to have been made out of recycled egg boxes and remnants of string woven together.

  Rory was at a loss as to how his mother could put a positive spin on the ridiculous costume she had worn as she had walked down Boglehole Road.

  “I’m so excited about my next exhibition,” enthused Mrs McKenna having carefully put down her peculiar sign and bag.

  “Oh no, not this one again,” muttered Rory, rolling his eyes with a glance over at Grandad. He remembered managing to escape this explanation when he had bumped into his mum near The Chronicle’s office.

  Momo stopped suddenly on seeing Bonnie. “Hello,” she said beaming. “I’m Momo … Rory’s mum.”

  “This is Bonnie,” Rory mumbled, cringing in embarrassment at his mum’s general flamboyance. Bonnie smiled in greeting.

  “So what’s your exhibition about this time, dear?” asked Grandad, trying to sound as polite and interested as he could in whatever his daughter’s latest plan was, as he winked at Rory.

  “Half Measures!” said Momo with panache, beaming and looking at Grandad as if she had said enough for him to be as enthused as she was.

  “You’ll need to say just a wee bit more, to let me get the gist of it,” said Grandad.

  Momo began to move around the room, picking her way as best she could between coffee table and settee and squeezing past Bonnie. “Half Measures,” she announced again with arms raised, her eyes widening with excitement as she visualized what this exhibition would consist of. “This won’t just be a collection of pieces of art, this will be a movement in society.” Grandad looked at Rory and pretended to fall asleep. Momo failed to notice. “What if we, each one of us here in this room, or every person in Aberfintry, or in Scotland, or in the UK, or in Europe, or in the world or …”

  “Yes, Mum,” said Rory. “We get the drift. What if a lot of people what …?”

  “I was coming to that,” said Momo. “What if all of us only had, used, bought or said half as much as we normally do?”

  Momo looked at Rory, Grandad and Bonnie, expecting them to be already on board her rapidly speeding train of thought. She was unfazed by the blank looks that met her and carried on. “Imagine if we went half the speed of normal, ate half as much as normal, said half as much as normal, bought half as much as normal, threw away half as much as normal … if we thought a bit more, held back a bit more, considered not throwing our whole weight around any more. If things were in half measures my question to you is … would we be half the people we are, or twice the people we are? Let’s stop halfway and become more.”

  She left the last sentence hanging in the air, her arms outstretched. Rory couldn’t help thinking that the world would be a better place if his Mum held only half of the exhibitions that she did. Grandad, however, seemed a bit more taken with Momo’s idea.

  “Aye, you have a point,” he said. “Everything is too fast-paced these days, and people don’t really care what they say or what they use some of the time.”

  “It sort of fits with people starting to recycle more,” said Bonnie.

  “Exactly, dear,” said Momo. “If people just held back a bit in every aspect of life, the world would be a different place. We would all look at things differently. Can’t you see? This could be the start of something really big. A campaign … a movement … we all sign up to Stop Halfway?” She held out a hand like a traffic policeman signalling “stop.”

  “Well it’s a good idea, Morag. Mind you, I’m not sure how you turn a good idea into a movement,” said Grandad.

  Bonnie chirped up. “People sometimes just need an example and they get the idea that life could be different. Look at The Chronicle’s campaign. It’s like people were just waiting for someone to take the lead. Give them a different idea and they might go off in a new direction.”

  The conversation carried on but Rory wasn’t fully aware of what Bonnie, Grandad or his Mum were saying any more. A strange tingly feeling had gripped the back of his neck and his mouth had gone dry. Ideas seemed to be connecting into place in his head in such a way that he could almost hear them clicking as they did so.

  “The telescope,” said Rory. He felt so peculiar and distracted that his voice sounded detached as he spoke. He shook his head to clear it and jumped up. Momo, Grandad and Bonnie looked at him in surprise.

  “I need the telescope,” said Rory. “I need the telescope.” He pushed his way over to the window.

  “All right, all right, calm down,” said Bonnie as he bumped the coffee table sending a pile of magazines sliding to the floor. The room fell silent as Rory scanned and focused. Three people behind him looked at each other and shrugged. “Is he all right?” whispered Momo.

  “Just give the lad a wee minute,” said Grandad.

  “There’s the solution,” said Rory in a quiet voice. “That’s it.”

  “What is? What can you see?” said Bonnie.

  Rory turned back to face them all. “Mum, your exhibition sounds fantastic. Inspirational in fact.” Momo looked confused and flattered that her son had decided to pay her a few compliments. Uncertain what she had done or what she ought to do now, she began to play with her beads.

  “Well, I don’t know what to say. It’s early days for this idea, but I do always try to do things that have an impact on people.”

  “You have this time. Believe me,” said Rory with determined sincerity. Grandad grumbled something about Rory changing his tune.

  Bonnie got exasperated. “Come on, Mr Genius. I seem to remember that the last time you declared that you’d cracked it, you were the only one who agreed with yourself, and you went on to be wrong. What’s the great idea this time?”

  “Rebranding Hotel Grimm,” said Rory in a quiet voice. “That was the challenge and this is the answer. It’s not about trying to repackage what the hotel is. Finkleman is right. You can’t sell the unsellable. D
o you know, I’m not even sure Granville Grimm or Grog for that matter wants it to be a hotel anyway. The answer is about creating something different altogether. A fresh start. A chance to do things differently. Some new place that’s neither the hotel nor the town. A place that people do want. A halfway house.”

  “Well if you’re looking out of the window, then halfway is in the middle of nowhere, on Scrab Hill,” pointed out Bonnie.

  “Exactly. The Halfway House,” said Rory as if it meant something.

  “What are you talking about, Rory?” said Bonnie. “What halfway house?”

  “Why not make it that people go halfway up the hill to do business with the Grimms, rather than going all the way to the hotel?”

  Bonnie gave Rory a look that suggested that he had gone completely mad. “You can’t use a hotel without going into it. How can you go halfway to a hotel?”

  “Not to a hotel,” replied Rory. “To the pavilion on the ledge. Turn it into a café with the best view in the area, where people can’t help but see things differently. That would be the unique selling point of the place for anyone who lives in the town … the fact that it’s not in the town.”

  “You’re forgetting something,” said Bonnie. “You talk about a café, but the pavilion is a wreck according to your description and the hotel is a cesspit. Surely no one wants food that comes out of those places?”

  “There’s a lot to do to the place, but the food is no problem. Ramsay Sandilands will sort that out. He’ll cook to save them all!”

  “The rat collector as the cook?” spluttered Bonnie. “Now that is a marketing challenge. Come and eat at our café … we’re giving away free diseases as a special offer!”

  “You’ll have to trust me on this one. It will work,” said Rory calmly, picturing Ramsay Sandilands’ scrupulously clean kitchen.

  “One problem you have is that you’re going to need some pretty fit customers if you want them to climb a hill like that to get a cup of coffee and a bun,” said Grandad. “Surely that’s the project dead in the water before you’ve even begun. I’ll not be likely to pop in for a wee cuppa.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Grandad,” replied Rory with a knowing smile. “I expect to see you up there. You’re forgetting something. We’ve got a cable car that stops just up from the ledge. It’s primed and ready to go, with an operator who has been waiting for years for some passengers.”

  Grandad nodded slowly. “Aye, right enough, Stobo would have kept that in good order. But will anyone dare go near him?”

  “Your Grandad’s right,” said Bonnie. “It’s all very well having a new place to go to and transport to take you there. But if the name Grimm has anything to do with it, then it’s doomed to failure from the start.” Rory shook his head.

  “Oh come on, Rory,” said Bonnie. “You’ve counted the posters in the houses around here. You don’t think they are suddenly going to be ripped down just because you offer people the chance of a ride to get a scone and a cappuccino?”

  “Trust me. This is the answer,” said Rory.

  “That’s what you said the last time you got enthusiastic,” said Bonnie. Rory didn’t reply, and tried not to let Bonnie’s comment unsettle him. He knew he couldn’t afford to be wrong twice, for his sake or the Grimms.

  “I’d go up there,” said Momo who had been listening quietly until now. She was in a state of shock that her exhibition plans had already caused so much discussion. “I might get even more inspiration from a new vantage point.”

  Grandad’s forehead crinkled up in concern. “I’m not sure we can cope with too many life-changing movements. Maybe you’d better stay down here in the town!”

  A short time later as they left Grandad’s house, and before they had even reached the end of his front path, Rory noticed a “NO IFS NO BUTS” poster in the window of the next-door house. Although he thought that his latest idea was a strong one, he couldn’t help but think that someone or something else was going to be needed to push it through. With a week to go to the demonstration, he hadn’t even told Granville Grimm of this latest proposal, while the pavilion at the heart of the solution he proposed was a complete wreck.

  But his biggest problem remained the small matter of the typical Aberfintry resident’s refusal to go up Scrab Hill. What were the chances of their opinions being changed by the combined voices of a falsely-lauded marketing expert, his bookish friend, housebound grandfather and a wacky artist?

  “It’s fizzy, it’s light, Zizz has got it right”

  Winner of the Most Memorable Advertising

  Slogan of the Year

  24. Confession

  Rory felt his hand being enveloped and pumped up and down by a giant paw-like grasp.

  “Man, it’s good to see you again, Rory! I know it sounds corny, but you are growing fast!”

  So are you, thought Rory who had arranged to meet the somewhat-larger-than-before, Mr Finkleman at the Art Gallery Café for old times sake.

  “It sure is funny being back here again,” Finkleman said, looking round the sunny terrace. “What a chance meeting that was. I’ve often thought it was meant to be.”

  Rory smiled a weak smile of agreement. As he looked out at the sculptures in the garden he pictured the girl skipping past and singing. Maybe she would turn up today just to complete the reunion.

  “So what’s been happening, buddy? I couldn’t help noticing all of these “No Ifs No Buts” posters around the town. What’s going on? Something about a big demonstration next weekend?”

  Rory was lost for words. So much had happened in the last three weeks that he couldn’t think where to start.

  “Well to be honest, it’s all about the hotel you have an interest in,” said Rory.

  “Yeah, I need to get up there and do what Aunt Aggie wanted me to,” said Finkleman. “You’ll need to point me in the right direction.”

  Rory stuck out an arm and pointed to Scrab Hill and Hotel Grimm.

  “Wow, that place?” said Finkleman looking at its dark forbidding shape. “Aunt Aggie always did live life on the edge!”

  “Well, I can take you up there and introduce you,” said Rory. “I’ve sent a message ahead to explain that you’re coming. So you’ll hopefully get a decent welcome.” His fear was that Grog would be as rude to the nephew of the woman he had saved in the fire, as he had been to Rory on his first visit there. He had sent a note to Grog, and a lengthy one to Grimson too, courtesy of Stobo and the cable car, to try and ensure that Finkleman wouldn’t turn tail and run as soon as the door creaked open.

  “I can fill you in on what’s been happening on the way up. I need to pitch an idea to them and have a meeting there this afternoon.”

  “Excellent,” said Finkleman. “No time like the present, and good to hear you are back in business again. Ideas from the Zizz Boy are sure to be worth making an appointment for.”

  By the time they got to the ledge, Rory had covered as much of the background story as he could.

  Finkleman didn’t say much. This was partly because he was puffing and bright red from the exertion of climbing the hill, “Man, I am out of shape,” he said, but also because he was taking in everything that Rory was saying. He would alternately nod, shake his head or whistle in wonder at the stories Rory was telling.

  At the ledge they finally stopped for air. Rory felt like he had offloaded much of what had been swilling around in his head in recent times. The view was as good as ever and Finkleman was not disappointed. “Wow, Rory, I see what you’re thinking. This is some vantage point.” He moved over to the edge and breathed in deeply. “I gotta get out of the city for a while. Look at me,” he said patting his large stomach. “I’m carrying a few too many pounds. Do you know I could use a break. The last eighteen months have been super-busy.”

  Finkleman turned back to Rory. “See buddy, this place is working for me already!” He looked beyond Rory to the pavilion. “Hey, check that out! Is that what you reckon could be the Halfway House? What a
place!” He walked towards it. “Seven days to fix it up you say? Well we’ve fitted out some of the new Zizz café bars in that sort of time just to get them open, but this is quite a challenge.”

  “The main problem is that there is no local builder who will touch this place,” said Rory.

  “Shame,” said Finkleman, “It reminds me of stuff I used to do when I had the time. Building things. I renovated a few houses in my younger days. I loved all that stuff. I’m too used to sitting down and pushing a pen these days.”

  “We should probably go,” said Rory, getting depressed. The more he thought about it, the more his solution was sounding quite unfeasible, given the tight timescale.

  “Sure thing. At least I have my breath back now,” said Finkleman. “Do you know, Rory, I’m touched by the story of your Grandad. That must have been so difficult for him living with secrets like that for so long. I’m sure he must feel like a new man having had the chance to talk to you this week.”

  Rory nodded. Looking down on the town, he could just make out Boglehole Road and the workshop at the bottom of the garden. A few streets away, the Art Gallery Café with its little outdoor area could also be seen. It struck Rory that he was with Finkleman, talking about the value of honesty and the pain of secrets in a place where everything looked different.

  “There’s one other thing I ought to tell you, but this one is a bit difficult to explain,” said Rory continuing to look down on Aberfintry. Knowing that he was almost at a point of no return, he just couldn’t look Finkleman in the eye.

  “Well, Rory,” said Finkleman, “you fire away and I’ll see if I can make sense of it.”

  “Er … yes it’s one of those things,” continued Rory, his mouth beginning to dry up. “… or rather it’s a situation where what everyone thinks is the real story, isn’t actually the case and it’s quite hard explaining just what the truth actually is.”

  “Okay, well you have a go and we’ll see where we get to,” said Finkleman, still cheery and encouraging.