‘I don’t think you’re a liar because he was. I think you’re a liar because you’restilllying to me, even though I’ve told you that I know the truth. Get out. Get out now.’
His blue eyes burned into mine for the space of a heartbeat and then he shook his head again. ‘Okay. I’m going.’ He slammed out of the door to the kitchen and I turned back to the sink so I didn’t have to look at the empty space where he’d been standing.
I plunged my hands into the hot water once more and carried on scrubbing with a fury, as though I could erase all the anger and creeping humiliation and pain.
I don’t know how much later it was when I cleaned and dried the last plate. I blinked as if coming out of a trance and went out into the hotel. Everything had quietened down. A lot of the older guests had gone to bed, as had the children, and there were just a few adults finishing off drinks in the bar and watching the TV in the lounge.
I avoided them and went into the library. The mess from the day was everywhere: sweet wrappers, empty glasses, wrapping paper and napkins. I didn’t think I could bear to do any more. My head was pounding and I’d just about had enough. I’d have to wake up really early and do it. All the guests were probably going to sleep in anyway. Yes, I’d tell myself that.
I hit the light switch to ease the strain on my tired eyes and the room immediately became more intimate, almost dizzying; soft, shifting colours of the fire burning out and the fairy lights on the Christmas tree. All the mess disappeared from view, which was a bonus too. I made my way over to the nearest armchair carefully, barely able to co-ordinate putting one foot in front of the other at this point without a leg failure or pratfall of epic proportions and sunk into it, vertebrae by vertebrae.
Just a little rest. Just for a moment. The door creaked open, and I slammed to my feet, ready to give Nick hell if he’d followed me in here.
But it wasn’t Nick.
‘Beth, what are you doing in here in the dark?’
‘Mum,’ I croaked, and I reached her in the space of a second. Her arms went around me, her fine hair tickling my nose as she hugged me tight.
‘I’m home, darling, I’m home.’
Chapter Twenty
Any brave face I’d been putting on promptly disappeared. I was barely coherent, snivelling onto my mum’s shoulder, and trying to apologise for everything. If she hadn’t been worried about what had transpired in her absence, she certainly would be after that. But instead of questioning me, she packed me off to bed like an overtired eight-year-old who’d overdosed on Haribo at a soft-play party, telling me it could all wait until tomorrow.
My dreams were full of tasks that looped over and over: loading the dishwasher; pouring drinks; making beds; dusting icing sugar. I went up and down and up and down the hotel stairs. It was more exhausting than being awake.
When I did wake, it was fully daytime and I bolted out of bed, into the living room. Mum was at the small table by our kitchenette, a half-full jug of coffee by her elbow, a laptop in front of her and a blue biro clamped between her teeth.
‘Youarehere – I almost thought I dreamt it.’ I shook my head and pulled off the silk scarf from around my hair. ‘What time is it?’
She removed the pen. ‘Nearly eleven.’
‘Whoa.’
‘I let you sleep. You needed it.’
I really had. I had missed my pyjamas. Getting to sleep in and wear my so-worn-they-were-almost-see-through cotton pyjamas was a luxury I’d been denied for too long. I grabbed a spare mug and joined her at the table, helping myself to a coffee from the pot. ‘So, how’s Grandad? Did you drop him at Auntie Cath’s?’
She closed the lid of her laptop softly and nodded. ‘We managed to make it down to London on Christmas morning but driving in those conditions was exhausting. Cath ended up convincing me to stay to eat before I headed down here.’ She chewed her lip in a very uncharacteristic way. ‘I never would’ve stopped if I’d known you were completely on your own. You should have told me about Henry.’
Of course, she knew. Neeta was in this morning and would’ve filled her in over breakfast.
‘I couldn’t get hold of you,’ I protested feebly.
‘You left me a couple of messages though. Before my phone died. When did it happen?’
I explained when I had caught Henry stealing, trying my best to be as honest as possible. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. Did I overreact? Should I have waited until you got back before we did anything?’ I leaned my head on my hand, propped up by the table. I was already beginning to feel tired again. Actually, it more like an odd combination of exhaustion and nervous energy. I hadn’t relaxed in days and it was like my body had forgotten how. ‘Was it true you gave his wife’s job to me because I came back to live here?’
Mum took a hair band from her wrist and scraped her hair back into a bun; a sign she needed to think. She got up and set about making me some toast even though I hadn’t asked for any. I waited, trying not to go mad all the while.
‘It’s sort of true.’ She set the toast before me. ‘I had mentioned that we’d need some extra help coming up to Christmas, and he’d suggested her, but then you came home and…well, you know how this place runs without training obviously, in so many aspects. I hadn’t even interviewed her.’
‘You didn’t interview me.’
‘No.’ She sat back down again and frowned into her coffee cup, licking the tip of her finger to wipe off a smudge on the lip of it. ‘I suppose that doesn’t seem fair. But interviewing you would be such a waste of time for everyone.’ She took a sip of coffee. ‘I didn’t realise they were in financial straits. He never should have stolen though. There’s no excusing that.’
‘Why do I feel so bad then?’ I sighed and attempted a bite of toast, even though my stomach reacted like I was trying to make it digest cardboard.
