Page 98 of My Kind of Happy

Chapter Twenty-eight

I was wrong about not being able to sleep. When my work phone started ringing I had to drag myself from the depths of slumber to answer it. Normally it was on do not disturb at night, but I’d kept it on, on the off-chance that Edelweiss called. They hadn’t.

‘Nina’s Flowers,’ I said in a croaky voice. I checked my bedside clock: five a.m.

‘This is Tim Sullivan, night manager at the Claybourne Hotel.’

I sat bolt upright. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Thought you’d like to know that you’ve had a massive delivery.’

I collapsed back against my pillows with relief. ‘Thank you. Yes, I was expecting them. I thought for a moment you were ringing with bad news.’

‘It is bad news; they’re blocking up my reception area.’

I got out of bed and went downstairs to make coffee. ‘I’ll make sure they’re out of the way before guests start to emerge.’

‘Hmm.’

‘Were you on duty when the Edelweiss team arrived last night, have they seen what I’ve done so far, do you know?’

‘They didn’t arrive.’

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Positive. It’s a right shit show down here. Oh, fff … please forget I said shit, I’m on my last warning for swearing.’

I wasn’t interested in his language; I was more bothered about the shit show part. I switched off the kettle; caffeine would have to wait.

‘Balls. I’m on my way.’

The next hour flew by in a blur.

I made myself presentable, took Scamp out for an abbreviated morning walk, dropped him off with Biddy (who was still in her dressing gown and slippers) and reached the hotel just after six o’clock. The Edelweiss itinerary would begin with a choice of herbal infusions and plant-based snacks in the main function room at nine-thirty; I had just over three hours to turn their little part of the Claybourne Hotel into a floral idyll. Assuming, of course, that the event was even still going ahead.

The car park was full, which must mean the hotel was busy. I parked as close as I could to the service entrance and headed inside, intending to check on last night’s work first. I tried the doors to the two rooms I was working in but they were both locked. I dashed along the corridor towards reception to find the night manager.

There was a crowd of people standing outside the restaurant already, mostly women. Hotel guests liked an early breakfast, it seemed. In the midst of them was a young woman in the hotel uniform of black waistcoat and white shirt, trying to keep the peace.

‘I’m sorry,’ she was saying, looking harassed. ‘But breakfast can only be served to those who’ve left credit card details at reception.’

‘For the love of God,’ snarled a man with a suspiciously orange tan. ‘How many times? We have paid Edelweiss already.’

A woman in a voluminous kaftan and a lot of eyeliner took a step forward.

‘You must let us in for breakfast,’ she barked at the poor girl who was having to guard the entrance to the restaurant with both arms. ‘It’s a basic human right.’

‘I think that’s water,’ said the woman behind her. ‘Not bacon and eggs.’

Kaftan lady glared at her. ‘Shut up, Amy, this is all your fault in the first place.’

I squeezed past and continued to reception.

This area was also hectic. A swarm of guests was gathered around the check-in desk and a young male member of staff was pleading with them to not all speak at once. Twelve boxes of flowers were stacked to one side and I winced in horror as a woman with long grey plaits balanced a tie-dye handbag on the top of the pile.

‘I was here first,’ she said, glaring at her fellow guests. ‘And I demand to see the manager.’

The young man pulled at his dark hair until it stuck up in unruly tufts. ‘That would be me. Tim Sullivan.’