Page 30 of The Wake-Up Call

“What about that?” I say, pointing to the enormous Christmas tree occupying much of the lobby.

It took Izzy half a day to decorate that tree. At one point shesuggested abseiling down from the scaffolding to get the star on the top, and I don’t think she was joking. I stayed out of it, which means that the whole thing is completely overdone, but I am trying to learn when to pick my battles. I can live with too many baubles on the tree.

Though it does annoy me. All the time. A lot.

“Everyone has a Christmas tree,” Izzy says, waving a hand. “We need to step it up a gear. We may not have a full house, but the restaurant is booked to capacity most nights up to Christmas—and all the diners will be walking through this lobby, wondering if maybe they should come for a weekend when the renovations are done...”

She’s right. Despite the building work, we need to be a good advertisement for the hotel at the moment. I look around at all the mess and wince.

“Tidying all this lost property would be a start.”

“Most of this is waiting for buyer collection. Which, by the way, wasallorganised by me. What have you sold lately?”

I scowl. “Today, I took a whole box of items to auction. I raised almost a thousand pounds. All you do is fiddle around pairing socks and trying to match sets of earrings.”

“Yeah, well, you keep bagsying all the high-value items!” Izzy says, then answers the phone as it rings. “Oh, hi! Thanks for calling back! Yes, I’d love to speak to Hans about the ring.” She swivels in her chair to direct the full strength of her smugness in my direction. “Fantastic. Whenever’s good for him.”

Merda.I haven’t got any further with mine since Ruth’s attempted fraud, which was all extremely uncomfortable. There are still four contenders who haven’t replied to my calls or follow-up emails. I mentally bump everything else on my to-do list. This is my new priority.

“Ooh, antlers!” coos Poor Mandy as she staggers into the lobbyunder the weight of her two giant Sainsbury’s bags. She untangles them from around her shoulders and they land on the lobby rug with a thud as she digs out her phone—case flap dangling—and starts snapping photographs of us. “Lucas, dear, put yours on, too! This will be wonderful on the Facebook.”

Izzy clicks the phone back in its cradle with great deliberateness and then turns to me.

“Antlers on, Lucas!” she says. “Do it for the Facebook!”

I glare at her but put on the antlers. I must check what Poor Mandy is doing to the Forest Manor social media pages—this is one of the many things on my to-do list, just underneath creating a woodland play area and persuading someone other than me to deep-clean the fryer.

“Oh, that’s a lovely one. I’ve sent it to you both, too,” Poor Mandy says, tapping away at her phone. She has a habit of moving her lips or muttering as she types, so even before my phone pings, I could guess that she has writtenFab photo of you two, lots of love, Mandy.

I look down at the photo for a moment. Izzy has leapt in beside me—she’s beaming, her antlers already sliding through her hair. She’s wearing some sort of pale pink sheen on her cheekbones today, and the lights of the Christmas tree make her glitter.

After a moment I crop the photo down so it’s just me, wearing antlers, glancing off to the side. I send it on the family WhatsApp, telling them I’m getting in the Christmas spirit already.

“Guys, guys, guys,” Ollie says, power walking over from the kitchen. Ollie has been told repeatedly not to run through the hotel, so now he does an odd fast walk that involves a lot of arm movement.

The kitchen door swings behind him, almost whacking Arjun in the face as he follows behind Ollie. The chef’s expression is so thunderous I want to laugh.

“Mrs. SB is—”

“Crying,” Arjun says over Ollie. “Ollie, there are five pans on the hob, what are you doing out here? It’s dangerous.”

I watch Ollie hover for one tortured moment, deciding whether or not to point out that Arjun isalsoout here rather than attending to the hob, and that he actually walked out second. Ollie makes the wise choice for his career and dashes back to the kitchen again.

“What? Where?” Izzy says, leaning across the desk as Arjun points towards the window.

Mrs. SB passes outside, holding a tissue to her cheek. Izzy is already on her way out. I follow her, just catching the hotel’s heavy wooden door in time to stop it slamming in my face. Presumably she got that idea from Ollie.

It’s freezing outside, and darkness is setting in across the gardens. Mrs. SB steps beyond the beam of the lights on either side of the hotel’s entrance, disappearing down the path that leads to Opal Cottage.

“Mrs. SB, are you OK?” Izzy calls, quickening her pace.

“Fine, dear!”

Her voice is muffled. Not very convincing.

“Talk to us,” Izzy says as we approach. “Maybe we can help.”

Mrs. SB turns her face aside so Izzy can’t see her tears, but I’m on the other side of her. “Oh, bother,” she says, coming to a standstill between us.

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