This is it. My new life. A fresh start, no boy worries, just me, the big city and my future.
At least that’s what I thought until two minutes ago.
“I’m sorry, miss. There ain’t no Neve listed here.”
I try really hard not to bite this guy’s head off and force my lips into a smile instead.
“It’s Gaelic,” I explain, for the seventeenth time since I got off the boat. “It’s spelled N-I-A-M-H.”
“Oh.” The little man behind the desk of my new halls of residence narrows his eyes and scans his list again. I notice the name on his polished steel badge saysDerek. “Oh, yeah, here you are. Weird spelling, innit.”
A series of almighty thumps interrupt him, and I turn to see a tall, pretty brunette. She’s busy dragging a huge suitcase down the steps into the foyer, panting from the effort.
“Excuse me,” she starts, before focusing big brown eyes on me. “Oh, sorry. I’ll wait.”
“No, it’s fine.” I gesture towards the desk. “Go ahead.” I’m getting nowhere with Oliver Twist here. It must be important if she dragged that massive bag all the way down here again. A cursory glance around had shown that there wasn’t a lift in the place.
“Oh, thank you so much!” She drops the case at the foot of the stairs and approaches the desk. A small diamond twinkles in her nose and I can’t take my eyes off it, it’s so cool. No one at home has their nose pierced, well unless you count Carrie Duncan from up the road, who got drunk and stuck her mammy’s hoop earring through her nostril, which I do not.
“Yeah?” Derek’s face is impassive as the girl twirls a loose curl around one finger. She has that effortless look of someone with money. Her dark hair is glossy, shot through with streaks of gold, and a loose silk camisole hangs delicately from one shoulder. I’ll bet anything it’s vintage.
“It’s my room, it’s too high up,” she begins. “I need to change.”
Derek holds up a raised palm. “No more rooms,” he barks. “Irish here got the last one.”
Nice.
“But I haven’t even checked in yet,” I protest.
The girl whirls on me, grabbing my arm. “You haven’t?”
“Er, no, I’ve just arrived.” I look down at her hand on my arm. She’s not letting go.
Awkward.
“What floor is she on?” The girl turns those brown, melting eyes on the self-proclaimed guardian of the rooms and he checks his ledger.
“Second.”
She turns to me again. “That’s perfect! How are you with heights?”
“Er. . .” I don’t know, is the honest answer. Most of the houses in the little town I’m from are bungalows and there isn’t a high rise between my house and Dublin, not that I’ve ever seen, anyway. I quite liked standing on the top deck of the boat coming over, though. “Fine, I guess.”
“Oh my God, I love your accent!” She squeals, pumping my arm so enthusiastically I can’t help but laugh. “Would you swap? Pretty please? I’m on the tenth floor and I am just terrified of heights. Terrified. I can’t even stand on a chair.”
She’s so . . . eloquent, I think is the right word. I’ve never met anyone this posh or charming in real life before. Her voice seems to drip honey and diamonds compared to my country twang.
“Yeah, sure, that’s grand with me,” I turn to the man. “Is that all right with you, Derek?”
“Doesn’t bother me,” he shrugs. “Give Irish your keys, then.”
“It’s Niamh,” I repeat through gritted teeth.
The girl holds out a small, worn plastic keyring, its corners chipped and scratched, two small silver keys dangling from it. Room 1012. Mine for the next six weeks. “Like Neve Campbell? That’s so retro!”
“Er, sure,” I reply, taking the keys from her and smiling. Mental note – find out who Neve Campbell is.
“Here.” Derek thumps another set of keys and a thick packet of paperwork on his desk. 215, the room I should have been in. “Sign your name there, Missy, and fill the rest of this lot out for tomorrow.” He hands me a chewed blue biro that I take gingerly, with great care not to touch the end. I practise my signature (any excuse) and hand it back. He doesn’t bother to change our room numbers on the paperwork, I notice. I guess it doesn’t really matter.
