pretend I’m brave, that I don’t give a shit, that being shoved out on the front desk doesn’t feel like I’ve been strapped into stocks in the town square.
“I’d be nervous,” Jake says. “I wouldn’t know what to say.” He rests his right hand tentatively on the front desk. He wants to reach for me, but he won’t.
“I don’t know.” I pause. “It’s better than cleaning toilets, I suppose.”
“Jake—where the hell are you? Jake!”
Jake drops his hand. We turn towards the shouting.
“I’d better go,” he says, already halfway to the stairs. He doesn’t look back to smile or wave—he can’t. There’s a great deal our boss can’t tolerate, but waiting is what makes the veins in his bald head bulge the soonest.
Behind the desk, I glare at the phone, willing it to stay silent. I pick a few stray long hairs from the sleeve of my hotel-issue polyester shirt. I’m too dishevelled for this job. I curse Cassie. She should be here, the front desk princess. Beautiful Cassie, voluptuous as a vase of peonies. Beside her, I’m a daffodil. We used to clean rooms together, but Cassie was always keen to get promoted. It’s more money, more prestige. You don’t have to wear a dowdy uniform and you earn your wage grinning at guests, instead of sticking your head in toilet bowls smelling (hopefully) of Harpic. Personally, the fewer people I see the better. Garrick is quite enough to swallow down every day.
Speaking of swallowing, it’s a not-so-secret secret that Cassie did exactly that to get herself transferred up from the toilets to the front desk. Garrick’s not managed to get those greedy hands very far with me—I’ve made sure we’re never alone for long enough. So he can only grope, fondle, and insinuate.
One day I’ll take something heavy and bring it down hard on his bald head.
Standing behind the front desk, wearing the hotel crest and a rictus grin, I feel the press of my notebook in my pocket. I can’t scribble out here, which is perhaps the worst thing about being put on the front desk. You see, I’m not simply a thief but a writer too. Possibly even a poet, but only by my own measure. I accommodate a constant chatter in my mind, a commentary on every mundane event of my life. I can’t control it. But I write down anything worthwhile when I can. It soothes my mind a little.
Since I can’t write, I think about Teddy. I wonder what he’s learning, what new facts are now widening his eyes with excitement. Thinking about my little brother always settles me. He’s nearly ten and everything a child should be: innocent, joyful, kind. I’ll make sure he stays that way. Whatever it takes. He’s a good soul; I was a lost cause a long time ago.
After rent and bills, most of my wages go towards Teddy’s school fees: £8,590 a year. And since I earn £7.57 per hour for sixty-three hours a week, that’s where the thieving comes in. I know he could go to a state school, but he’s so happy at Saint Faith’s. And, after everything, I want him happy for as long as possible. So, on occasion, I relieve our richer guests of their frivolous possessions. It’s surprising what people don’t miss when they have too much.
“Excuse me?”
I glance up to see a gentleman gazing down his roman nose at me.
“S-sorry, s-sir, I didn’t—how may I help you?”
He ignores my smile, my attempts to rewind inattentiveness.
“Charles Penry-Jones,” he says. “We’re staying ten nights. My wife requested a room overlooking the courtyard.”
I nod. I have no small talk to offer. I only pray the wife’s request has been heeded. I’ve no finesse with irate guests. They twist me up with their condescension and contempt.
I tap the name into the computer and it comes up trumps, the wife’s request and all. When I look up again, he has appeared at Penry-Jones’s side.
He is tall and slender but strong, like a silver birch tree, and almost as preternaturally pale—hair blond as sunlight cresting its topmost branches. The irises of his eyes are half a dozen shades of green: the lightest of newly seeded grass, of fresh shoots in spring; dark forest green; grey laurel green; bright pine green; shining myrtle green; creamy avocado green . . . He gives me a small, self-conscious smile. I stare back at him and then, all at once, feel something I’ve never felt before—suddenly and entirely alight.