Page 4 of The Wedding Pact
His room was hot, but with the window open it was noisy. Inside it was no better, with the people next door shouting at the TV until at least four in the morning. Then, when he finally sank down onto his pillow, he’d not been able to switch his brain off.
His original plan had been to arrive in Bath early evening yesterday, try to stay awake at least a couple of hours before turning in for the night safe in the comfort he was home, even if it was a brand-new home. The jet lag would be beaten almost immediately, and he’d wake bright and fresh on Saturday morning ready to spend the weekend getting to know his new city, picking up some extra homely goods, some additional clothes, stretching his legs. All ready for an early start at his new role at a law firm on Monday, and ready for what he already knew would be two full-on weeks at work, including an all-weekend conference starting on the Friday.
Like many plans that are made, that one had whooshed its way out of the window in record speed, doing a runner at the first sign of delays on the plane. And now he was not bright, he was not jet lag-free, and he was distinctly homeless.
As he made himself a cup of tea in the hotel room, in a tiny white china mug with a crack in it, using warm, long-life milk, he scrolled through a property rental website on his phone.
Studio in city centre, available in two months’ time.
One-bed basement flat, available in December.
Fourth floor apartment in the next town over, over-budget and would cost him a fortune travelling into work every day.
He bookmarked the handful of places available immediately, and once he’d forced down the watery tea, he started making phone calls, setting up viewings throughout the day with all the enthusiasm his zombie brain would allow him.
Flynn showered under a cold drizzle of water and made his way to reception, ready to get out of here and get some decent coffee before his first flat viewing. The receptionist eyeballed him as he got closer.
‘Hello,’ he said, while she ran her eyes up and down him. ‘I’m in room twenty-eight, but I wondered if I could move rooms. My neighbours are a bit loud and there seems to be something wrong with the water temperature.’
She regarded him for a second or two, sizing him up, and eventually she answered with a, ‘No more rooms, sorry, we’re booked out.’
‘You are?’ he couldn’t contain the incredulity from his voice.
‘It’s the summer holidays now, Saturday night, town centre,’ she stated by way of an explanation.
‘Oh. I don’t seem to have any hot water – could someone come in and fix that at least?’
‘No,’ she offered, and added with a shrug, ‘Sorry.’ After the two of them stared at each other for a moment she followed it up with, ‘When the hotel’s full the hot water just runs out. Maybe get up earlier tomorrow?’ Flynn was about to protest when she leaned in closer and lowered her voice. ‘Or I could come up to your room and make youappreciatethat cold shower, if you know what I mean—’
‘Lorna!’ yelled a voice from behind a Staff Only door.
Lorna, the receptionist, stepped back and sighed, shaking her head.
As Flynn was weighing up whether he had time to pack up his things and find a new hotel – one with some availability and thicker than two-millimetre walls – the receptionist plonked a paper bag on the counter.
‘What’s this?’
‘Breakfast,’ she replied, and turned back to her computer.
Flynn took the bag and opened it up to find a bruised apple and a box of apple juice. His stomach growled at him fiercely, and he left in search of a good bacon sandwich.
He looked back at his hotel and thought for a moment that even Yui, who was always trying to encourage him to be more adventurous, would agree this place was crossing a line. Nevertheless, finding a home had to take priority over finding a new hotel in the city.
A decent coffee and a decadent amount of bacon later, Flynn felt revived enough to head to his first appointment. Just about.
Flynn looked at the list of property appointments he’d made on his phone this morning with despair. He’d just seen his seventh flat of the day, and it was almost like Bath didn’t want him to find somewhere to live. He didn’t mean to be a Goldilocks about the situation, and actually he hadn’t told any of the agents a flat-out no, just in case, but if he had to pick between the damp basement studio under the pub, with the hole in the ceiling, or the creepy room inside the terraced house where all the shelves and cupboards were filled with dusty lifeless dolls (that the landlord would like to not be moved, thank you), it would be a tough call.
Bath seemed beautiful – at least what little he had seen of it while he was rushing between appointments. He had no doubt there were many wonderful places he could call home … if he had the luxury of time. And if he’d picked a better time to move over – rather than after the start of the British summer holidays – then maybe he could have got a short-term Airbnb to keep him going, but even those were in short supply unless he considered moving as far as Bristol. It might well come to that.
The business hours of today were drawing to a close. He had one more place to see, which, like the others, sounded maybe promising. But also like the others, it turned out to be a non-starter.
‘Hello, mate,’ the agent greeted him as he got to the top of the hill, the other side of the town from his last viewing.
‘Hi,’ Flynn panted in response.
‘You’re here to view number four Elizabeth Street? I’m afraid that one got let this morning.’
‘This morning?’ Flynn’s mouth hung open. ‘But I only made the appointment this morning.’
