As I closed the door, I heard Nick and Stephen starting to debate where Dorie had even got a full bottle of alcohol from. I was pretty sure I knew, since I’d left the bar unlocked since breakfast time. Maybe I should have been more concerned about her pilfering thirty pounds’ worth of booze but she clearly wasn’t thinking straight…
I paused on the landing at the thought. It had been that easy for me to dismiss Dorie stealing because of extenuating circumstances…I hadn’t been nearly so forgiving with Henry. I knew he was struggling for money, but I hadn’t let that be an excuse to him. Was that really fair? Why was I so willing to forgive Dorie and not him? Because Dorie was an old lady and the grandparent of the man I was kind of dating? I’d known Henry since I was a teenager – didn’t that deserve a little more loyalty? Was I really so shallow that I’d punished him because he’d accused me of being a spoiled princess? I hadn’t wanted to hear it, so as soon as I had an opportunity to turn the tables on him, I had.
I pushed my hair back from my face and started up the stairs, rather than go down to the kitchen, two floors below. I knew my mum had a stash of very strong ground coffee in our flat I could brew up. Now was not the time to start questioning my moral compass. There would be enough time for reflection when my mum got back and we could talk over what had happened with Henry. At the moment, I had a little old lady I needed to sober up. Not that any amount of coffee I could provide would make her capable of helping me out with Christmas dinner.
I was immediately ashamed of the thought. As if they all weren’t going through enough this Christmas; now they had to face the prospect that Dorie probably had a drinking problem. Still, as the kettle boiled and I rooted through the cupboards, telling myself that it put my problems into perspective wasn’t really working. It reallywasquite a big deal to my mum if I ruined the hotel. In fact, it would be quite a big deal to me too now. I knew these guests, and I’d put every ounce of energy I had into keeping the illusion going that everything was fine and trying to keep everyone happy.
I poured the near-boiled water into the cafetière and let it brew, setting the timer on the oven for five minutes. Maybe I could try and call my mum while I was waiting and wish her a Merry Christmas? I hadn’t wanted to do it first thing that morning in case I woke up my Grandad from his rest, and then there just hadn’t been time.
On the handset of our phone, Mum had her speed-dial numbers. Mine was first, then Grandad, then Auntie Cath and Lydia. I pressed 2 and listened to the phone ringing and ringing until it clicked over to the automated answering service.
‘Hi, Mum; hi, Grandad. I hope you’re both okay and you’re feeling a bit better, Grandad. Just calling to wish you a Merry Christmas… Oh and I’ve lost my phone, so call me at the hotel if you get a chance. Okay…I love you…bye.’
I sighed and put down the phone. Were they out? Had they had to go to the hospital? Maybe I should ring my aunt in case she’d heard from them. Just as I was about to speed-dial 3 the timer went off. Perhaps it was better if I didn’t know. What could I do from down here, with everyone relying on me anyway?
I pressed the plunger down slowly on the coffee, watching the swirl of browns turn from lighter to darker and then settle. It was big enough for about four cups. I wrapped a tea towel around it because the glass was hot and took it out into the hall. Setting it on the floor, so I could shut the door, I noticed a faint acrid smell tickling at the back of my throat.
I picked the coffee up and carried on, taking each step slowly. As I went down the stairs, the smell grew stronger and a haze of grey seemed to be lingering. Not heavy, but sort of like cigarette smoke. I wondered if someone had sneaked into the staff area for a sneaky fag, but knew it would set off the fire alarm almost immediately—
I no sooner thought the word, when the quiet of the hallway was split with the screaming of the alarm. There was a fire, somewhere in the hotel.
Chapter Eighteen
I would be lying if I didn’t admit to standing frozen like an antelope, eyes swivelling crazily to spot the danger, as the fire alarm continued to rattle through my brain. It didn’t seem possible that my luck could be this abysmal.
I don’t know how long my moment of immobilising denial lasted but, despite my hammering heart, I set down the pot of coffee on the step just behind me and started back down the staircase. I needed to clear the rooms and ensure everyone was evacuated from the building.
I’d been through enough drills over the years – roused from sleeping in on a Saturday morning, or interrupted in the middle of watching music videos – to know roughly what needed to be done. It was amazing how many people would simply sit, looking around themselves waiting for someone to come and tell them what to do, despite the very loud alarm and clear signs pointing to the emergency exits.
I knew the flat was empty, so I could work my way downwards. I banged on each door, and if there was an answer, I sent the guests down the staircase to exit through the dining room, onto the terrace to the assembly point on the lawn. If there wasn’t an answer, I opened the door, checked the rooms thoroughly to make sure it was empty and then closed it up again and continued.
There was only one other person up on the second floor, besides the Cartwrights. Nick bundled his nan up in the top sheets from the bed and carried her downstairs, with Stephen following.
I did the same check on each of the rooms on the first floor and carried on down. The scene that greeted me in the lobby was less than ideal. People were emerging from the lounge and library with stunned, worried expressions belying the cheery reindeer and snowmen on their Christmas jumpers. Julius Mundey was at the desk, hitting the bell repeatedly but off-beat to the wailing fire alarm, like he was lining it up to drop a remix club version of ‘the hotel – the hotel – the hotel is on fire’. The kids were clinging to their parents’ legs and hands. A barrage of questions assailed me, but I could barely hear any of them.
I stayed on the fourth step up so I could look across the room and cupped my hands around my mouth to amplify my voice. ‘Everyone, please exit through the dining room and wait on the lawn at the edge of the car park. We need to evacuate the building.’
When no one moved at first, I climbed down from my elevated position, cut through the crowd and opened the door to the dining room to usher them out. The Japanese couple were nearest and calmly took my invitation to Get the Hell Out. As soon as they started moving, the others began to file after them, thank God. The burning smell was getting stronger.
I didn’t wait for them all to leave. Not all the guests were in the lobby. I checked both the dining room and the bar – after unlocking it again – which were empty, and then cleared the library and the lounge of any lingerers with the same, simple message. I was a machine: downstairs toilet. Done. Office. Done. Kitchen next.
The moment I pushed through the door into the staff area, I could see smoke. My heart beat was loud enough, pounding in my ears to drown out the alarm. I had to go in there. I had to check there were no guests, even though it was unlikely. Once I’d checked each room, I’d go outside and head-count. Then wait for the fire service to arrive.
Cross my fingers and hope that I hadn’t burnt down my mother’s hotel.
I pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen and my eyes immediately began watering as I tried to see through the acrid blue-grey smoke. It was rolling out the top and side seals of the oven. I walked around the far wall, checking the corners of the kitchen it was difficult to see into.
There was no one else in the kitchen. The hotel was empty.
I could easily leave from the back door and get outside to do the headcount but some part of me hesitated. Maybe the part that felt like a captain who needed to go down with her ship…in other words the stupid, reckless part of me.
I couldn’t see any flames, just smoke. I grabbed the fire extinguisher from the wall, yanked the neck of my dress up over my mouth and nose and approached the oven. Even squinting through the smoke, I could see no orange or red licking out of the oven. It was so tempting to open the door to it, but I didn’t. If there wasn’t a fire, a sudden influx of fresh air would soon change that. Instead I turned the heat off. And then I pointed the chemical fire extinguisher at it and let rip.
Maybe it was unnecessary, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I’d worry about the mess and the contamination later. For now, I just wanted to make sure everyone was safe.
Once the extinguisher was empty, I pushed open the back door and the windows and let the smoke clear. When I was absolutely sure that the oven and the fat inside it were cooling, I went outside.
The fresh air, cut through with that extra clean snow smell, made me aware that I had been breathing in a fog of greasy smoke. I coughed as the cold air caught at my lungs. The adrenalin was draining away fast. It was bitter outside, but I knew it wasn’t the only reason I was shaking. I wrapped my arms tight around my chest and kept marching on.
