He gets up and dressed for staff food at five. They sit chewing in quiet. Occasional bits of conversation. He asks Dia and Eric if it’s been busy and they tell him no, it’s Thursday, always quieter on a Thursday. On the other row of tables, where the receptionists sit, he spots the woman he spoke to the day he arrived. It’s the first time he’s seen her — probably she only comes down for the lunatic when she’s on a double, or maybe she brings her own food in usually, who knows? What does it matter? She is sat pattering with her co-workers. Smiling quite a lot as she talks. Probably that’s how she stands out, the smiling, it’s no exactly a common feature down here. Dia picks up his plate to get leaving, clapping Mick on the shoulder as he goes.
He stays and finishes his food, half listening to Obi and Vincent talking about an increase in their agency charge — Vincent hadn’t noticed it, but Obi is saying he’s seen it on his payslip — while across the way, she is the last of her group getting up. He waits for her to move over to the clearing table, and picks up his plate.
‘How’s it going?’ he says, standing in next to her.
‘Food could be better,’ she laughs, scraping her plate.
‘Look, see I was hoping to ask a favour, if it’s okay.’
A wee look of surprise, or unease.
‘Sure, what is it?’
‘It’s no a big one’ — he tries a smile — ‘it’s just I’m wanting some paper. Mean, I want to write a letter.’
A look of relief. ‘Of course, no problem. Tell you what, if you wait here a minute I’ll go fetch some for you now.’
He sits down at a table, watching her go. The heart is clappering, he realizes. Stupit crapbag.
She is back quickly.
‘This enough for you?’
He grins: he’d only wanted a couple of sheets but she’s brought him the whole caboodle — a full pad of hotel writing paper, a pack of envelopes and a biro.
‘Aye, that’ll do it. Thank you.’
She gives him a smile. ‘No problem. Let me know if you need anything else.’
Back in his room he sits down on the bed with the pad beside him. He tries to think. What is there to say but? There’s nothing. There’s everything of course but there’s no way to put it without saying things he doesn’t want to say. Without lying. See if Robbie knew the truth of it he’d be pure beeling. And no just with him either, with the whole family, Craig in particular. And then they’d all be drawn into it. They’d all know.
Dear Robbie,
I hope you and Jenna and Damien are well
is as far as he gets. He puts the pen down and stares about, trying to concentrate. Instead though he starts thinking about the receptionist. He doesn’t know her name. He should’ve asked her. I ought to have written you sooner, I know, or gave you a call, but everything’s went that fast I’ve lost track of how long it’s been. Which is kind of true, but it’s bullshit still. It isn’t what he wants to say. The truth is he just hasn’t called. He could have done, but he hasn’t, simple as that. Nay excuses. The thought of her again. Being friendly with him, no pitying, friendly. Smiling.
An erection. Christ. He looks at it a while. Ye dirty auld bugger, eh. He pushes the pad aside and sits there staring at his dobber. After a moment he gets up and goes to the door to spy a look into the corridor. A voice, or a radio, sounding quietly down the way, but there is nobody about, all of them working, or asleep, or whatever else it is they do.
He sits on the edge of the bed, cleaning himself off. It is uncomfortable. Sore. He bundles up the toilet roll and drops it into the waste bucket. That’s the letter writing by, well. No way he’s doing it now. But as he goes to put the pad on top of the table, leaving it there with the pen, a scunnery feeling is started welling inside him. Dear Robbie, I hope you and Jenna and Damien are well. That’s all he’s got to say. And now this carry-on. He needs suddenly to sit down, close the eyes, screw them tight, fight back the waves of disgust that are convulsing in his stomach.
His chest begins heaving, erratic wet dribbles coming out of his nose, and then when he does start to greet it isn’t in a great relieving burst like the other one he’s just had the now, it is a jerky, tight, drivelling kind of greeting, which doesn’t make anything the better because he knows as he’s doing it that it isn’t for her that he’s bubbling; it’s for himself. Self fucking pity. The desperate fucking emptiness of needing her there. Needing to tell her that he’s sorry, but no for her sake, for his own. Selfishness. He gets off the bed, glancing down, as he goes over to his work clothes, at the stiff little pouch that is sat in the bottom of the waste bucket.
He stays on the chair and watches the machine foaming up. He has stopped greeting and his eyes and his throat feel parched and raw. His dobber, too, a similar sensation. The din of the machine as it starts spinning is reassuring, keeping out the mob of thoughts, but a moment later somebody comes in; he can see their feet out the corner of his eye. They turn around on finding him there and are immediately away. A door closing somewhere down the corridor. Out the blue he starts chuckling: Christ knows what they must say about him when they’re all together.
Chapter 21
She is up early, before the alarm goes off. By half nine, she has washed, dressed and dried her hair, and has a full hour before she needs to set off for the terminal. She switches on her laptop and draws open first the curtain, then the thin veil behind it. On doing so, she wonders if maybe they are better kept shut. It’s not exactly the most appealing sight. Car parks upon car parks, an ugly trunk of ring-road, and, more immediately, a view into the corresponding room on the corresponding floor of the next hotel. Their curtains are still drawn, but the light is on. No doubt it looks pretty much the same in there as it does in her own room. The bright, speckled carpet and single chair; the watercolour print in wood-effect frame; the bedside ledge glued to the wall.
She checks in, then opens her inbox. There is a schedule attachment for the next ten days, which she should really have printed out earlier. It would have made life a lot simpler, and God knows what hoops she’d have to jump through to get it printed out in the hotel — it’s not exactly the kind of place that has a business lounge — so she gets out a pen and paper to write it out. It’s fine anyway. Gives her a chance to make some notes on one or two other things. When she’s done as much preparation as she can be fussed with before getting on the plane, she clears her inbox: a few emails from the coordinator and the internal auditor in Zagreb, one from her brother, and an invite to a party that she will be away for. The chambermaid comes in at one point, a couple of quick knocks and then her face sheepishly looking round the door. The girl apologizes — ‘sorry, sorry’ — and leaves. Closing up the laptop, she stands and goes to switch on the TV.
The trouble with these places, even after you’ve got over the concrete and the carpets, is always the heating. The windows don’t open to the outside so it’s inevitably a choice between sweltering, or spending an hour with the baffling control panel and ending up freezing. She decides to swelter. It doesn’t really matter; she’ll be on her way soon. Certainly she’s not going down for breakfast. She saw the restaurant on her way in last night. All plastic plants and unhappy Polish waitresses. Better to brave the airport prices and grab something in departures before she gets on the flight.
In the corridor outside the room, the housekeeper is knocking on another door. There is no sign around the doorknob, so, when no response comes from inside, she opens the door slightly for a look-in. A suitcase covered with clothes is visible on the floor by the wardrobe; she lets the door shut and goes back through the corridor. She has done all the rooms but two, and all but one on the floor above. With nothing else to do but hang about until they are vacated, she pushes the trolley into a lift and goes down to the laundry room. Inside, a few of the housekeepers are sitting and talking; another ironing bedsheets in the steam press. She takes a seat with the others, and waits.