Humbugs and Heartstrings: A gorgeous festive read full of the joys of Christmas!. Catherine FergusonЧитать онлайн книгу.
She never goes anywhere, just works all the time.
She grabs her fags and lights up.
‘Yes, a hotel.’ Her tone is rich with sarcasm. ‘You know, one of those things that looks like a house but bigger.’ She draws on the ciggy as if it’s a life-saver and blows smoke all over me. ‘I’m in London overnight. I’ll need a room.’
She shoves her desk calendar at me. A Saturday several weeks ahead has been circled furiously in red.
‘It’s a party. I’ve got to be there,’ she says, her tone suggesting that, given the choice, she’d rather be pretty much anywhere else in the known universe.
‘What’s the do in aid of?’ I’m taking my life in my hands, asking such a personal question.
‘Seventieth birthday.’ She scowls. ‘My father’s.’
I nod. ‘That’ll be nice?’ It’s a probing question more than a statement of fact.
‘No, it won’t. Actually, ‘party’ is the wrong word for it. It’ll be a gathering of his business cronies under one roof with the potential for making more money.’
‘Right. But at least you’ll see your family.’
She ignores this, draws hard on her fag and blows the smoke out, sideways this time. ‘They’re all booked into the hotel where the function is. I’d rather be somewhere else.’
She slaps a sheet of paper on the desk in front of me. ‘I’ve written down my requirements. I do not want an economy hell hole that looks like a block of council flats and where you’re expected to bring your own soap. And where the walls are so thin you can hear the guests in the room next door shagging all night.’
I bristle slightly. ‘There’s nothing wrong with budget hotels.’
‘Maybe not – if you’ve never stayed anywhere else,’ she says pointedly, knowing I never have. ‘I’ll have had a really stressful day. I will want to crash in a chic, comfortable room, go for a swim and a sauna, and eat in a decent restaurant.’
She points her ciggy at me. ‘I do not want to choose from a menu that’s the size of a protester’s placard and is laminated for ease of wiping, okay?’
‘Well, there are plenty of small, boutique hotels in London.’ I shrug. ‘You’ll be spoilt for choice.’
‘Er, hang on a sec. Before you start splurging my cash, I am not paying’ – she grabs the list of requirements and scribbles something at the bottom – ‘any more than that.’ She stabs the figure and I glance at it and nod, assuming she’s mistakenly missed off a nought.
‘Fine. Except you’ve missed off a nought,’ I tell her cheerfully.
‘No. I haven’t.’ Her icy green stare challenges me to argue.
I look at the figure she’s prepared to pay and shake my head. ‘No way.’ It will just about cover the cost of a sleeping bag and a hot dog.
‘Yes. Way. Now go and organise it. Please.’ She flashes me a fake smile. ‘And I want it sorted today.’
With a feeling of dread I return to my desk and go online to research hotels.
It’s a hopeless task because how will I ever find anything to suit her miserly budget?
I spend the next few hours making embarrassing, abortive calls to reservations staff, who are incredibly nice at first – until I mention the budget. I can almost hear the goodwill evaporate, like water droplets on a hot oven ring, as they switch from ‘helpful’ to ‘hang on, is she taking the mick?’
By four o’clock, I’m so brassed off, I start cutting to the chase as soon as someone picks up, as in, ‘Hello. You’ll probably think I’m a complete nutter but … ’
There’s absolutely no point telling Carol I’m having no success because she’ll only stand her ground and make out that it’s my lack of ability that’s the problem. Plus she’ll enjoy my discomfort.
I glance anxiously at my watch. My brother’s been suffering from a bad chest infection. I promised Mum I’d collect his medication and take it round to her tomorrow, on my way in to work.
But the chemist’s closes at five-thirty and I’m down to the final hotel on my list.
My very last hope.
Punching in the number, I offer up a silent prayer that this time I’ll speak to someone who is at least a little sympathetic to my plight. I will offer to bake them muffins, read them a bedtime story – God, I’ll even send hard cash – if they will only give me what I need. Then I can get the hell out of here for another day.
It rings – smile and look positive! – and it rings.
It keeps on ringing.
Then it rings some more.
With each electronic shriek, an iron band of frustration tightens around my gut, increasing my sense of panic.
‘For God’s sake, what kind of a place is this?’ I drum my fingers hard on the desk, tensing my ear muscles against the phone shrieks. ‘Christ, have all the staff taken the same day off?’
Shona and Ella are frowning sympathetically at me.
I am so incensed it doesn’t immediately register that the phone has stopped ringing.
So, as it filters through my jangling head that someone is actually speaking, I am simultaneously yelling, ‘Bloody fucking stupid bastard of a hotel!’
There is a deafening silence at the other end.
And then a man says, ‘Well, you know, that’s not how we’re currently described in the Good Hotel Guide.’
My heart leaps with horror.
Oh, buggery bollocks!
Heat envelops me, I am sweltering like a greenhouse in high summer. What do I do now? Hang up?
Then I think of Carol, hatchet-faced, drumming her fingers, expecting a miracle.
This man is my last hope. I’ll just have to grovel.
‘Gosh, I do apologise.’ I pull out my T-shirt neckline and desperately waft some cool air in. ‘I’m – er – having rather a stressful afternoon and it all got a bit – well … ’
‘Too much?’
‘Exactly.’
He laughs. ‘Well, I wouldn’t worry about it. We’ve all been there. Try squeezing a tennis ball.’
‘Sorry?’
‘That’s what I do when I feel like leaping off a cliff. You’ve got to put a hole in it, obviously.’
‘A hole,’ I repeat, feeling somewhat bemused. ‘Yes. Of course.’
‘Works wonders. Honestly. You should try it.’
His voice is deep and oddly soothing, and my panic subsides a little.
‘So what’s stressing you out? Is your goldfish ill? Or is your boss giving you a hard time?’
I’m about to laugh wearily and say, ‘Spot on!’ Then I think: No, I’ve got to be nice about Carol. She has to sound like the perfect hotel guest.
‘The Boss?’ I take a deep breath and cross my fingers. ‘Oh no, she’s great. Firm but fair. Always puts the welfare of her staff before profits. And she particularly asked me to book her a stay at your hotel. We’ve heard – er – fabulous reports.’
I can see Shona giving me funny looks. But I don’t care. I’ll tell as many porkies as required in order to bag a deal and get out of here.
‘Right,