Everything is fine now. Everything is going to be fine. Appear calm, show them there’s nothing to worry about.
The guests were all staring at the hotel like they had developed x-ray vision and could discern what was going on inside if they stared hard enough. Or maybe they were just waiting to see the inferno engulf it, along with all their luggage and dreams of a wonderful Christmas.
‘Everything is okay,’ I started. It was a strong opening I felt. That’s what they most wanted to know. Except for all the other questions they wanted answering too. ‘The alarm went off because of a bit of smoke. There’s no fire. Everything is under control. I just need to do a head-count and go in and turn off the alarm and contact the local fire service and then you can all come back in.’ I didn’t know how I was coming up with all these calm, reassuring statements. I was listening to myself saying them and it was like I’d been possessed by the Spirit of Christmas I-Will-Get-Through-This.
I walked along the line, trying not to meet anyone’s eye as I counted the numbers and made sure they were all there. Nick was still carrying his nan, which I think was concerning some people, but she was awake and looking annoyed about being out in the cold, so anyone who thought she was injured from the non-existent fire would soon figure out that wasn’t the case. Nick clearly wanted to ask me what was going on and probably a whole lot of other stuff but, thankfully, he seemed to know that doing it in front of all the guests would do me no favours.
I went in and did exactly what I’d told them I would do. It took a while, waiting on the phone to talk to the fire service, and they weren’t convinced they shouldn’t come, and thenIbecame unsure whether they shouldn’t come. But when I checked on the kitchen, the smoke was no longer coming from the oven and was clearing out the door. A white, crumbly, foaming mess was dripping along the counter and on the floor.
When I finally told everyone they could come in, I watched them filing past me to go back up to their rooms, looking cold and wary, and I smiled at them all.
Everything’s fine. Everything’s fine, my smile said.
As soon as they were all back in, I went upstairs. I picked up the cold coffee en route, took it into the flat, poured it down the sink, watched the granules pooling around the plughole…and then I threw up. My stomach turned over, the shaking returned and I retched into the sink.
What was I going to do?
I had dug myself a Christmas-dinner-shaped grave. No – I hadcrematedthe Christmas dinner. I had nearly cremated thehotel.
I felt angry, briefly, at being put in this position but that wasn’t actually going to help me out at all, so I just started feeling sick again instead.
I’d just told them everything was fine. They were all shaken, unnerved, desperately hoping that Christmas Day was about to get back on track and this would just be an interesting anecdote to tell their friends and family about when they met up with them after their holidays.
I had nowhere left to go with the lies. There was no goose. There was barely a kitchen to plate up the food that Neeta had bust her butt to prepare yesterday.
I leaned my head on the edge of the metal sink, absorbing the coolness. There was no way that the hotel was going to get a good review now. Those sneak-peek blog posts had proven that whoever the Hotel Hopper was, they didn’t take any prisoners and they had a sensational story to complain about now. The hotel’s reputation was going to be dragged through the muck. Incompetent, dangerous, chaotic. I’d managed to tick all those boxes. And if Mum did want to sell, prospective buyers would be able to drive down her price.
As my brain scrambled desperately to find a way out of the situation, I realised I’d been lying to them all for days. Pretending that everything was okay to keep up an illusion. I was no better than Peter. My stomach churned again. I’d thought I’d been doing the best, but all I’d done was made a dangerous pretence that I had to now tear down, in the middle of Christmas Day.
Perhaps if I’d been honest from the start, about the lack of staff, they’d have had realistic expectations of what their stay would be like. They might have been able to arrange an alternative dinner at one of the restaurants in the nearby towns. It wouldn’t have been perfect – they still wouldn’t have been happy, but they might not feel as betrayed as they were going to when I admitted the complete, utter mess I’d got myself into.
I had to go down there and ruin two dozen people’s Christmas Day. I was the anti-Santa and they were going to hate me. I was going to get shouted at most likely and I wasn’t really the kind of girl who couldn’t take a bit of confrontation, but no one wants an entire room of people to turn on them. No one wants to be left in charge of their mother’s amazing hotel and then systematically ruin its reputation and the Christmas of two dozen perfectly lovely people…even Julius Mundey deserved better than this.
I took a deep breath, but my nausea only increased. My body was sinking back into the memory of the humiliation I’d felt when Peter had called me stupid in front of our dinner party guests. The way all those eyes had settled on me with a mix of disdain and pity, wondering how one person could make such a mess of things. My heart rate kicked up and my adrenalin was racing, squeezing my lungs, making it seem as though a heavy weight was pressing, pressing on my chest and the only way to relieve it was to run.
I couldn’t run. I knew that was not an option. That would be unfair and cowardly and even though I was shaking and sweating, I was going to do this. The only way to salvage any reputation for the hotel was to squarely take the blame for it. If they focused all their ire on me, perhaps the hotel would just scrape through the scandal as one of the victims too. A victim to my poor decision-making.
I poured myself a glass of water, chugged it back even though it did nothing to alleviate the scratchiness of my throat. Then I went and brushed my teeth. I thought I heard knocking on the flat door at one point, but I ignored it. If that was Nick, I couldn’t see him at the moment. He at least knew what was going on but if anyone showed me even a glimpse of sympathy, I knew I was going to crack and hide under the covers.
And I needed to stop relying on other people to clean up my messes or hold my hand as I charged into things without thinking them through properly.
I checked my watch when I emerged. One thirty p.m. The time dinner was scheduled for. Wonderful. Perfect.
Everyone was in the dining room. Waiting for their dinner. I tugged at my red dress, achieving nothing because there was nothing wrong with it in the first place, and I pushed my way into the room.
Absolutely nothing happened. All the guests continued talking, completely oblivious to my presence. They were chatting excitedly, the events of the day giving them lots of conversation fodder. They were probably venting because they were traumatised.
Nick, Stephen and Dorie weren’t there understandably. Noelle was, scribbling quickly in her notebook. All the drama was useful to her at least.
With shaky legs, I walked myself into the centre of the U, so there was no escaping it. I was surrounded. A gladiator at the coliseum.
I clapped my clammy hands together and everyone quieted.
‘Hi, everyone,’ I squeaked and had to stop and clear my throat. I didn’t know what to do with my hands now that I’d clapped them, so I just clasped them in front of me, in a surreptitious prayer pose. ‘I’m afraid I’ve got a bit of a…confession to make.’ The room grew even quieter. I made the mistake of looking at some of their faces, expressions ranging from worry to bemusement. Now the excitement of the fire alarm was over, that was all it was – a bit of excitement.
And little Holly, Mrs Henderson’s daughter, with a small smile on her lips, as though she couldn’t imagine anything awful happening on Christmas Day. And it wasn’t awful. Not to a kid probably. She just wanted to get back to her presents anyway. But if it made her parents unhappy, it would make her unhappy.
I dropped my gaze to a spot on the carpet.
