Page 53 of Too Busy for Love

‘She was. Turn the page,’ he instructs.

By the time the tea and biscuits arrive, we’re about halfway through and I’m fizzing with excitement. I’m currently looking at a shot of Reginald and Annie getting out of the car at the frontdoor of the hotel. The curved glass is sparkling, and the mosaic of the mermaid is clearly visible inside.

‘The next picture is the dining room, with our wedding cake set up at the end. Rationing hadn’t ended yet, so the whole family sacrificed their coupons so we had enough butter, sugar and eggs to make it.’

I turn the page and study the picture. Obviously, the dining room doesn’t match the one I saw in my dreams; that would just be weird and creepy. It is opulent, though; there are large multi-paned mirrors around the walls, typical of the art deco style, and even though the photos are small, faded and black-and-white, I can tell the table linen is thick and good quality.

A thought comes to me. ‘Reginald?’ I ask.

‘Yes?’

‘You don’t have to tell me, but I gather the current owners planned to turn The Mermaid into flats but were prevented because of local objections. Do you know anything about that?’

He laughs softly. ‘I wouldn’t read too much into that if I were you. I think people were happy enough as it’s a bit of an eyesore at the moment, but the rumour on the grapevine is that Dennis Mountford, a local councillor, wanted to buy it and develop it himself. When he was outbid, he countered by getting the planning application blocked, even though it was exactly what he’d planned to do. I think he’s hoping the developers will lose interest and sell the building to him for a knock-down price.’

By the time we get to the end of the book, Reginald is obviously tired, so I make my excuses and leave. He’s very kindly let me photograph some of the pictures on my phone, and I promise to call by and see him again soon. I’m relieved to get out of the oppressive heat into the fresh air but, as I walk past The Mermaid again, I stop and gaze up at its lifeless, blank windows. Now that I’ve seen what it used to be like, there’s no way I can let it just crumble.

‘I can’t promise I’ll succeed,’ I tell it suddenly. ‘But I’m going to try my very best to save you.’

21

I feel energised as I make my way back to my rented flat. I know that my initial response after seeing the building and talking to Reginald was purely emotional. I’m also perfectly aware that emotional responses are not good ways of making business decisions but, if anyone can make a case for reopening The Mermaid as a hotel, it has to be me, surely?

When I get in, instead of updating my CV as I’d intended, I start to make a list of the things I need to put into a potential business plan. The first thing to do is check out the competition and come up with a unique offering that’s going to both fit in with Margate’s bohemian vibe but also stand out from everything else on the market. Getting an idea of the costs to restore the building is beyond me at the moment, but if I can come up with a strong enough concept to tempt Abby, maybe she’ll buy into it and help with that side of things.

It’s late by the time I get to bed, but this time, my recurring dream about the hotel and Jock is not interrupted by Abby with her bulldozer, which I take as encouragement.

The next morning, I present myself at the library the moment it opens and, with the help of the librarian, start searchingtheir digitised archives for any information about The Mermaid. There isn’t much. I find an article from 1929 about its opening, but the picture is very poor quality and I can’t decipher much from it. Reginald’s pictures are much better from that point of view. There are a couple of articles from the Second World War period, when it was used as a temporary soup kitchen and dormitory during the evacuation of Dunkirk, but then nothing until two recent articles. The first confirms that it had been purchased by the BudgetWise Hotel chain, and the second is a mere paragraph stating that it will not be reopening.

Feeling uninspired by the building’s history as a way to make it stand out and succeed, I turn my attention to the competition. This proves much more fruitful. What I discover is that there are loads of privately run bed and breakfast type establishments, but there’s only really one hotel that caters to the market that I think I would want to chase. When I check their online bookings, it shows me no availability for the next three months. That in itself doesn’t mean much – they could be closing for maintenance or something – so I decide to call them and pretend I’m looking for a room for a special anniversary. The receptionist is friendly but explains to me that they’re usually booked months in advance and it’s worth planning further ahead next time.

This is all I need to know to tell me that not only is there a market for the type of hotel I’d want The Mermaid to be but, crucially, the demand is currently outstripping capacity, which means there’s untapped potential. Now all I need is something to differentiate The Mermaid from the competition. I open the notebook I’ve bought to keep all my jottings and thoughts in, turning the pages until I have two blank ones in front of me. I write the wordsCome for…at the top of the left-hand page andStay for…at the top of the right. I need a unique selling point to draw customers to us rather than anywhere else, and a reasonto make them want to choose Margate over anywhere else for a holiday.

TheStay for…column starts to fill quite quickly, as Margate has a lot to recommend it once you scratch beneath the surface. TheCome for…column has just one entry so far but, if I can pull this off, it could be very good for me as well as The Mermaid.

By the end of the week, I’ve collated as much as I can and typed it all up into a proposal to put to Abby. I’ve spent several hours talking with Reginald and getting a feel for how The Mermaid was in his day, not because I want to recreate it exactly as it was, but to capture the spirit of it. My notebook is full of jottings: the ones I like emphasised as I’ve traced over the words repeatedly, but others crossed out as impractical or ludicrously expensive. My mouth is dry and my heart is pumping as I dial the number I found for Abby’s firm on their website.

‘Atkinson Construction, Donna speaking. How may I help?’ Like Abby’s, the voice has a broad northern accent.

‘Hi, I was wondering if it would be possible to speak to Abby.’

‘She’s not in the office at the moment.’ Her tone is brusque. ‘Can I take a message?’

‘My name’s Beatrice,’ I explain. ‘I met her on the set ofToo Busy for Loveand?—’

I don’t get any further because Donna cuts me off and her tone of voice changes completely. ‘I’m so sorry. I thought you were a cold caller. I meant what I said about Abby not being in the office, but I’m sure she’d love to hear from you. Would you like her mobile number?’

‘Please.’

She reels off the number and I dial it as soon as we disconnect.

‘Abby Atkinson.’ She sounds distracted.

‘Hi, Abby. This is Beatrice, fromToo Busy for Love. Is this a bad time?’

‘Beatrice!’ Her voice is warm. ‘Of course not. How are you?’

‘I’m well, thank you. I’m actually in Margate at the moment.’

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