Page 31 of The Wake-Up Call

We’re in the middle of the rose garden now, lit by the small lights along the borders. The glow catches each puff of Mrs. SB’s breath as she tries to pull herself together, tissue held to her eyes.

“It’s just... a little... much,” she manages. “At the moment.”

“Of course.” Izzy rubs her arm soothingly.

“I’m so sorry, both of you. I feel I’ve let you down horribly.”

“You’ve not let anybody down!” Izzy says. “You’ve kept this hotel running through years of lockdowns and a cost-of-living crisis.That’s incredible. It’s no wonder the place is struggling—how could it not be?”

I stand, arms folded, feeling painfully awkward. I want to hug Mrs. SB, but Izzy’s already there, so all I can do is try to project quite how deeply I care—something I know I’ve never been especially good at showing even when the hugging option is available.

“You take so much on yourself,” Izzy says. “Can we help more? With the management and administration, maybe? Lucas is really good at this sort of thing—spreadsheets and organisation and stuff.”

I stare at her in surprise. Her cheeks go faintly pink. I open my mouth to say something similar in return—I’ve long thought that Izzy could be put to better use at the hotel. She should be managing these renovations, in my opinion. She has a good eye for what makes a space work, and she’s excellent at coordinating large numbers of people. But Mrs. SB is speaking again before I can find the right thing to say.

“Oh, I’m embarrassed to show you the accounts, honestly. I know Barty will feel the same.”

“Don’t be embarrassed.” My voice is gruffer than I’d like it to be. I clear my throat. “I would love to help. I want the same things you and Barty want. I want this place to thrive, and for our... the family we have built here to...” Why is this so difficult to say? “I’m happy to help,” I finish abruptly.

Izzy is staring at me like I’ve just announced that in future I’d rather we deliver all internal communications by carrier pigeon. I avert my eyes, looking up at the sky. The stars are just beginning to blink into life between grey smudges of cloud.

I should be searching for other jobs. This place will almost certainly go under before the year is out. But standing here, breathing in the forest air, with the hotel’s grand old bulk behind me... Ijust cannot imagine myself feeling this sense of belonging anywhere else.

I know why Izzy’s so surprised to hear me talking about the hotel as a family: She thinks I don’t care. That I’m heartless. But if I am, then why does my chest hurt at the thought of letting this part of my life go?

“I suppose I could just send you the accounts. Perhaps you can look for places we can be more efficient.” Mrs. SB sniffs, pulling back from Izzy’s arms. “I find it a bit overwhelming, if I’m truthful. I’ve never been good with numbers.”

My fingers flex at the thought of having access to the sums behind the hotel’s decisions. I’ll get to see how Forest Manor really works. All the moving parts. I can do more than just raising a few hundred pounds with old lost-property rubbish—I canhelp.

“I like numbers,” I tell her, the ache in my chest subsiding. “Just send it all my way.”

“Thank you. Thank you.” She squeezes both our arms and heads off towards Opal Cottage.

We watch her go.

“I appreciate what you said,” I tell Izzy eventually. “About spreadsheets. When I have the opportunity, I would like to tell Mrs. SB that you, too, deserve a chance to expand your skills here at the hotel.”

“What?”

“I mean... There’s a lot more you could be doing here, too.”

She bristles. “I’m doing plenty, thanks. And you’re welcome. Just... Go gently when you get back to her on the figures, OK? Some of us are humans, not robots.”

She walks away through the rose bushes, towards the hotel. The wordrobotstings like a slap.I’m human, too, I want to say.When you’re unkind to me, it hurts.

My phone flashes up a reply from Ana as I follow Izzy backinside. Ana has sent my photo back with a large red circle around the tiny portion of Izzy’s shoulder that is visible in the photograph.

Quem é essa pessoa???

Oh,porra. She wants to know who it is.

É uma mulher??says my mother.

Merda. Now they’ve clocked it’s a woman. But how? It’s about three millimetres of white shirt and... oh. A telltale strand of long pink hair. Damn.

I hesitate, wondering how to play this. My mother and sister are convinced I need a girlfriend, despite the fact that I have functioned happily for several years without one. And when Ididhave one, I was mostly quite miserable.

??! LUCAS?!

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