Lucinda’s flat on the first floor was in darkness when they rang the bell.
‘I think we’re going to have to break in,’ said Grace. ‘Can you run at the door and break it down with your shoulder?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Rosie, beginning to feel panicky. What would they find on the other side of the door?
‘Let’s try together.’
Grace counted down from three and they ran at the door, only to be bounced back as though they were made of rubber.
‘They make it look so easy on the films.’
‘We’re not muscly stunt doubles, though.’ Rosie was trying to think. ‘The balcony? Let’s go outside.’
It was easier than they thought because, flaunting and disrespecting the rules, Lucinda’s downstairs neighbour had left out their patio furniture, obviously having enjoyed the day’s sun. Without thinking, Rosie balanced a chair on the table, placing it under Lucinda’s balcony, and with Grace holding on, she climbed up, and edged onto the ledge, clinging on with her fingernails. She thought of Patrick on the side of the cliff, trying to save that cantankerous dog. Was that only a matter of hours earlier? Her fingers tightened on the bar of the railings.
‘What do I do now?’ she whispered down to Grace. ‘I forgot I am not flexible. Or brave. Or intrepid.’
‘You are intrepid,’ urged Grace. ‘And brave. Okay, maybe not flexible. You can’t touch your toes.’
‘I meant, as in easy-going.’
‘That as well. But you are brave, and you are intrepid. Who takes over an ailing hotel at the age of twenty?’
‘It wasn’t ailing exactly,’ said Rosie, defensively, pausing to look back at Grace and wobbling dangerously.
‘But it’s doing better now, is my point,’ said Grace. ‘Anyway, we’re wasting time. Go and be brave. Go on!’
Rosie shuffled along the balcony, feeding the railings through her fingers and thinking of poor Lucinda, who was, perhaps, lying comatose inside the flat, needing hospitalisation or stomach pumping or whatever. She managed somehow to fling her leg over the railings and balanced on either side.
‘That’s it! Well done!’ Grace whispered up in the dark of the night.
Next leg now. Rosie shuffled a bit and threw her leg behind her, spun around, and she was on the balcony.
‘See if the door is open,’ said Grace. ‘Or throw something at it to smash it!’
Rosie put her hands on the sliding doors and, miraculously, it opened. She pushed through the heavy curtains and stepped into the living room.
There was no sign of life. The bedroom, empty. Next, the bathroom. She dashed in but again no sign. She checked everywhere again, including the wardrobe and, incomprehensibly, under the sofa.
She whispered down to Grace, ‘She’s not here!’
‘We’ll try somewhere else!’
They drove back to the hotel, both looking around on the streets for signs of a worse-for-wear Lucinda, perhaps staggering home drunk and forlorn.
‘I can’t believe I said what I said,’ said Rosie.
‘Don’t beat yourself up about it.’
‘I was mean. And I shouldn’t have been.’
They fell into silence.
‘She’s incredibly annoying though,’ said Grace.
‘Oh God, so annoying.’
‘But obviously we don’t want her to die.’
