‘Your mum is considering selling the hotel.’
‘What? No way. She hasn’t said anything to me about it.’
‘She hasn’t wanted to burden you with it, while you’ve been getting over your break-up. She’s been concerned – we both have – that you’re avoiding thinking about the future, that you’ve given up your music. You’ve just seemed a bit…lost and she didn’t want to pull the stability of the hotel out from under your feet too. It’s your home.’
My mouth flapped open and shut while I tried to sort through the shock. Between the idea that my mum no longer wanted to run the hotel and the worries I’d obviously caused them both, it was difficult to know where to start.
‘But she loves the hotel. It’s been everything to her, for so long. Why does she want to sell it? Are there money problems?’
‘No, nothing like that. It’s just a lot of work for one person to manage. Much as I hate to say it, she’s not a spring chicken anymore. I suggested semi-retirement, appointing a manager, but she’s worried she won’t be able to hand over control to someone else. I think making a clean break seems easier than trying to find someone she could train up to run it the way she does and who she trusts completely…’ She tilted her head and widened her eyes meaningfully at me.
Ah-hah, now the pieces were slotting into place. My chest grew tight and I rubbed at my temples, where I could feel a headache coming on.
‘Right. I think I can join the dots. She wants me to stay on to help her out, so she doesn’t have to sell?’
‘Justconsiderit. Start thinking about what you want to do. It’s an option.’ She gave a big shrug and picked a chocolate chip out of the edge of her cookie.
I shook my head and downed the rest of my tea, putting my mug in the sink. ‘I haven’t got time to think about it at the moment. I’ve gotta run. You have a lovely Christmas, Lydia.’
She put her cup down and held her arms out for a big hug. ‘Merry Christmas, honey. Oh, hang on.’ She disappeared around the corner and hurried back holding out a sprig of mistletoe. ‘Here. Take this with you.’ She gave me a little wink. ‘You never know when it might come in handy.’
I took it because I didn’t have the energy to debate it with her and shoved it in my pocket as I left.
Chapter Fourteen
Back at the hotel Neeta was rubbing spices into meat, basting joints and stirring pots that were bubbling on the stove. Her cheeks had a dusky rose tinge to them and I’d never seen her chef’s whites so splattered. I still had the delivery note from the butcher in my pocket, alongside the sprig of mistletoe. As I pulled out the blue folder on the counter by the back door to file the paperwork away, I noticed a big red leather notebook nestled beside it. My mum’s notebook.
‘Neeta?’ I called, picking it up and nearly breaking my wrist. ‘Did you know my mum keeps her notebook out here in the kitchen?’
‘Urr…yes…were you looking for it?’ Her muffled voice came from inside the walk-in refrigerator. I was pleased Neeta was in there so that she couldn’t see my face because I really liked her, but I could’ve killed her at that moment. Had it really not occurred to her that my mum’s holy bible of hotel management would help me?
It was starting to make a lot more sense to me as to why Mum got so wound up at the little things people let slip or just plain didn’t think about. All those little things added to the big pile of crap she had to deal with every day. No wonder she was worn out from this place.
But when Neeta staggered out of the fridge with a ton of vegetables, I remembered that she was basically trying to fit two days’ worth of work into one to help me out, and I kept my comments to myself.
I took the notebook with me to the office, hung up my coat and settled down in the chair. When I pulled the elastic band off it sprung open independently, shedding business cards and wallpaper samples and leaflets. I flicked through it and to start off with it was not as illuminating as I would’ve hoped but then I found a list of agencies she used to fill in for staff holidays and sickness. God, that would have been so useful a couple of days ago. Was it even worth trying now? It was quarter to four on Christmas Eve; even if I got to speak to an agent, who was going to be willing to take on a job now? Well, I guessed I wouldn’t know if I didn’t start dialling.
Six phone calls later, four that went straight to answerphone, one with a receptionist who would ‘ask someone to get back to me’, and the final one with someone who was clearly drunk, I gave up. I carried on reading, trying not to panic too much about being the only person hosting Christmas Day and trying to co-ordinate an elaborate dinner for twenty-odd people.
Maybe I could enlist Dorie’s help again? She could just sit and instruct me what to do. I’d ask her the next time I saw her and if she said no… Well, it was always possible Mum would arrive back tonight like the best present Santa ever brought me. A girl could dream.
On a page that listed the Mince Pie Evening with the to-do list attached, I spotted my name and homed in on a line that had been crossed out:
Beth to help out playing piano in library for Carol Evening on Christmas Eve?
Why had she crossed that out? It sounded like a nice idea and judging by the way the guests had eaten up the Mince Pie Evening – pun totally intended – they would be well up for it. Had she assumed that I would be reluctant because I was reluctant about everything recently? Or because she and Lydia thought I’d given up music? I was still processing the conversation with Lydia, but the fact they thought I could just give up on music was almost as shocking to me as the idea that my mum wanted to sell the hotel. I’d given up imagining I could earn a living from it but not playing altogether.
WhatwasI going to do to earn a living now though? Could I take on a managerial role at the hotel?
I turned on the computer and printed out some sheet music. The piano was in the library, which was empty. I wondered what all the guests were doing to busy themselves between lunch and dinner, what with the bar not being open again. Clearly they weren’t reading.
It was an upright piano in the corner of the room beside the fireplace. Tucked away enough so it didn’t seem out of place in the library, because music and libraries generally don’t go hand in hand, but Mum had chosen to put it in there because then I would disturb fewer guests when I practised. As far as I knew, no one else had ever played it. Essentially, it was my piano. The stool was worn in the centre and fit my bottom perfectly.
I opened the lid and shuffled the music around on the rest, adjusted the distance of the stool so my feet could touch the pedals comfortably, laid my fingers on the keys and…the door creaked open behind me.
‘Hey.’
My stomach flipped over at the sound of Nick’s voice behind me and I hit a muddle of keys, emitting a jarring broken chord involuntarily.
