Australian Secrets. Fiona McCallum
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geometric design that was probably meant to be floral but to Nicola looked more like fuzzy monsters top to tail with their mouths open, screaming. God, she’d go mad if she stared at that too long!
‘Bath,’ she crooned. ‘At least there’s a bath.’ That could almost be considered a feature to redeem all, she thought, as she pulled the clear plastic shower curtain, with strategically placed palm leaves, aside. Great, she’d have to soak with her ankles wedged under her bum, it was so bloody small.
Nicola plonked herself askew on the toilet and put a hand over her mouth to stifle the erupting giggles.
Bloody Bill. This was no doubt his way of stopping her getting big-headed. She laughed even louder when she caught sight of the time-yellowed, once-considered-slimline phone by her left shoulder, and was unable to resist.
‘Hey, it’s me.’
‘Hey,’ Scott replied, his voice crackling and hollow through the ancient handset.
‘Just wanted to let you know I arrived safely.’
‘Thanks – good to know. How was the trip?’
‘Exhausting. But can you believe there was nowhere to eat along the way – I’m absolutely starving. And of course I get here and they’ve stopped serving meals. Missed it by ten minutes.’
‘I’m sure Bill’s budget will stretch to a meal from room service.’
‘There is no room service.’
‘Thank God for mini-bars then, hey?’
Nicola began to laugh. Was she becoming delirious from tiredness and hunger?
‘Scott, you would so not believe this place. It’s like something out of …’
‘Apparently the place we’re going to this week has only four stars. Can you believe it? The rooms probably won’t even have baths. I hope you’ll think of me slumming it while you’re soaking in your tub full of bubbles.’
‘Well I’m in the bathroom but …’
‘Phone in the bathroom, eh? Bill really is taking care of his star these days.’
‘Well actually it’s …’
‘Look hon, I’d love to hear all about your marble and complimentary toiletries but I’ve really gotta run – sorry.’ ‘Right, um, okay. I’ll let you go … Love you.’ ‘Yeah me too, bye.’
Feeling refreshed after her shower, but again reminded of her hunger, Nicola ventured back across to the hotel.
The reception desk now had a cage pulled down over it with a sign that read Closed – All Enquiries To Front Bar.
Swallowing her apprehension, Nicola pushed the door marked Front Bar open and made her way inside.
‘Settled in okay then?’ Tiffany asked.
‘Yes thanks.’
‘What can I get you?’
‘Um … er …’ Nicola frantically searched the menu for something remotely appetising.
‘Something to drink while you decide?’ ‘Do you have a wine list?’
‘There’s probably one somewhere around here,’ Tiffany said, ducking down behind the bar. It didn’t bode well.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll just have a beer thanks.’
‘Hey Tiff,’ a loud voice called from around the corner. ‘Dry argument around ‘ere luv.’
‘Come on,’ another called.
‘Just bloody hang on,’ Tiffany muttered, thumping the glass in front of Nicola and accepting her money.
Nicola had been staring at the menu a full minute when a voice next to her said, ‘The toasted sandwiches are the closest thing you’ll get to sustenance.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, turning. She frowned; the dark features were a little familiar, but from where she wasn’t sure. ‘Have we met?’
The guy smirked. ‘Yep.’
‘When?’
‘Oh, about three hours ago,’ he said, looking at his watch.
Nicola blushed furiously as she realised he was her flight companion – the one who’d held the sick bag for her – the one whose hand she’d held. Oh my God, she silently groaned, could the day get any worse?
‘Um, I’m really sorry about all that,’ she muttered, waving an arm casually, feeling anything but casual.
‘Alex. Even though we’ve already been somewhat intimate, it’s a pleasure to meet you,’ he laughed, thrusting his hand at her.
‘Nicola, highly embarrassed,’ she mumbled, shaking hands.
‘Ah, don’t be.’
‘Right, can I get you anything to eat?’ Tiffany asked, reappearing. ‘The ham and cheese toasted sandwiches are almost edible,’ she offered.
‘Great, I’ll have one thanks,’ Nicola said. ‘Care for a game of pool?’ Alex asked.
Why the hell not? Nicola thought. Things could only get better.
Nicola scowled at the crude sketch of the hotel motel in cream on the gleaming chocolate brown plastic placemat. Despite scanning the Yellow Pages and finding a caravan park the only other option, she was still in denial. Surely there was somewhere else to stay.
She was also in denial about the amount she’d had to drink. Disconnected images flickered through her mind, vague and grainy like an old silent movie. It couldn’t have been the drink – the ham must have been off.
‘Good morning.’ It was Tiffany from the night before.
The kid was sweet enough but far too bloody cheery when one was suffering a hangover and stiff back. Nicola glowered in response.
‘Bread, butter and spreads over there by the toaster, cereal and milk on the table, plates and cutlery on the bench,’ Tiffany rambled. ‘Help yourself,’ she added. ‘Can I get you a coffee, or perhaps you’d rather a tea? I’ve just put a pot on.’
‘Coffee, thanks.’ As Tiffany bounded away, Nicola wondered if the pot she’d referred to was for tea, and instantly regretted her request. In her experience coffee that came in a pot was rarely drinkable.
Maybe there was a coffee machine hiding out in some back room and it wouldn’t be so bad. She hoped so, because the only thing she could see making her feel better was a decent latte or three.
She got up for a closer inspection of the breakfast offerings. The cereals were all in little boxes, brightly adorned to attract the attention of children. She sighed and stuck two pieces of grain bread into the nearby toaster, more for something to do to pass the time.
Nicola stared at the toast she’d just cooked. It looked about as nutritious as cement. Tiffany appeared beside her and put down a tray with a plain white mug of inky black coffee, a small ceramic jug of milk and a matching bowl of white sugar.
‘Thanks,’ Nicola said, and set about doctoring her coffee. Fingers crossed.
She took a tentative sip and almost dropped the cup as her tongue was burnt. She put the mug back on the table with a grimace. ‘Sorry, is it too hot?’ Tiffany asked. ‘Not your fault.’
The beverage’s temperature was the least of its shortcomings, but Nicola curbed her desire to point out its flaws. It was bitter, watery, and had almost no depth of flavour. Could it actually be the worst cup she’d ever tasted? It was a little hard to tell now that she’d burnt