Page 80 of The Wake-Up Call

“Another ring down, then!” Ollie says.

He’s crossing the lobby with a specific, bent-kneed dash that means he cannot be seen through the window on the restaurant door. Arjun-dodging has become a habit for anyone who has had to play sous-chef this winter, but Ollie is particularly good at it.

“No reward, though,” he says as he joins us at the desk. “Yesterday Mrs. SB told me we’re probably going bust and losing all our jobs. So could you crack on and return a really expensive one, maybe? Save the day a bit?”

“Ollie, that is a very abbreviated version of our sensitive employee–employer chat. But yes,” Mrs. SB says, holding out a pile of post to me, then turning it upside-down so theFINAL NOTICEis on the bottom instead of the top. “Just one more reward like the Mattersons gave us could make all the difference now.”

“The last ring does look fancy,” I say, trying not to laugh as Lucas notices that Mrs. SB has adjusted his desk chair, and makes a visibly painful effort not to object to this. “Maybe it’ll be fifth time lucky.”

The final ring is a stylish band, beaten silver, slightly askew. I love it. It’s not as beautiful as Maisie’s ring, but it’s clearly designer, and I bet whoever owned it was interesting—you can just tell.

Arjun pops up in the window of the restaurant door. “Ollie!” he barks.

“Balls,” says Ollie, trying a belated duck.

“I can still see you!”

“He’s had me dicing on and off since Tuesday,” Ollie says miserably, dragging his feet as he turns towards the kitchen. “If you do get a massive reward for that last ring, will you buy me an invisibility cloak?”

“You told me yesterday that you were loving the chance to help prepare the food,” Mrs. SB says.

“Yes, but I’ve gotblisters,” Ollie says mournfully as he walks into the kitchen with the air of a man tasked with saving the planet against his will.

“He really dons that chef’s hat with a flourish now, doesn’t he?” Mrs. SB says dryly as we watch him through the door.

“He’s doing brilliantly, to be honest,” I say.

“I know. He’s a star. You’re all stars. This is good for him,” Mrs. SB says with a nod towards the kitchen. “He likes to be pushed. Whereasyoutwo... You like a little healthy competition.” She smiles at us, and for a moment I catch a glimpse of the woman she must have been when she and Barty first fell in love: a few years younger than him, and much less conventional. “I happened to hear that you had a bet running on two of those first rings. Shall we introduce another?”

“Another bet?” I say as Lucas looks up slowly from the computer screen.

“Yes. You see, this year, I’m giving Poor Mandy a break from being the Christmas elf,” Mrs. SB says.

“No!” I say.

Mandy is abrilliantChristmas elf. She delivers all the hotel cards and presents—I write every guest a card, and Mrs. SB and Barty get everybody a small gift, and Poor Mandy distributes them in this absolutely ridiculous elf costume that must date from about 1965. It is a staple of the Forest Manor Christmas.

“Yes,” Mrs. SB says firmly. “The poor woman never complains, but that costume simply doesn’t fit her anymore, and it’s not right. I was going to ask one of you to do it.”

Lucas’s head turns slowly towards me.

“So perhaps... whoever fails to return the ring gets elf duties.”

“Absolutely not,” says Lucas.

“That’s a great idea,” I say.

This is perfect. I have no problem with wearing an elf costume and delivering presents, other than the fact that I like my Christmas to beexactlylike the Christmas before, and I would prefer Poor Mandy to have to do it on those grounds. But Lucas having to dress up as an elf? Yes please.

“The costume won’t fit me,” he tries.

Mrs. SB is on the customer’s side of the desk now. She leans on her forearms, looking slightly gleeful.

“Mandy is an excellent seamstress.”

“But she can’t adjust it for herself?”

“Come on, Lucas,” I say. “What are you, scared?”

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