Page 6 of The Wake-Up Call

“And I have contacted three structural engineers,” Lucas butts in. “The work is far too extensive for a regular builder to manage.”

Mrs. SB’s eyes widen atfar too extensive. I stay quiet. Sometimes Lucas scores my goals for me.

He doesn’t know Mrs. SB as well as I do. She and Barty opened this hotel as newlyweds, more than forty years ago—the building isn’t just where they work, it’s the child they never had. They love every inch of this place, from the quaint attic rooms to the big brass door knocker. Forest Manor was made for luxury and romance, for string quartets, slow dances, and lavish candlelit dinners. I hate watching Mrs. SB grapple with the fact that after all we’ve been through, they can’t afford to keep this magical place from falling apart.

“We’re staying open,” Mrs. SB says with resolution. “The insurers have said we can, as long as the building work is ‘sufficiently cordoned-off,’ so I’m adding ‘buy cordons’ to my to-do list. After ‘google what cordons are.’ We’ve had to cancel all the winter weddings, but we’ve still got five good suites, and the kitchen is untouched, whatever Arjun says.”

Arjun is very concerned about plaster dust. I gave this shortshrift this afternoon, but you do have to manage Arjun’s ego quite carefully. I’ll send someone around later to do some token dusting around the oven and tell him it’s sorted.

“But closing all twenty upstairs rooms... and having builders and...structural engineerseverywhere...” She rubs her forehead, pushing her glasses up onto her head. “Will the Hedgerses stay?”

I nod. “Their home insurance is covering their stay—their house is flooded,” I tell her. “They don’t have anywhere else to go, to be honest.”

“Good,” Mrs. SB says, then winces at herself. “Sorry. You know what I mean. And we’ve got Mrs. Muller, she’s here until January. We’ll need to prioritise the long-term guests, I think. The couple from New Orleans have cancelled and gone to the Pig, so we can upgrade Mrs. Muller to their room. Louis Keele has made it clear he’s keen to stick around...”

I glance at Lucas, curious. He made a little sound when Mrs. SB mentioned Louis. A familiar, disgusted snort that generally happens afterIsay something, actually.

“Who else is here on a long stay?” Mrs. SB asks.

“Mr. Townsend and the Jacobses,” Lucas and I say simultaneously.

“The Jacobses are a young Belgian couple with a five-month-old,” I say. “They love everything British, have their bacon well-done, and are obsessed withFawlty Towers.”

We all know Mr. Townsend, so I don’t bother sharing my facts about him. He’s here every winter for at least three months, and these days he and I even exchange the odd email in the time he’s away from the hotel—he’s become a friend, as many return guests do. I know Barty and Mrs. SB feel the same.

“Well, likingFawlty Towersis a good sign,” Mrs. SB says with a grimace. “Right. And they’re...”

“Keen to stay,” I say promptly. “I’ve already checked.”

“Good. Well done, Izzy. As for the rest of them...” Mrs. SB says, staring at the laptop open on her knees. “I’ll deal with them. Somehow.”

She looks up at us with a distressed smile. Mrs. SB is the world’s nicest boss, and she can’t bear to let anybody down, so if she’s upset, that almost certainly means bad things for us.

“Now. On to you two,” she says.

Oh, God.

“I must be honest with you both. From the new year, I just can’t guarantee anything. We may well...” She swallows. “We’re out of money, quite frankly. These next few weeks will be make or break. But I know how important it is for each of you to be working at the hotel this winter.”

I feel rather than see Lucas stiffen at that. For the first time, I wonder exactly why Lucas is working for the whole of November and December, rather than going back to see his family in Brazil like he did last year. And then I immediately stop thinking about this, because any thoughts that involve last Christmas and Lucas are strictly forbidden by order of my friend Jem.

“With only five rooms in use... I just can’t justify employing you both to work on the desk alongside an agency receptionist.”

There it is. I fiddle with the strap on my bag and feel my pitch drying up in my throat. What was it I wanted to say? Something about being invaluable? I’ve worked at the hotel for eight years? The stationery drawer is much better when I’m here?

“Mrs. SB,” Lucas says, “I understand your difficulty. May I remind you of the superior digital booking system I introduced when I—”

“Personal notes!” I shout. They both turn to look at me. “It was my idea to have the personal welcome notes in the rooms, and so many of our good reviews mention those.”

“They mention your terrible handwriting,” Lucas says.

I flush. People are so mean on the internet.

“I am extremely economical,” Lucas tells Mrs. SB, who looks wearier by the minute. “When we need new printer paper, I always order—”

“The fancy overpriced stuff,” I finish for him.

“The quality paper that requires less ink,” Lucas ploughs on. “Unlike Izzy, I think carefully about cost implications.”

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