Bedlam & Breakfast at a Devon Seaside Guesthouse

by Sharley Scott

  Barefoot in her pyjamas, Emily stood wide-eyed with alarm. Jason stepped beside me, his hand resting on my shoulder.

  I kept my voice low, conscious that guests would be sleeping. “Is everything okay?”

  Emily swung round, as if something had tapped her back. “Can’t you hear it?”

  Nothing, except for faint snoring from a nearby room. But then a thud reverberated through the ceiling, followed by another.

  “I think someone’s having sex on the stairs,” Emily said in a voice too loud for comfort. “They’ve been bumping up and down for ages.”

  Surely not? Especially when there was a cosy bed for them. But that was most likely my boring, married view of life. When the ceiling shuddered again – as if something had been dropped from a height – it became doubtful that it was a close encounter of that kind. Even so, when Jason followed me out, I found myself gesturing for him to go back. The last thing anyone needed was an audience, no matter what they were doing.

  Nerves mounting, I crept up the stairs to the second floor. The couple couldn’t be seen as they were hidden behind a painted board which had been put up years ago to cover the spindles. Why? I had no idea. The sixties had been a harsh time for this house, with many of the original features removed, covered in woodchip or clad in hardboard.

  About halfway up the second flight there was a small landing area where the stairs split in two, one section going to the rooms at the front of the house, the other to the rear. As I clutched the newel post to pull myself around the corner, something large flew across my path, landing with a thump on the opposite side of the stairway. I leapt back, finding myself balancing on the lip of a stair. My heart thudded. Thank goodness for my tight grip on the post. It was a long way back down.

  As her friend cackled, the woman spun round grinning. Daphne! Which meant the one hidden from view must be her sister, Gloria. In the half-light from the landing below, Daphne appeared to be wearing a pink winceyette nightie, not too dissimilar to the floral garment favoured by my nan in the seventies. Not that I could talk. My comfy pyjamas had been bought at M&S the previous decade, while the ones Jason had bought in the hope of banishing these to the bin lay unloved at the back of the drawer. Like old shoes these fit like air. Although, viewing my pyjamas through the eyes of a stranger, I could see Jason had a point, particularly as the cotton frills had become straggles and there was a hole – thankfully small – over my bust.

  “Now your...” Daphne pointed at her sister, but as her eyes locked with mine her smile faded. She sat down on the step, clutching her nightie round her knees like a young girl, rather than the sixty-year-old she must be. Then, as if she’d had a secret conversation with herself, she chuckled and spoke in a voice thick with alcohol. “We’ve been flying. From there.” She pointed to where Gloria must be sitting. “To here.”

  Popping my head around the corner, I found Gloria curled over, head in hands, shoulders shaking. A hiccoughed giggle escaped from her huddled form. She looked so funny and the thought of two older women finding so much amusement in jumping across the landing, tickled me. But the sensible B&B landlady came to the fore and I scratched my nose to mask my smile. Behind Gloria the two guest rooms remained in darkness, without the telling strips of light shining beneath the doors. How the other guests had slept through the noise, goodness knows. But we might have done so if Emily hadn’t woken us.

  “Do you think it’s time for bed?” I whispered.

  Without saying a word, they scurried back to their bedroom but, as the door closed, one of them snorted with laughter, shushed loudly by the other. I didn’t envy their hangovers the next day.

  ♦

  Biting her lip, Gloria hesitated by the breakfast room door. After handing two full Englishes to a young couple, I waved her in. Not meeting anyone’s eyes she dashed across the room to take a seat at a table in the farthest corner, where she picked up the menu and sat huddled behind it. When I went over, she kept her head down, showing her crown which appeared to have been licked by a herd of cows facing in different directions.

  Wide eyed, she whispered in her gentle Welsh lilt, “I’m so sorry about last night.” She nodded towards the other guests. “Did we upset them?”

  “They haven’t said a word. Where’s Daphne?”

  “She won’t come down. But I needed toast. And black coffee.”

  My hangover prediction the previous night had come to pass. “She’s staying in the room?”

  “Says she’s not coming out all day. She’s mortified.”

  “There’s no need. No one here minds.” But Gloria’s expression told me there was no persuading her.

  All the other guests were eating or were chatting while they finished their coffee. With no one left to serve, I shot upstairs, but paused on reaching Daphne’s door. Would she thank me for barging in and dragging her downstairs? Better that than sitting alone too scared to face the other guests who, even if they’d heard the noise, had no idea who’d made it.

  I rapped on the door. No answer but the sound of the TV filtered from the room. The second knock hurt my knuckles, but it worked as Daphne called out, “Is that you, Gloria? The door’s on the catch.”

  “It’s me.”

  Not waiting for a response, I pushed the door ajar, to be met by the scent of new carpet which we’d had fitted the previous week. Thankfully, Gloria and Daphne had told me they loved the smell.

  In a pose reminiscent of the previous night, Daphne sat on her bed, arms around her knees, pillows plumped behind her, but this morning her nightie sat folded at the foot of the bed, substituted for a pair of jeans and a stripy top. Beside her, a novel lay spread-eagled on the bed, its bowed spine lined and worn. Stephen King. I wouldn’t have boxed Daphne as a horror fan but the adage about not judging books most definitely applied to guests.

  As I wandered over, her cheeks reddened and she dug pink-varnished toes into the duvet. She jabbed the remote control towards the TV to lower the volume.

  “I’m sorry about last night.”

  “Gloria says you won’t come down.”

  “I can’t, I just can’t.”

  She shook her head and folded her arms like a stubborn child but her reluctance stemmed from embarrassment rather than obstinacy. With little time to spare as the other guests might want refills or their plates cleared away, I went for every angle.

  “No one has mentioned last night. They wouldn’t have an idea who it was anyhow and Gloria’s down there, sitting alone and I know she’d love you to join her. Even if you just want toast and coffee. Please.” When she didn’t move, I added, “I’ve got to go back but it would be lovely if you’d come with me. We’ll walk in together.”

  Her teeth nipped the edge of her lip. “As long as you’re sure no one will mind.”

  She shuffled across the duvet and eased her feet into a pair of sandals tucked beside the bedside table. Taking a deep breath, she stood up.

  “We’ll be good tonight. No more wine.”

  I smiled. “You’re on holiday. Wine is allowed.”

  “Okay.” She chuckled. “Just maybe not a whole bottle.”

  Chapter 5

  Curtains drawn, Emily lay in the darkened room, her tresses draped across the pillow like a fairytale princess. Except, this one had lost her lustre. I threw the curtains open to let the beautiful May sunshine flood the room, but she groaned and dragged the duvet over her, pinning it down, so only the top of her head and fingers could be seen. If I could see her face we could have a chat, but it was difficult talking to an unresponsive wall of bedding.

  Dust speckles floated through shafts of light, meandering down to join what seemed like a month’s worth of their friends. I smeared my finger across her bedside table, rewarded with a telltale grey streak while its counterpart strip gleamed bright against the dusty oak top. Even Emily’s ipad lay buried under a heap of receipts and a crumpled pay slip. I fought back the gnawing anxiety. She wasn’t talking to her friends either. It wasn’t healthy to
be spending her day off stuck inside alone. Not when a warm sun and a blue sky beckoned.

  “You need to get up.” I patted the hump I assumed to be her leg. It sprang from my touch, shifting to the other side of the bed.

  “Go away! What’s the point?”

  “We’re going for a walk. To the beach. We haven’t got any check-ins today.”

  She turned away, twisting the duvet around her like a wrung towel. One that needed to be unwrapped with care. I hesitated, swallowing words that might wind her up further, instead plumping for the safer option of food.

  “I’ll shout you an ice cream. Salted caramel.”

  Defeated by the wall of silence, I sighed and headed back downstairs, entering the lounge to be blasted by an excited commentator and Jason bouncing up-and-down on the settee.

  “Yes!” He punched his fist in the air. “Two-one to England with minutes to go!”

  “Emily won’t get out of bed.”

  He took his eyes from the screen to utter, “Again?” His gaze slid back to the figures tracking a ball of air across the pitch.

  It had been Jason’s idea to go for a walk. I’d wanted to catch up on the ironing but he’d pointed out that a day without any arrivals was a luxury and we should be making the most of it. Also, we could entice Emily out by dangling a trip to the beach in front of her. She’d love that, he’d said.

  I’d failed to sell it to her but he might do better than me. After all, he’d been the salesman in his previous job. It helped that she idolised him too.

  “Can you speak to her?”

  “Okay.” But he didn’t budge.

  The seconds ticked on screen. I willed them to whizz faster. As a whistle blew and cheers rang out, Jason slapped his knees and got to his feet. “Right. I’ll go and see her.”

  He disappeared, leaving me to cross my fingers in hope. I hated seeing the changes in Emily over the past weeks as she’d morphed from our bubbly girl to a listless, monosyllabic being. The more we pressed her to go out, the more she wedged herself within a world that had condensed to little more than her job and bedroom. When asked how work had been, she snarled. When we suggested a night at the cinema, she shook her head. Food worked, if taken to her room.

  I loved her so much. I wanted – needed – her to be happy in our new life and look forward with us. But she clung to the past like her first day at school, when she’d clasped my legs and tearfully begged to be taken home. Except Torringham was our chosen home. If only it could be hers.

  After what seemed like an age – probably more like ten minutes – I jumped up, determined to join them, but promptly thumped back down. Jason needed space. Three would be a crowd. I opened the laptop to check our emails, my eyes fluttering over the words, unable to absorb them as I strained to hear the slightest noise that would suggest success or failure.

  When the door creaked open and Jason stooped beneath the frame, my heart sank. He was alone. But he broke into a smile.

  “She’s joining us. On condition that we don’t nag her about life or mention the ‘w’ word.”

  Puzzled, I stared at him.

  “Work. To say she hates her job is an understatement.”

  “How did you get her to agree?”

  “I pointed out the obvious. She’s young without a mortgage to worry about. She can do almost anything, so why is she staying somewhere she hates so much?”

  “A new job would be…” Interrupted by the door clicking open, I smiled at Emily. A pair of dark sunglasses nestled beneath her fringe, masking her eyes. She didn’t return my smile.

  ♦

  Over the next few days the tense atmosphere began to uncoil, until a week later Emily offered to help unload the dishwasher. When one of her favourite songs came on, she turned the radio up a notch and started to sing, drawing a dessert spoon from the basket to use as a microphone. At the chorus, she pointed to me, indicating I should join in. I leaned towards her spoon and howled (I can’t sing!) ‘whoooo-whoooo, yeah’.

  I’d grabbed my own spoon, preparing for the chorus rerun, when Jason raced into the kitchen flapping his arms and hissing, “Keep it down! A guest has just asked if we’ve got a dog.”

  As he retreated outside, Emily’s spoon clattered onto the worktop. “That’s the problem with this place.”

  Deprived of our backing vocals, the radio moved on to playing a dreary number, while we filled the dishwasher in silence. As Emily poured the dregs from the mugs, I upended them onto the rack, moving onto the glasses. Our mini production line soon had the job done and as the dishwasher clicked shut, I grinned at Emily.

  “Thank you.”

  “I don’t know how you do it,” she said.

  “What?”

  “This! It’s not a home is it?” She gazed around the kitchen, her eyes alighting on the food safety signage, the temperature charts on the board, the fire extinguisher and blanket in the corner. Ignoring its correct placement on the other side of the kitchen, she hooked the tea towel over the oven handle. “I think Dad’s right.”

  Before I could respond, she picked up her mobile which vibrated on the side. “How spooky is that? It’s Lucy.” She headed out of the room. “Luce! You wouldn’t believe it.”

  Puzzled, I rewound the conversation. What had Jason said? I headed outside to accost Jason on the driveway, where he knelt clearing the moss and weeds from between the block paving slabs. After the guests left tomorrow, the driveway would be clear for a few hours, giving him space to paint white lines for the parking bays.

  “Have you been speaking to Emily?”

  “A dozen times a day. Sometimes more.”

  I jabbed his thigh with the toe of my shoe. “Be serious. She said you’re right about something, so what have you being talking about?”

  “I’ve no idea but I’m sure she’s right about me being right.”

  I shook my head. Sometimes his humour annoyed me. This was one of those times.

  “Okay, when you spoke to Emily did you mention anything about Lucy?”

  His dirt-encrusted fingernails scratched his chin. “Like I told you the other day, I just said she’d be much happier if she changed her job. Why? Is Lucy thinking of moving here too?”

  A jolt of surprise shook me. That would make sense. It would be good for Emily and Jason to have Lucy around, but what would it mean for me? Lucy was lovely but…

  I swallowed, unable to clarify my feelings.

  Frowning, Jason scrutinised my face, so I flashed him a perfect smile. “That would be nice.”

  He sighed and stabbed his trowel into a dandelion. “Could you sound any less enthusiastic?”

  ♦

  Later that afternoon, I tapped on Emily’s door to be welcomed with a grunt. She lay on the bed, her ipad held above her glowing face. Stepping over a pair of shoes scattered across the floor, my agitation got the better of me and I turned back to place them neatly beside a box scrawled ‘Emily’s bedroom’ in thick marker pen. The words had been enclosed with squiggles and a band of crosses. Kisses perhaps? But whatever was inside couldn’t be important as the packing tape hadn’t been removed.

  “Have you got time to chat?”

  Sighing, she placed her ipad on the bedside table, next to an unopened box of butterfly string lights I’d bought to decorate her room. As I took a seat at the end of her bed, she plumped up the pillows and shuffled upright.

  “How is Lucy?”

  “Okay.”

  “That’s good.” I hesitated. If I wanted to find out what she’d meant earlier, beating around the bush wasn’t going to draw it out. “You mentioned what your dad said. And about Lucy.”

  Her eyes darted to meet mine but she flushed and looked away. “I- I was going to tell you later.” She picked at a thread on the duvet. “When Dad talked about doing something to be happy rather than just sitting around moaning, I spoke to Lucy.”

  Jason’s guess had been correct. Lucy would be moving here. I quelled the instinctive burst of anxiety. From a young age,
Lucy had reminded me of a porcupine, firing quills out when threatened or angry. Being the interloper meant I was often the target of her barbs. But that didn’t excuse me for not trying harder, especially being her step-mum and the adult in the relationship. Instead I’d allowed myself to be a prickly hedgehog, who curled into a ball of defence while Jason dealt with her. So, our relationship had never matured and while Lucy had become a gorgeous and independent woman, I couldn’t tell her that. What had started as a safety fence had been built into an impenetrable barrier between us. I wished I knew how to knock it down.

  “When is she coming?”

  Emily’s head jerked up. “You know! How?”

  “You just said.” I faltered. “Didn’t you?”

  The small shake of her head answered me. We sat in silence, each uncertain of our next move until she took a deep breath. “Please listen and don’t say anything until I’ve finished. You know I met my friends from work? Well, I’ve been chatting to them. It hasn’t worked out with the new person who took over my role, so they asked me back and offered me a promotion too. I’ll take on part of the office manager’s work. It’s more money.”

  She missed her friends. I understood how she felt. Like her I found myself awkward in new company. Thank goodness for our ready-made network of welcoming B&Bers or, like her, I might be focusing on opportunities afforded by the past.

  She gazed at me expectantly. She wanted to be told to go ahead and not to worry about us here. And I would. Once my crashing emotions had subsided. We’d chosen to move, towing her with us after asking her to give it a chance. But would she be any better back ‘home’? While Lucy lived near Normansby and her mother, Jason’s ex, would be on hand for emergencies, we had no other family to offer Emily. No doting grandparents or aunts and uncles, except for the accidental rediscovery of Uncle Bert. But he lived in Devon.

  I swallowed. “You’re going back. Where will you stay?”

  “Lucy’s offered me a room.”