Highly Unsuitable Girl

by Carolyn McCrae

  “Oh we are. We come every year for Christmas, have done for, what is it?” he asked his wife, “Five years now.”

  Anya and the children had always avoided Christmas and the New Year, not wanting to take up rooms that could otherwise be sold at the highest rate.

  “Miriam has been brilliant. Every year she remembers exactly what we like and don’t like. We get the rooms we ask for. She’s brilliant, absolutely brilliant.”

  “We feel so sorry for her. She works so hard to give everyone a good time.”

  “She didn’t need this.”

  “Will you tell me about the hotel?” Anya asked. “What’s so great about it and what isn’t? I’ve not been out here very much for the past six years, certainly not often enough, and I probably didn’t look and listen enough when I was here, you see I had my children with me and had to make sure they had a great holiday.” She had no idea why she felt the need to explain to the guests.

  The couple painted Anya a picture of a hotel that hadn’t had enough investment. She was astute enough to realise that guests didn’t come back year after year because of the fabric of the hotel, they came because of the service and because of the personal attention Miriam gave them. It was seven years since the refurbishment and since then she had not invested enough, either in time or in money. She took a notebook from her handbag and, as the jug of rum punch was emptied, carefully noted all they told her of the improvements they would like to see at Fishermen Rock.

  “Time, Miriam, there was never enough time.”

  Anya and Miriam sat on the terrace late into the night, the couple and the man from the Tourism Department long gone.

  “I should have spent more time here.”

  “Yes. You should.”

  “But you never told me.”

  “You should have seen when you were here but you had your eyes shut.”

  “I was so involved for the first couple of years but then it was a question of priorities. You know when we started I had every intention of spending half the year out here, being part of everything. I didn’t want to be an absentee landlord, a signature on cheques, a recipient of dividends. I really wanted to be involved.”

  “Then why weren’t you?”

  “You know why not, it was the children.”

  “And now?” Anya could hear Miriam’s resentment.

  “Now I’m here to help.”

  “But that’s not why you came. You didn’t know about all this. You came for a holiday, for your own reasons. And you should have known better than to turn up during the first week in January. If this had been a normal year we would have had no room. But, as you can see, this is not a normal year.”

  Anya knew Miriam was right but didn’t want to admit it, she was feeling low enough as it was. “I didn’t know there were problems because you didn’t tell me.”

  “What would I tell you? I don’t know what all the problems are yet, the list gets longer every day.”

  “Well it’s obvious you’ve been shut down.”

  “You’ve been shut down.” Miriam corrected with a steel of anger Anya had never heard from her before. “It’s your name on all the paperwork. You’re the one who will be prosecuted.”

  “We’ve been shut down.” Anya conceded, reluctantly acknowledging to herself that Miriam was absolutely right. On the flight out she hadn’t thought about what she could contribute, she had only pictured lazy days and long evenings sitting with Miriam on the terrace, surrounded by contented and high-paying guests. Anya had come to Fishermen Rock with no plan other than to enjoy a few weeks of luxury in the sun. As she sat in uncomfortable silence she remembered what she had written in her diary the night before:

  ‘Wrong side of 50. Not broke but no longer well off. Capital: House but only when James hits 21, all others gone. Income: very small amount from what’s left of investments, most must come from FR.”

  Now she couldn’t bank on any income from the hotel, instead it would cost a deal of money she didn’t have to get it back on track.

  “No. You’ve been shut down. I quit.” Miriam’s voice was as cold as Anya had ever heard it.

  “But you can’t!” Anya was horrified. “You are Edna’s Place, you are Fishermen Rock. Guests come here because of you. You can’t quit.”

  “I can and I do, with immediate effect.”

  “Let’s talk about it tomorrow. Please, I’m tired. It was a long flight. It’s been a long day, I’m too tired to talk about it tonight.”

  “You You You. Listen to yourself Anya. I’m tired too. I’ve carried this place the past six years and watched you take all the money out of it, never a penny put back. All your initial enthusiasm soon disappeared.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything before? I’ve been over here every year. You could have said something, but you didn’t so I could only assume that everything was going fine.”

  “You know where assumptions get you don’t you?”

  “You said nothing.” Anya tried to answer calmly but she knew she sounded defensive.

  “How could I talk to you when you were always running around with the children? You were only here long enough to get a tan and then back to the UK. If you’d been that interested you would have asked. You could have come out alone, you could have spoken on the phone about the business, you only ever called to see if there were rooms for you all.”

  Anya was surprised at how calm she felt in the face of such criticism. Perhaps it was because she recognised the justice in Miriam’s complaints. She had made a decision when she took over the children, that they would be her life and Miriam was right, everything else had been unimportant.

  “I’m sorry, I hadn’t realised how thoughtless I’ve been but things will change now. Perhaps I should have tackled things differently it was just that the children, well, they have been everything. Perhaps I should have thought about you and the business more.”

  “Perhaps nothing. Of course you should have done.”

  “I can do now. I can help. I will help. But I can’t do it without you.”

  “You’ll have to. I mean it when I say I’ve had enough of this place.”

  “But please Miriam, please. I can’t do it without you.”

  “You should have thought of that.”

  “But how am I to know what to do? I can’t possibly sort it out on my own.”

  “Like I’ve had to sort everything out on my own for the past seven years?”

  “But you knew where to start, I know nothing about running a hotel, nothing.”

  “Well you should have thought about that when you bought into it.”

  Since they had first met on that dark night in January 1994 Anya had thought she and Miriam were partners, friends even, but as she tried to persuade her to stay she realised that that had never been the case.

  “Will you help me set off in the right direction? Spend a little time handing over? Go over the paperwork? Help me?” Anya softened her voice, trying to hide the panic that was rising within her.

  “I’m going back to the UK as soon as I can get a flight. I’ll find a pub somewhere to give me a part time job. I’ve got my pension, that’ll do me. I don’t need expensive clothes and fancy holidays.” Anya took Miriam’s comments as very personal criticism and tried not to be hurt by them.

  “Give me a few days? Please?”

  “Is it my fault if you’re not suited to this business? Any business?”

  “I’m not suited to business?” Anya was incredulous and began to feel a little angry. “I ran a business, as well you know, for many years in the UK. It was very successful. You can’t say I’m unsuited to running a business. Valid criticism I will take but please, Miriam, don’t say that.”

  “You may have worked hard years ago but you’ve got out of the habit. Now you’ll never put in the hours it takes, you’ll never find the energy to cope with all the administration at the end of a long day. We’re not 9 to 5 here you know, nearer 5 in the morning to midnight. Then there’s deali
ng with the staff, and officialdom, the travel agents, and, of course, the clients. You have no idea how much is involved.”

  “Then give me at last some idea before you leave. Please. Then I’ll know how unsuitable I am.”

  Anya wondered if Miriam could know how much that word had haunted her through her life.

  When Anya woke up the next morning her initial thoughts were free from worry, she was warm, she was comfortable and the sun was rising. Then she remembered. She watched the sky lighten as the sun rose above the horizon trying not to think about the next seven days. In that time she had a great deal of work to do.

  She had persuaded Miriam to stay one week. Miriam had known she held all the cards and Anya had had to give Miriam far more than she could afford to persuade her to stay even that amount of time. It could never be enough to learn all that she needed to know and it was a long time since she had had to learn so much that was completely new. And she had only seven days.

  She made herself a cup of tea and found a new page in her notebook. She wrote the days of the week she had before Miriam left for the UK and she noted for each day the topic she wanted to cover. There were too many topics and too few days. Half an hour later she was downstairs at the computer copying her notes and adding a list of questions as they occurred to her, then carefully cutting and pasting them into some kind of order. She hoped to show Miriam that she may not know the answers but at least she knew what questions to ask.

  As she made herself a coffee she wondered where Miriam was, surely she would be up and about by now. As she waited for the water to boil she glanced at the clock, it was past eight. She gazed through the window at the car park. It took her a few moments to realise that Miriam’s car was not there. She had not kept her promise to stay. Anya’s hand shook as she poured the hot water into a mug, wondering what she could possibly do. She walked back to the computer, sat down and stared at the questions on the screen.

  The thought of selling the hotel came into her mind and would not go away. She would have to sell, but would anyone buy it in the state it was in? If she couldn’t sell what else could she do with it? She couldn’t afford to pay another Miriam even if she could find one. And as she looked again at the screen full of problems she knew she could not do it herself.

  It was only as she faced up to the prospect of losing it that she realised how attached she was to the place. She walked out onto the terrace and looked out to sea. She thought of the houses she had lived in and owned. She had had eight homes and owned, at various times, twenty five different investment properties. Now, because of a combination of wanting to do the very best for the children, some ill-advised dealings in a stock market she didn’t understand and disastrous world events over which no one had any control, she had only Fishermen Rock and, when James reached 21, their house in England.

  She had hated the house in Kent when she had first seen it. She remembered standing outside the front door with Tim wondering what sort of people could live in a house like that. It had been Kathleen’s house; formal, old-fashioned, darkly furnished. When she had moved in after Geoff’s death it had been decorated and furnished to Fiona’s taste. In the past seven years she and the children had made many changes and she had many happy memories of living there but, she recognised sadly, she had never chosen it, as she had chosen Fishermen Rock. It wasn’t rational, she knew, as she had spent so little time here, but she felt more at home at Fishermen Rock than anywhere else.

  She turned to look at the building and made herself notice how ravaged it had become since its extensive and expensive makeover. The paint of the window frames was peeling, the walls were discoloured, even the padlocks on the doors were brown with rust. She had to admit that the place looked neglected, almost abandoned. Anya had a vague memory of Miriam asking for some extra funds for redecoration a couple of years before but she hadn’t wanted to spend the money. She hadn’t seen the need.

  She sat down by the pool, realising it, too, needed repair and a lick of paint. She wondered dispassionately whether crying would make it all seem better but decided that could achieve nothing so she made herself look around again. The gardens were unkempt, the trees needed lopping, the potholes in the car park needed filling, the walls, in part, needed rebuilding. Everything needed attention, everything was broken, dirty or out of date. She sat, her head in her hands, listening to the surf breaking wondering at the way properties had been so much of her life and yet she knew so little about taking care of them.

  She was only pulled out of her slough of self-pity by the sound of a car engine as Miriam’s Toyota pulled into the car park.

  The week went far too quickly. The list of questions that needed answering seemed to grow each day as the more she knew the more she realised she needed to know.

  Thursday 10th January 2002

  Miriam’s last day but two. I’ve got to make a decision. One thing is certain I can’t keep both Fishermen Rock and the house in Kent and I can’t sell up in the UK until next March when Jamie turns 21 and only then if the children don’t object. But this place needs so much money spending on it soon if we’re to get our licence back and not lose all this year’s bookings. Loans, mortgages, all possible I suppose but I don’t suppose I’m much of a bet with banks these days. Even if I managed to raise the money to invest in this place could I make it work? It would take everything I have to get the Fishermen back to its former glory and I’ve have to live out here. Miriam is right, everything is strange to me, but she’s wrong to think I can’t learn. I should know more than I do but that’s history and not worth dwelling on. Every day, as I feel less and less confident about taking over the hotel I feel more and more convinced it’s what I want to do. I’d live here, make new friends, get a life. I just wish Miriam wanted to be part of that and stay.

  That evening Anya had sat with Miriam in the small office and had tried to persuade her, yet again, to stay but Miriam was determined. “You’re wasting your words. It’s time for me to go home.”

  “Why? Your life is here.”

  “I’ve been here for 20 years but it is time to go.”

  “But I promise things will be different.” Anya was pleading. She so wanted to revive the hotel and she needed Miriam to do that.

  “You say you left me to run this place because you had to look after your children. Well I’ve got children and grandchildren that I want to see something of and they’re not so well off that they can afford to flit out here for holidays every year.”

  “I never knew that.”

  “There are a lot of things you haven’t bothered to find out when you’ve been out here, about me and about your family.”

  “What do you mean ‘about my family’.”

  “You have never spent tried to track down your uncle have you?”

  “What do you know about my uncle?”

  Miriam didn’t directly answer the question.

  “On that first day you were here you said your mother’s brother was Vincent Albert Cave and he used to live on the island. I would have thought you would have been interested to find him but no, you never bother about anyone but yourself.”

  Anya had thought about Vincent Cave from time to time but it had always seemed that there was something more important to do. There were never enough hours in the day or days in the week of her visits, but she knew lack of time was just an excuse. She had come to the conclusion that she was afraid to know the truth. She had even persuaded herself that it didn’t matter, she was herself, who or what her father had been made no difference to that.

  “I know a Vincent Cave.”

  Anya wasn’t sure she had heard Miriam correctly, she had spoken so quietly. Anya said nothing, didn’t want to pursue the conversation, there was so much on her plate, there were so many things to think about, she didn’t want the complication of finding Vincent Cave. She stared out of the window towards sea, vaguely aware of the fisherman manoeuvring his small boat towards a buoy.

  Miriam continued. “He came
to the island when? 1965?”

  “About then.” Anya gave Miriam no encouragement but there was no stopping her. In a voice devoid of emotion Miriam told Anya everything she knew.

  “A year after we re-opened there was a booking for lunch, a Mr and Mrs Cave. The moment he walked into the restaurant I saw the likeness. He was tall and willowy, a very attractive man for his age. He had long, tapering fingers, just like yours, and his hair, though mainly grey, still had flecks of dark brown. He had the look of you. As he came in regularly I found out more about him. He said he came from Liverpool, he never went back to the UK as he had no one who would welcome him there, his name was Vincent. I knew who he was and I encouraged him to talk. He would come during the week without his wife and family, we would sit on the veranda there talking about England and what it would be like to go back after so many years here on the island. He told me his history, how he had arrived on the island with nothing and had started out doing odd jobs earning enough to buy an old truck. He built up a successful business, his firm even did some of the work on Fishermen. His sons work with him and he is a happy man but there is something he worried about. Seven years ago he saw you and he saw your ring. He knew immediately who you were. He said it was a real shock, he had tried to forget his life before he came to the island but he saw you were well and happy and well off. But he was worried you had children. I said I’d talk to you, explain, you could meet but he didn’t want you to know who he was. He made me promise to say nothing to you.”

  Anya didn’t want to talk about Vincent. “If I can’t persuade you to stay I’d better get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

  So Vincent had seen her, had known who she was and hadn’t said a word. She must have seen him but not recognised any resemblance. Had anyone else? Had the children seen him and recognised something of her in this man? What did the fact that they were so alike mean? Could it just be that they were in the same family or would it mean more, could it mean that he was, after all, her father?