‘That lady had no shoes.’ I hear the child laugh as they walk away. ‘And her dress was all dirty.’
‘Shh,’ his mother scolds. ‘Don’t be rude.’
I hurry.
Reception is spacious but chilly. The air con is most certainly turned on down here and I’m overly conscious of my bare feet and fancy red dress with a contrasting burgundy stain spattered across the front. I fold my arms, trying to hide the speckles, as I wait in line to speak to someone on the desk. The couple in front of me are having trouble with their room key and someone else wants to leave luggage for collection later. It’s all so normal, mundane even. It’s driving me crazy.
Finally, it’s my turn and after rehearsing what I was going to say over in my head, when I open my mouth to speak, it’s difficult to force words out.
‘Hello,’ says a pretty woman in a teal-and-grey uniform that matches the wallpaper behind her a little too well. ‘How can I help you this afternoon?’
Afternoon? It couldn’t possibly be. Bloody hell!
‘I . . . I . . .’ I swallow. I don’t know what to say. The receptionist is smiling but her eyes are judging me in my crumpled dress and shoeless feet. I can’t say I blame her. On another day I’d judge myself.
‘Erm. The air con in room one-one-two is broken,’ I say, remembering.
‘Oh. I’m sorry,’ she says, tapping something into her computer. ‘I’ll have someone look at it right away for you. You don’t need to wait in your room. Maintenance can let themselves in, if that’s okay?’
I don’t correct her and explain it’s not my room.
I’m distracted by whispering behind me. I can hear a couple of teenage boys and I wait for them to make fun of my bare feet or matted hair.
‘That’s her. It’s definitely her,’ one of them giggles. ‘The one in the red dress.’
‘Oh yeah,’ says the other. ‘She was so hot. Is that the same dress? What’s all over it? Gross.’
‘Looks like bl—’
‘Excuse me.’ I turn around and cut across them, and as much as it pains me to ask, I add, ‘Did you see me last night? Here, wearing this dress?’
They look me up and down.
‘Did you see me?’ I raise my voice. They don’t answer and I shout, ‘Did you?’
One of them grabs the other by the arm and they leave together, turning their heads over their shoulders to glare at me.
Feeling the eyes of everyone dotted around the lobby on me, I turn back to face the girl on reception.
‘Don’t mind them,’ she says. ‘From what I hear, the party got pretty wild last night. I’m sure their parents were just as tipsy and feeling equally as bad today.’
She thinks I’m hungover. I don’t know whether to be relieved or embarrassed.
‘Did you see me here last night?’ I ask, my face burning, and I’ve no doubt it’s as red as my dress. ‘Was I with someone? A man?’
‘Wow, it really was a wild night, eh?’ She smiles, trying so hard to be kind. ‘I didn’t see any of it, I’m afraid. My shift only just started.’
‘Oh.’ I sigh. ‘Was someone else here? Did anyone else see me?’ My head is spinning. I feel as groggy and hungover as she thinks I am.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘Reception closes at midnight. I don’t think anyone would have seen you last night? Is there anything I can help you with?’
I shake my head.
‘Is everything okay?’ She lowers her voice to a barely audible whisper. ‘You’re suddenly very pale. Has something happened?’
I choke back tears. Something happened nearly twenty years ago.
‘Is it a noise issue? I know we had a lot of complaints about noise on that corridor last night. I can assure you that’s not usual and the hotel takes the safety of its guests very seriously.’
I straighten, suddenly very serious. ‘What kind of noise?’
‘Would you like to speak to the owner?’ she asks. ‘He was at the party last night. I might still catch him if I call now.’
‘I . . . eh . . .’ I will my brain to think faster.
‘I’m sure Mr Buckley will be happy to help you.’
My eyes widen. ‘You know Mr Buckley.’
‘Yes. Of course.’ She nods. ‘He gets to know all the staff personally. He has a meeting this evening. He’ll be here any minute, I think. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to speak to you. He prides himself on quality service.’
It’s suddenly hard to breathe. ‘You’re expecting Andrew Buckley? Here.’ I point to the spot where I’m standing. ‘Right here, any minute.’
The girl looks at me with confusion. ‘Yes. He owns the place, after all.’
Oh God. ‘I have to go,’ I pant. ‘I have to go.’
I run.
Chapter Nine
DARCY
Monday 17 June 2019
Jinx barks just before the doorbell rings.
‘Can you get that?’ I shout from upstairs, hoping Luke will hear me as he potters about in the kitchen.
The doorbell rings again.
‘Luke,’ I say, stepping on to the landing in my dressing gown and face masque. ‘Luke, the door please.’
Ding. Dong.
I roll my eyes. ‘Luke?’
Nothing. I venture further on to the landing.
‘Where are you?’ I say, the kitchen suddenly still.
‘Jinx?’
Silence.
Downstairs is eerily still, exaggerating the age of my old house. The only sound is the groan of the floorboards beneath me as I step closer to the banister and look over to view the front door.
The doorbell doesn’t ring again, but through the stained glass on each side of the door I can see a shadow on the porch. They’re not moving.
I wait for the bell to ring again or for whoever is out there to leave. Neither happens.
‘Luke,’ I whisper.
The silence is all-consuming.
The door handle twists slowly and my heart races. The keys aren’t hanging in the lock the way they usually are, keeping the outside world sealed away. The door will open with a fraction of a twist more. My eyes are watering and stinging but I don’t blink.
I shriek as there’s a sudden rattle and the heavy double doors of the sitting room part suddenly.
‘Hey, there you are,’ Luke says, carrying a very mucky Jinx under his arm. ‘This little devil crawled under the decking. He’s bloomin’ filthy. It’s taken me twenty minutes to coax him out.’
‘Someone’s at the door,’ I say, pointing.
Luke cranes his neck as Jinx growls and yelps, demanding to be put down.
He shakes his head. ‘I don’t see anyone.’
‘They were there. They were turning the handle. They were going to come in. The keys aren’t in the lock.’
‘Darcy, honey, it’s probably just a sales rep or someone looking for directions. Nothing to worry about.’
My face is hot and I imagine that under my thick white face masque my cheeks are pink with frustration. I know how ridiculous I sound, but I can’t help feeling something isn’t right recently. Luke hasn’t said it, but I know he thinks I’m a paranoid mess since Lindsay’s show. Maybe he’s right.