The Woman Who Upped and Left: A laugh-out-loud read that will put a spring in your step!. Fiona Gibson
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up the wide stone steps and enter the hotel’s revolving doors. In the enormous foyer, the posh car man is waiting to be attended to at reception.
‘S’all right,’ Morgan mumbles.
‘I love you, darling.’
‘Love you too,’ he says grudgingly.
‘Did you enjoy the cakes?’
‘Haven’t tried them yet, had other stuff on my mind …’
I smile. ‘Like your T-shirt.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Have you managed to start the washing machine yet?’
‘Nah. Think something’s wrong with it …’
I inhale deeply and murmur, ‘Just hand-wash it, darling,’ and finish the call.
An elderly couple drift away from the desk, and the receptionist beams expectantly. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Erm, I think this man was first …’ I indicate the stranger, noting his soft grey eyes and the dark lashes around them. He has that bone structure thing going on: strong nose, defined jawline and chin. Bet he’s the sort who knows about wine and whirls it around and sniffs it instead of tipping it straight down his neck.
‘No, no, after you,’ he says graciously.
‘Oh, thank you.’ I pull my case towards the desk.
‘Do you have a reservation?’ The receptionist’s glossy black hair is tucked behind her dainty ears, and she has the kind of bright, white teeth that make ordinary un-veneered ones – the kind everyone used to have, perfectly serviceable teeth – look like trowels in comparison.
‘I’m Audrey Pepper,’ I say. ‘I’m here for the cookery course …’
She blinks at me. ‘The residential?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
There’s an almost imperceptible frown as she starts tapping away at her keyboard, still seeming unsure and perhaps suspecting that I’m trying to sneak my way in. ‘Ah, yes.’ Her pencilled brows shoot up. ‘Here you are. Oh, you’re in the honeymoon suite! It’s beautiful. I do hope you like it …’
‘I’m sure I will.’
‘If you could just complete this form …’
‘Yes, of course …’ I fill in my details and hand it back to her.
‘And if I could just take an imprint of a credit or debit card please …’ A wave of panic rushes over me as I rummage through my purse.
‘It is paid for, the room? The suite, I mean?’ I haven’t made some awful mistake and it’s not free after all? Sweat springs from my forehead.
‘Oh yes, madam,’ she says brightly, taking my card and swiping it before handing it back. ‘Great, all done. I’ll ask Jasper to show you to your room …’ She waves to a uniformed porter across the foyer. I hover, hoping Jasper’s too busy to help me because I’d rather find my room myself and avoid some sweat-making tipping scenario (not a problem at a Day’s Inn motel).
‘I’m on the cookery course too,’ the posh car man offers.
‘Oh, are you?’
His eyes crinkle appealingly. ‘You sound surprised.’
‘No, not really – I mean, I have no idea who goes on these kind of things. I won my place in a competition …’
‘Really?’ the receptionist asks. ‘Which one?’
I sense my cheeks flushing. ‘Dinner lady of the year.’
‘Wow!’ She bares her perfect teeth. ‘That’s, er, fantastic!’
‘Dinner lady of the year?’ the man exclaims in one of those rich, rounded voices that carries across a room. ‘Gosh, you’ll be showing the rest of us a thing or two …’
‘Oh, I don’t actually cook at school—’
‘Sorry, I just assumed …’
‘Don’t worry, everyone does.’ I smile.
‘So you’re not vastly experienced in the world of classic French cuisine?’
‘Not remotely,’ I reply, laughing. ‘To be honest, I don’t exactly know what it is.’
He chuckles. ‘Can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear that. We can sit in the dunce corner together …’
I laugh, sensing myself relaxing. ‘Sounds good to me.’
He reaches to shake my hand. ‘I’m Hugo. Hugo Fairchurch …’
‘I’m Audrey, Audrey Pepper.’
‘What a lovely, unusual name.’
I smile, taken aback by his enthusiasm. ‘Thank you. I must admit, no one’s ever said that before.’
‘It’s charming. Very memorable. See you at the welcome reception then,’ he says as the ridiculously buff young porter takes my suitcase and escorts me towards the lift. We wait in stilted silence. No one takes you to your room in the kind of places I usually stay at. But then, I have every right to be here, brassy highlights and charity shop dress and all. I can’t cook anything fancy but then neither can Hugo, who’s bantering away in jovial tones with the glossy receptionist. The lift arrives, and his voice rings out as I step in: ‘A dinner lady on a classic French cookery course. Isn’t that just so sweet?’
He didn’t mean to be patronising, I tell myself as I gaze around my suite. It’s just funny, to someone like him. He probably thinks we still dish up Spam fritters and disgusting mince with a tidemark of orangey grease floating around the edge. Anyway, never mind Hugo; I’m far too excited to feel annoyed about an offhand remark. I managed the tipping scenario by pressing a fiver into the porter’s hand (he looked faintly surprised; was it too little? Too much?) and, more importantly, this place is gorgeous. Floor-to-ceiling brocade curtains are held back with tasselled golden ropes, and the enormous four-poster bed is strewn with sumptuous furry cushions and throws. It is, I decide, unable to suppress a ridiculous grin, very Audrey.
Oh, she probably wouldn’t fling herself onto the bed with a whoop of delight – and with her shoes still on – like I do. But who’s watching? I stretch out like a giant starfish, relishing the bed’s vastness with the baby-soft covers billowing all around me. It feels like a continent compared to my bed at home. Thank God Stevie’s not here. It’s not that I don’t appreciate champagne, great sex and a Ginsters pasty. But if he were here he’d be pawing at me already and right now, I just want to be.
Scrambling up into a cross-legged position, I scan the room for a laminated card advertising the £5 all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet. Of course there isn’t one. No hum of motorway traffic either, or a crappy chipped desk. There’s a polished oval table and two plump armchairs upholstered in pink brocade which look as if no human bottom has ever parked itself on them. There’s a huge, velvety sofa – how much furniture does one person need? – and from here I can see there’s another sofa in my other room (two rooms, just for me!) perfectly positioned for gazing down at the walled garden below. The bathroom is dazzlingly bright, with white mosaic tiles, a vast oval bath and a shower that’s easily roomy enough for four. The elaborate chrome knobs and dials have settings to replicate various weather conditions: fine drizzle, summer rain, downpour. I’ll try them all, first chance I get. I’ll experience multiple climatic conditions.