Olivia looked up at the building in front of her. She had to admit she was a little taken aback by its shabbiness. In the travel guide, the photographs made it look a hell of a lot cleaner and newer and, in fact, quite different from the crumbling hotel presenting itself to her.
‘You can do this,’ she repeated under her breath, trying hard to reassure herself as she dragged her tired feet up the steps and into the rather deserted-looking hotel reception.
‘Hello?’ she called quietly.
Olivia dropped her bag to the floor and tried again.
‘Hello! Is anyone here?’
An elderly man jolted into life from behind the front desk. He was unshaven and clearly half-asleep, with an unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
‘Hello,’ he chirped brightly, as though being caught sleeping on the job by one of your customers was nothing to be sorry for. ‘You have a reservation?’
‘Yes.’ Olivia tried to mirror his joyful expression, but she was finding it difficult in the dank interior. ‘Olivia Jackson. Three nights.’
The receptionist pulled out a large leather book and began sifting through the stained pages. ‘Miss Jackson … Miss Jackson,’ he muttered. ‘Ah yes. Here. Room twenty-two.’
‘Great.’ Olivia let out a sigh of relief. The last thing she needed right now was to be told there was a problem with her room booking.
‘Let’s go. I’ll take your bag up after.’ He beckoned, already striding out from behind the desk and towards the lifts at the end of the hallway.
‘Are you sure? Will it be safe if I leave it here?’
‘Yes, yes. All fine.’ He waved nonchalantly. ‘The lift is too small for all of us.’
Olivia nudged her bag behind the desk and followed the receptionist up the stairs towards the lifts. He jabbed the call button with a yellow, smoke-stained finger and began tucking his oversized, rather grey-looking shirt into his trousers. The old man wasn’t wrong. The lift was the smallest thing she’d ever seen in her life. How the two of them were going to get inside, she had no idea.
‘You first.’ He gestured as the doors creaked open.
‘OK.’ Olivia sucked in her stomach, held her breath, and squeezed her body in as the man tucked himself in behind her.
‘Very small.’
‘Mhmm.’ She nodded politely, the smell of stale cigarettes suddenly overwhelming her. She tried to ignore the rickety sounds the lift was making as it began its slow ascent.
Please don’t break.
Please, whatever happens, do not break.
She closed her eyes until the lift shuddered to a standstill.
‘Here we are.’ The receptionist beamed, nearly falling out of the doors as they opened on to a very dark and dreary corridor. ‘Your room is down there. Come.’
Olivia followed silently, unsure what was worse: the smell of stale tobacco breath in the lift or the damp, sweaty aroma that was now crawling up the inside of her nostrils. This couldn’t be right, could it? This hotel had come recommended. It had four-star reviews, for Christ’s sake.
‘Room twenty-two.’ The receptionist stopped abruptly and forced a rusted key into an even more rusted-looking lock. ‘I’ll bring your bag up now.’ He turned on his heel and disappeared before Olivia even had a chance to reply. She placed her hand on the doorknob and noticed, with disgust, that it was sticky to the touch.
Here goes nothing.
She took a deep breath and stepped inside.
‘Oh my god …’ Her jaw nearly hit the dusty wooden floor.
Prison cell were the first words that sprang to mind. Depressing and dirty were fast followers.
‘This can’t be right.’ She spun around, looking for any sign of the receptionist. ‘Excuse me,’ she called down the empty corridor. ‘Hello?’ But only the raucous sounds from the outside world echoed back to her.
‘There’s no way this can be right.’ She shook her head, edging further inside the tiny little room. Panes of glass, acting as windows, were coated with such a thick layer of dirt that the sunlight could hardly find its way through. The walls were just about clothed in peeling, brown wallpaper, and the curtains were hanging on to their rails by a thread.
