by Emma Jackson
On the handset of our phone, Mum had her speed-dial numbers. Mine was first, then Grandad, then Auntie Cath and Lydia. I pressed 2 and listened to the phone ringing and ringing until it clicked over to the automated answering service.
‘Hi, Mum; hi, Grandad. I hope you’re both okay and you’re feeling a bit better, Grandad. Just calling to wish you a Merry Christmas… Oh and I’ve lost my phone, so call me at the hotel if you get a chance. Okay…I love you…bye.’
I sighed and put down the phone. Were they out? Had they had to go to the hospital? Maybe I should ring my aunt in case she’d heard from them. Just as I was about to speed-dial 3 the timer went off. Perhaps it was better if I didn’t know. What could I do from down here, with everyone relying on me anyway?
I pressed the plunger down slowly on the coffee, watching the swirl of browns turn from lighter to darker and then settle. It was big enough for about four cups. I wrapped a tea towel around it because the glass was hot and took it out into the hall. Setting it on the floor, so I could shut the door, I noticed a faint acrid smell tickling at the back of my throat.
I picked the coffee up and carried on, taking each step slowly. As I went down the stairs, the smell grew stronger and a haze of grey seemed to be lingering. Not heavy, but sort of like cigarette smoke. I wondered if someone had sneaked into the staff area for a sneaky fag, but knew it would set off the fire alarm almost immediately—
I no sooner thought the word, when the quiet of the hallway was split with the screaming of the alarm. There was a fire, somewhere in the hotel.
Chapter Eighteen
I would be lying if I didn’t admit to standing frozen like an antelope, eyes swivelling crazily to spot the danger, as the fire alarm continued to rattle through my brain. It didn’t seem possible that my luck could be this abysmal.
I don’t know how long my moment of immobilising denial lasted but, despite my hammering heart, I set down the pot of coffee on the step just behind me and started back down the staircase. I needed to clear the rooms and ensure everyone was evacuated from the building.
I’d been through enough drills over the years – roused from sleeping in on a Saturday morning, or interrupted in the middle of watching music videos – to know roughly what needed to be done. It was amazing how many people would simply sit, looking around themselves waiting for someone to come and tell them what to do, despite the very loud alarm and clear signs pointing to the emergency exits.
I knew the flat was empty, so I could work my way downwards. I banged on each door, and if there was an answer, I sent the guests down the staircase to exit through the dining room, onto the terrace to the assembly point on the lawn. If there wasn’t an answer, I opened the door, checked the rooms thoroughly to make sure it was empty and then closed it up again and continued.
There was only one other person up on the second floor, besides the Cartwrights. Nick bundled his nan up in the top sheets from the bed and carried her downstairs, with Stephen following.
I did the same check on each of the rooms on the first floor and carried on down. The scene that greeted me in the lobby was less than ideal. People were emerging from the lounge and library with stunned, worried expressions belying the cheery reindeer and snowmen on their Christmas jumpers. Julius Mundey was at the desk, hitting the bell repeatedly but off-beat to the wailing fire alarm, like he was lining it up to drop a remix club version of ‘the hotel – the hotel – the hotel is on fire’. The kids were clinging to their parents’ legs and hands. A barrage of questions assailed me, but I could barely hear any of them.
I stayed on the fourth step up so I could look across the room and cupped my hands around my mouth to amplify my voice. ‘Everyone, please exit through the dining room and wait on the lawn at the edge of the car park. We need to evacuate the building.’
When no one moved at first, I climbed down from my elevated position, cut through the crowd and opened the door to the dining room to usher them out. The Japanese couple were nearest and calmly took my invitation to Get the Hell Out. As soon as they started moving, the others began to file after them, thank God. The burning smell was getting stronger.
I didn’t wait for them all to leave. Not all the guests were in the lobby. I checked both the dining room and the bar – after unlocking it again – which were empty, and then cleared the library and the lounge of any lingerers with the same, simple message. I was a machine: downstairs toilet. Done. Office. Done. Kitchen next.
The moment I pushed through the door into the staff area, I could see smoke. My heart beat was loud enough, pounding in my ears to drown out the alarm. I had to go in there. I had to check there were no guests, even though it was unlikely. Once I’d checked each room, I’d go outside and head-count. Then wait for the fire service to arrive.
Cross my fingers and hope that I hadn’t burnt down my mother’s hotel.
I pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen and my eyes immediately began watering as I tried to see through the acrid blue-grey smoke. It was rolling out the top and side seals of the oven. I walked around the far wall, checking the corners of the kitchen it was difficult to see into.
There was no one else in the kitchen. The hotel was empty.
I could easily leave from the back door and get outside to do the headcount but some part of me hesitated. Maybe the part that felt like a captain who needed to go down with her ship…in other words the stupid, reckless part of me.
I couldn’t see any flames, just smoke. I grabbed the fire extinguisher from the wall, yanked the neck of my dress up over my mouth and nose and approached the oven. Even squinting through the smoke, I could see no orange or red licking out of the oven. It was so tempting to open the door to it, but I didn’t. If there wasn’t a fire, a sudden influx of fresh air would soon change that. Instead I turned the heat off. And then I pointed the chemical fire extinguisher at it and let rip.
Maybe it was unnecessary, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I’d worry about the mess and the contamination later. For now, I just wanted to make sure everyone was safe.
Once the extinguisher was empty, I pushed open the back door and the windows and let the smoke clear. When I was absolutely sure that the oven and the fat inside it were cooling, I went outside.
The fresh air, cut through with that extra clean snow smell, made me aware that I had been breathing in a fog of greasy smoke. I coughed as the cold air caught at my lungs. The adrenalin was draining away fast. It was bitter outside, but I knew it wasn’t the only reason I was shaking. I wrapped my arms tight around my chest and kept marching on.
Everything is fine now. Everything is going to be fine. Appear calm, show them there’s nothing to worry about.
The guests were all staring at the hotel like they had developed x-ray vision and could discern what was going on inside if they stared hard enough. Or maybe they were just waiting to see the inferno engulf it, along with all their luggage and dreams of a wonderful Christmas.
‘Everything is okay,’ I started. It was a strong opening I felt. That’s what they most wanted to know. Except for all the other questions they wanted answering too. ‘The alarm went off because of a bit of smoke. There’s no fire. Everything is under control. I just need to do a head-count and go in and turn off the alarm and contact the local fire service and then you can all come back in.’ I didn’t know how I was coming up with all these calm, reassuring statements. I was listening to myself saying them and it was like I’d been possessed by the Spirit of Christmas I-Will-Get-Through-This.
I walked along the line, trying not to meet anyone’s eye as I counted the numbers and made sure they were all there. Nick was still carrying his nan, which I think was concerning some people, but she was awake and looking annoyed about being out in the cold, so anyone who thought she was injured from the non-existent fire would soon figure out that wasn’t the case. Nick clearly wanted to ask me what was going on and probably a whole lot of other stuff but, thankfully, he seemed to know that doing it in front of
all the guests would do me no favours.
I went in and did exactly what I’d told them I would do. It took a while, waiting on the phone to talk to the fire service, and they weren’t convinced they shouldn’t come, and then I became unsure whether they shouldn’t come. But when I checked on the kitchen, the smoke was no longer coming from the oven and was clearing out the door. A white, crumbly, foaming mess was dripping along the counter and on the floor.
When I finally told everyone they could come in, I watched them filing past me to go back up to their rooms, looking cold and wary, and I smiled at them all.
Everything’s fine. Everything’s fine, my smile said.
As soon as they were all back in, I went upstairs. I picked up the cold coffee en route, took it into the flat, poured it down the sink, watched the granules pooling around the plughole…and then I threw up. My stomach turned over, the shaking returned and I retched into the sink.
What was I going to do?
I had dug myself a Christmas-dinner-shaped grave. No – I had cremated the Christmas dinner. I had nearly cremated the hotel.
I felt angry, briefly, at being put in this position but that wasn’t actually going to help me out at all, so I just started feeling sick again instead.
I’d just told them everything was fine. They were all shaken, unnerved, desperately hoping that Christmas Day was about to get back on track and this would just be an interesting anecdote to tell their friends and family about when they met up with them after their holidays.
I had nowhere left to go with the lies. There was no goose. There was barely a kitchen to plate up the food that Neeta had bust her butt to prepare yesterday.
I leaned my head on the edge of the metal sink, absorbing the coolness. There was no way that the hotel was going to get a good review now. Those sneak-peek blog posts had proven that whoever the Hotel Hopper was, they didn’t take any prisoners and they had a sensational story to complain about now. The hotel’s reputation was going to be dragged through the muck. Incompetent, dangerous, chaotic. I’d managed to tick all those boxes. And if Mum did want to sell, prospective buyers would be able to drive down her price.
As my brain scrambled desperately to find a way out of the situation, I realised I’d been lying to them all for days. Pretending that everything was okay to keep up an illusion. I was no better than Peter. My stomach churned again. I’d thought I’d been doing the best, but all I’d done was made a dangerous pretence that I had to now tear down, in the middle of Christmas Day.
Perhaps if I’d been honest from the start, about the lack of staff, they’d have had realistic expectations of what their stay would be like. They might have been able to arrange an alternative dinner at one of the restaurants in the nearby towns. It wouldn’t have been perfect – they still wouldn’t have been happy, but they might not feel as betrayed as they were going to when I admitted the complete, utter mess I’d got myself into.
I had to go down there and ruin two dozen people’s Christmas Day. I was the anti-Santa and they were going to hate me. I was going to get shouted at most likely and I wasn’t really the kind of girl who couldn’t take a bit of confrontation, but no one wants an entire room of people to turn on them. No one wants to be left in charge of their mother’s amazing hotel and then systematically ruin its reputation and the Christmas of two dozen perfectly lovely people…even Julius Mundey deserved better than this.
I took a deep breath, but my nausea only increased. My body was sinking back into the memory of the humiliation I’d felt when Peter had called me stupid in front of our dinner party guests. The way all those eyes had settled on me with a mix of disdain and pity, wondering how one person could make such a mess of things. My heart rate kicked up and my adrenalin was racing, squeezing my lungs, making it seem as though a heavy weight was pressing, pressing on my chest and the only way to relieve it was to run.
I couldn’t run. I knew that was not an option. That would be unfair and cowardly and even though I was shaking and sweating, I was going to do this. The only way to salvage any reputation for the hotel was to squarely take the blame for it. If they focused all their ire on me, perhaps the hotel would just scrape through the scandal as one of the victims too. A victim to my poor decision-making.
I poured myself a glass of water, chugged it back even though it did nothing to alleviate the scratchiness of my throat. Then I went and brushed my teeth. I thought I heard knocking on the flat door at one point, but I ignored it. If that was Nick, I couldn’t see him at the moment. He at least knew what was going on but if anyone showed me even a glimpse of sympathy, I knew I was going to crack and hide under the covers.
And I needed to stop relying on other people to clean up my messes or hold my hand as I charged into things without thinking them through properly.
I checked my watch when I emerged. One thirty p.m. The time dinner was scheduled for. Wonderful. Perfect.
Everyone was in the dining room. Waiting for their dinner. I tugged at my red dress, achieving nothing because there was nothing wrong with it in the first place, and I pushed my way into the room.
Absolutely nothing happened. All the guests continued talking, completely oblivious to my presence. They were chatting excitedly, the events of the day giving them lots of conversation fodder. They were probably venting because they were traumatised.
Nick, Stephen and Dorie weren’t there understandably. Noelle was, scribbling quickly in her notebook. All the drama was useful to her at least.
With shaky legs, I walked myself into the centre of the U, so there was no escaping it. I was surrounded. A gladiator at the coliseum.
I clapped my clammy hands together and everyone quieted.
‘Hi, everyone,’ I squeaked and had to stop and clear my throat. I didn’t know what to do with my hands now that I’d clapped them, so I just clasped them in front of me, in a surreptitious prayer pose. ‘I’m afraid I’ve got a bit of a…confession to make.’ The room grew even quieter. I made the mistake of looking at some of their faces, expressions ranging from worry to bemusement. Now the excitement of the fire alarm was over, that was all it was – a bit of excitement.
And little Holly, Mrs Henderson’s daughter, with a small smile on her lips, as though she couldn’t imagine anything awful happening on Christmas Day. And it wasn’t awful. Not to a kid probably. She just wanted to get back to her presents anyway. But if it made her parents unhappy, it would make her unhappy.
I dropped my gaze to a spot on the carpet.
‘We’ve had a bit of a staffing crisis over the last few days.’ Every sentence was straining my throat. ‘What with the blizzard and a flu epidemic, basically it’s been a skeleton staff – as you might have noticed.’
‘You said people were on holiday,’ Julius Mundey piped up, accusingly.
‘Yes, some of the staff are. Most importantly…the chef…’
Some murmuring was starting back up and my heart squeezed painfully in my chest. It was time; I just had to blurt it out.
‘There’s no one to cook the Christmas dinner, which is included with your Christmas breaks. I’m sorry.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Mr Featherby said. ‘You’re saying you have no kitchen staff? Who cooked breakfast?’
‘I did. I did breakfast and I’m sorry but my attempt to cook the goose resulted in the fire evacuation, and now the kitchen is a mess—’ I stopped, swallowing a sob.
‘What are we supposed to do for dinner then?’ another man asked, one of the husbands – I think possibly Geoff, I couldn’t tell through the wobbling tears I was desperately trying to keep in my eyeballs.
‘If you can wait for me to clear up in there, I’ll be able to do a cold spread…’
A horrified silence filled the room and Julius stood up.
‘This is truly unacceptable. Something should have been done to prevent this from happening. This is poor planning, incompetency even,’ he sputtered. ‘Is it because no one can access that road? Because I told you two days
ago that it needed to be cleared and gritted.’
‘Yes, you did.’ The customer is always right, I tried to remind myself. And even though it grated on me to do it, I knew this was the opportunity to take the blame upon myself squarely, admit to all the things I didn’t do that I should’ve done and take the focus off the hotel. ‘I decided not to, which was a bad decision it turned out, because it made it too difficult for deliveries to get here and I had to waste more time fixing that problem than it may have taken to actually clear the road. You’re absolutely right, Mr Mundey, I am incompetent when it comes to being a manager and a chef for this hotel. I’m so very sorry to have ruined all your Christmases.’ I wiped a hand hastily across my cheek and my last words came out as a whisper: ‘I tried my best.’
‘I guess we’ll have to make do—’
‘You can’t have Christmas without a Christmas dinner—’
‘Does this mean we don’t have to eat Brussels sprouts—?’
‘Are we going to get some kind of compensation?’
The volume in the room went up with questions being fired at me and grumbled discussions with their families and I didn’t know who to answer first or what I could say. I didn’t wipe my face any more even though I could feel hot liquid running down my cheeks and rolling along my jaw to drip off my chin.
Someone got up and came over to me and I tensed, waiting for the shouting to get up close and personal but when I glanced up, it was Noelle. She had a napkin in her hand, and she gave it to me, her hand at my elbow.
‘How long have you been running this hotel by yourself?’
‘I haven’t really been by myself.’ I took the napkin and dabbed my face, offering her a watery smile. ‘I’ve had a waitress some of the time, a cleaner, a couple of friends helping me in the kitchen and the bar when our other chef couldn’t be here.’
