“Shit.”
“What do we do?” I held up my broken phone.
Biting her lip, she gazed across the bay to distant Torringham. “Row.”
“Seriously?”
“Have you got another plan?”
I didn’t. I bent down and hefted one of the oars from the bottom.
“Put it in the bollocks.”
“Rowlocks.”
“Eh?” She glanced over the side and shrugged. “The fish’ll have to wait until later. We haven’t got time.”
Not bothering to explain what I meant, I took an oar and slotted it into the rowlock. She sat next to me in the centre of the boat.
“Follow what I do,” she said. “We’ve only got a few hours until dark. I hope you’ve got muscles.”
I gritted my teeth, arranged my cardigan over my lifejacket and followed her as she sank the oar into the sea. As my oar forged its way through the heavy water, I realised I was about to discover muscles I didn’t know I had. No way would we be making it back in time for the check-in. Jason would kill me. That’s if we made it.
♦
My muscles burned. Pain shot up and down my arms and my neck ached, but I couldn’t stop. Each time one of us called a halt unable to bear it any longer, the tide seemed to draw us backwards. Then one of our oars – usually mine – would skim the water or I’d lower them too deep, so we’d waste time with the boat curling this way or that as we fought to coordinate ourselves again. We’d done well, pushing on past the cove where we’d seen the seal and now the outer harbour was in reach. Beads of sweat ran down my forehead, stinging my eyes. My only relief was to dab my face on my shoulders.
If I looked behind us to see how far we had to go, I could make out the silhouette of Shadwell Point, framed by an apricot sky. Stunning. Except it meant we had little time before we were left to navigate our way in the dark past the many buoys and moored yachts – or worse – the trawler boats that could be heading back with their catches. They’d be lit but we wouldn’t. We kept going, forward, back, forward, back. My shoulders ached, the muscles in my neck screamed with every jerk.
Shona touched my arm. “Hold on.”
As I slowed, she steered us away from the hull of a yacht. I hadn’t even noticed it.
“Can we help you girls?” A smarmy voice rang out.
Above us stood two figures, one smoking. When one of the men chuckled and flicked his cigarette into the sea, I recognised him from earlier. My heart sank. Could this day get any worse?
“Ignore them,” Shona said. We fell into sync again, this time with renewed vigour.
The din of a motor cut through the air and minutes later the men appeared in another boat, not much bigger than ours, except it had a working engine. They slowed alongside us.
This time the other one spoke. “That dud engine gone? Let us tow you.”
Shona shook her head. Panting, she said, “Not likely! You’d probably take us back out to sea again.”
“Why? We’ll take you to the town pontoon. You both look knackered.”
This was the sailing version of hitching a lift from strangers, but Shona and I were too exhausted to argue as the man, who introduced himself as Eric, took the rope and instructed Shona what to do when they towed us. Ten minutes later we were back at the pontoon.
As Shona tied up the boat, she said, “Sorry about giving you the bird earlier.”
Eric laughed. “Next time a wave will do. Or you could buy us a beer.”
“Don’t go overboard,” Shona said.
With relief I dragged my lifejacket off and stashed it under the seat. My arms trembled and my legs wobbled. I could barely climb out of the boat and onto land. As I waved goodbye to Eric and his friend, the church bells pealed nine times. Great! I’d missed the promised check-in.
“Jason’s going to kill me,” I said.
“You think that’s bad. Kim’s temper is deadlier than a volcano. I’m done for and I haven’t got a photo to give her either. I wish you hadn’t dropped your phone.”
A chill ran through me. With all the effort of trying to row back, I’d forgotten about my mobile. Jason would be worried sick, unable to call. Not only did I have to confess about dropping it into the sea but, worse, it still had a year’s contract left and I hadn’t insured it, even though I’d promised to do so. As we headed back, we both fell silent, each contemplating our fates when we reached the B&Bs.
Chapter 10
Like Jekyll and Hyde, Jason smiled or glowered his way through the morning. But his behaviour had nothing to do with a potion. More the sight of my face. Put a guest in front of him and he bellowed jovially. Nothing could be funnier than the joke they told. Need something doing? No problem. But when he turned to me, his expression would darken. Like any couple we had our ups-and-downs and a good row would usually clear the air but that was impossible in a guesthouse filled with two dozen pairs of ears, especially as I’ve never been one for a hissed argument. I could imagine the TripAdvisor reviews: ‘Flotsam offers the authentic seaside fish-wife experience’.
I spent the morning gritting my teeth. Each time I lifted the breakfast plates or took the tray laden with teapots out to the guests, pain streaked my arms. When I talked to guests, I turned my body rather than risking the agony of moving my neck.
We stood together smiling as we said goodbye to guests. When the last couple drove away, Jason retreated to the kitchen, which seemed to be getting the deepest clean it had ever had, leaving me to get on with the rooms. I gazed at the new zip-and-link bed we’d bought: two single beds that joined together to become one large bed. Currently set up as a twin, the people arriving later that day wanted a superking bed, but this meant lifting the mattresses to zip them together and then hefting the one huge mattress back onto the divan base. My shoulders throbbed at the thought. Placating my grumpy husband seemed the only option.
I hovered at the kitchen doorway, while Jason knelt with his back to me, scrubbing the inside of the bottom oven.
“Please can you come and help? I can’t do this bed on my own.”
“So, it was okay for me to deal with the Savells last night. No paperwork, no way of contacting you. Nothing.” His voice was muffled by the oven but then he knelt back, a blackened cloth in his hand. “And you just happened to change the password, so I couldn’t get into the booking system. How am I meant to book people in if I have no idea who they are and what they are paying?”
I flushed. That had been stupid but when I’d received the email saying our account may have been compromised, I’d changed the password without thinking to tell Jason. Usually I did the bookings, so it had gone unnoticed for over a week. Thankfully, yesterday’s guests had brought their booking confirmation with them.
“I’ve said I’m sorry,” I paused as guests clattered across the hallway, waiting until the front door clicked shut. “I would have called if I could. You know I wouldn’t willingly have left you worrying like that.”
“I know you’ve wrecked a new phone.”
“I can get a second-hand one.”
“That’s not the point.”
I sighed. “I know. But I can’t take back yesterday. Please help. It’s agony to lift my arms.”
He threw the cloth aside and led the way upstairs. We put the mattresses together in silence, but when we moved onto making the bed he made sure that he took the duvet, leaving me with the easier pillowcases. As I made a start polishing the sides, he disappeared and came back with a tray laden with the mugs, spoons and glasses. We’d be servicing the rooms together. I was forgiven.
♦
As I closed the door on the final room after cleaning, I felt the same relief I always did. Later I’d do the washing and iron the bedding, empty and refill the dishwasher and set up the breakfast room in preparation for breakfast tomorrow, while Jason would get on with tiling the ensuite in room six. But with breakfast done and the kitchen and guest rooms serviced, we could stop for lunch. My stomach rumbled in anticipation.
<
br /> I went through to our tiny storage area next to the utility room. The only space on the floor had been taken by the full bag of dirty laundry – we sent the sheets out to be laundered – so I had to put the cleaning box down in the hallway, while I shifted the bag and a few bits around. As I bent down, something trickled down my neck. Water! Puzzled, I gazed upwards to be rewarded by a splash in the eye, followed by another, this time on my cheek. Worse, my shoes squelched into the rug and I realised the laundry bag was soaked, its sides stained like blotting paper. I shot into the kitchen to find Jason but he wasn’t there. He wasn’t in the lounge either, nor in the breakfast room. I found him in our ensuite upstairs.
“Jason, come quick! There’s a leak.”
He took his time drying his hands, probably thinking I meant something small like a dodgy washer on a tap. He strolled downstairs, while I raced into the kitchen in search of a bucket.
“Look!” I pointed to the ceiling by the doorway, where the water piddled through a large bulge in the plaster.
“Great! That’s all we need.”
Jason rushed off in search of the stopcock, leaving me to gaze in concern at the swollen ceiling, praying it would hold until the leak was fixed. Moments later he came back.
“I’ve turned it off. Just make sure you keep an eye out for guests. It’s really important they don’t run any water.”
I got out the ironing board, switched on the TV and jammed the lounge door open so I could hear guests coming through the front door. From above came scratching, followed by banging. Whatever he was doing, it sounded serious. While I ironed the pile of duvets, I watched a repeat of Come Dine with Me with the subtitles on. I couldn’t hear anything above the banging. My mouth watered as the contestants tucked into a delicious lamb dinner. I hoped Jason would hurry up as we couldn’t have lunch until he finished. From above came a loud splintering sound and the ceiling juddered alarmingly. I sighed with relief when the noise subsided. On TV they had moved from dinner to dessert and huge slabs of chocolate cake with homemade ice cream were being handed out. The smell almost wafted from the TV. As my stomach growled and my mouth watered, I set the iron into its holder and snuck off to the kitchen to steal a few biscuits.
With chipmunk cheeks and a mouth so full, I couldn’t chew without spilling crumbs, I opened the lounge door to a deafening crack. I leapt back in shock. Grit and pieces of rubble showered down, followed by a trainer-clad foot. To a hat-trick of ‘shits’ the foot disappeared through the hole in the ceiling, leaving a cloud of dust suspended in the air. Pieces of brick, stone and plaster littered the carpet where, moments earlier, I’d been standing. Thank goodness I’d moved. But then I spotted my ironing board and – worse – my ironing pile, blanketed in a century of dust and grit like a grey moonscape.
“Are you okay?” Jason’s voice trembled with pain. The top part of his face was visible through the ceiling, while a thick pipe obscured the rest.
I couldn’t speak. The biscuits had become a solid lump clogging my mouth. I swallowed, grimacing as they tore at my throat. It took me a few moments before I could stammer, “W-what are you doing? The leak’s the other side.”
“The water’s running down the pipe. I took up the floorboard to check where it started and, well, I had a bit of an accident.”
“You’re telling me.” It felt odd talking to half his face.
“I’ll help clear up once I’ve sorted this. It’s a nightmare job. I’ve got to drain the system, then we’ll have to check the water in the rooms. Ouch! I think I’ve busted my foot.”
Not more work. In shock, I absorbed the devastation. Jags of plaster hung from the ceiling, ready to fall at any moment, while the only way to sort the ironing pile would be to wash every bit again, including the ironing board cover. Not that I’d be doing much ironing for a few hours, as I couldn’t use the washing machines until Jason turned the water back on. My neck and arms ached from the previous day’s rowing. They wouldn’t be getting a rest today.
I picked up the small lumps of brick, turning them in my hand. When Jason had told me about the debris under the floorboards, I hadn’t expected to see it for myself. I heaped them and the bits of stone and plaster outside the lounge door, fetched the broom and bin bag and got to work.
A while later, Jason hobbled into the lounge as I wrapped up the cable for the hoover. Everything – apart from the ceiling – had been cleaned. His arrival meant we could have a quick sandwich before we checked the water supply in the rooms.
He slumped onto the sofa. “That was a pig of a job.”
“Sorry to bother you.” John, our guest from room two, stood at the open lounge door wringing his hands. He cleared his throat. “But the water’s dribbling out of my tap. I’m parched and can’t even get a brew.”
In all the chaos, I’d missed him coming in. Jason sat grim-faced while I ushered John into the hallway, hoping he hadn’t spotted the ceiling.
“I’m really sorry. We’ve had to turn the water off to fix a problem. Give us five minutes and we’ll get it back on.”
Jason followed me out. I felt for him. Exhaustion etched his face and every bone in his body seemed to creak.
“I’ll turn the water back on. We better pray the leak is fixed or your promise of five minutes may be a tad optimistic.”
While he headed to the kitchen, I went through to the storage area. The leak had stopped but a bubble of sodden plaster remained. Nothing in comparison with the crevice in the lounge. From the kitchen came a whooshing sound as Jason turned on the stopcock. As I waited, unable to move my gaze from the bubble, relief crept through me. Jason had sorted the leak; our guest would get his cup of tea and I would get my lunch. Then, to my dismay, a droplet appeared, mocking me as it clung to the ceiling. It wobbled as if caught in an invisible thread until, ever so slowly, it fell to be followed by another and another. Like lemmings its stupid comrades poured down. Faster than ever they smashed to the floor, taking with them all hopes of food anytime soon.
♦
The following afternoon, with the guesthouse back to a semblance of normality, I shot across to Jetsam Cottage. Kim opened the door wearing a flour-dusted apron but her hands were clean, her fingernails polished with a perfect French manicure. She’d tied her hair in a vibrant silk scarf knotted at the back, showing off her elegant neck and gold hoop earrings. A slight raise of an eyebrow showed her surprise at seeing me, but she welcomed me in with a warm smile. If it hadn’t been for the water leak, I would have bitten the bullet and apologised to her yesterday. While it wasn’t my fault Shona had gone off without her, it felt as if I’d unwittingly taken sides in their row.
“Shona’s out,” she said, as she led the way through to the kitchen.
A ceramic mixing bowl sat on the side, just like the one my mum used to have, beige with a white inside. For a moment I was back in her kitchen, scraping as much of the tasty mixture as possible from the bowl.
“Baking?” An inane comment but I didn’t know what else to say.
She grinned. “How did you guess?”
“I’m sorry about the other day. I had no idea you didn’t know we were going without you.”
She frowned. “Oh, you mean the boat. Shona can be a daft mare at times. She got her karma though, especially when I left her with the rooms to clean while I spent yesterday shopping.”
“I got my karma too.”
She took the jar from the cupboard and popped a teabag into each mug. “I heard about your phone but don’t be silly, you weren’t to know.”
“Not just the phone. We had a disaster yesterday.”
I told her about Jason coming through the ceiling, about how we couldn’t stop the leak until late in the afternoon, so I’d plied our guest with bottled water which he could use in the kettle to have all the tea he wanted.
“And guess what?” I didn’t wait for her to respond. “He gave us a terrible review. You should see it. Apparently, we ruined his afternoon as he couldn’t drink anything.”
“But you gave him bottled water.”
“When I took the bottles up to him, he was fretting about the cistern not refilling, but why he couldn’t use the loo and wait until water was back on to flush it, I don’t know. You should see his review. He must have written it last night.”
Kim wandered into the lounge and came back with her tablet. “Let’s have a look.”
The light from the screen danced in her eyes as she chuckled. “Is he for real?”
“Sadly, yes.”
She put her hand to her mouth to suppress a gurgle of laughter. “Oh my, this is good.” Putting on a pompous voice, she proceeded to read the review:
Water, water everywhere but not a drop to drink.
A pleasant stay was ruined by the lack of water all afternoon, when I found out by accident that the owners had turned the water off. They seemed to think that handing over half a dozen bottles of water was sufficient, although there wasn’t any water for my toilet needs. They simply told me not to use the loo, which meant I could not drink anything. The couple are new to the hospitality industry and it shows. Next time I will stay in a place with owners who understand that what goes in must come out.
She squealed the last few words and burst into howls of laughter. “The other B&Bers will love this,” she shrieked. “I think you’ll make the top ten of strange reviews with this one.”
When I’d first read the review, I’d felt hurt. All our guests had left lovely reviews so far but while this was peculiar rather than nasty – well, apart from the score – it was disconcerting to know it would be there for years to come. I could respond, but it would look as if I was passing the blame. Sod’s Law that the one guest who decided to spend the whole afternoon in his room was the moaning type. Other guests had come in to find we were still fighting the leak, but they’d been happy to accept the bottled water and wait until it was all sorted by four o’clock.
Bedlam & Breakfast at a Devon Seaside Guesthouse Page 8
