Love Me Or Leave Me (27 page)

And suddenly it’s a case of all hands on deck, as any and all staff still on the premises leap to it. All around me I can see uniforms flying here, there and everywhere, opening all exit doors to marshal guests safely outside.

The fire brigade are automatically alerted the minute an emergency like this breaks out, and they even call me back to tell me they’re on the way. Trouble is, in all of the chaos and with the racket of the alarm blaring away in the background, I can hardly hear a word they’re trying to tell me.

‘Evacuate all guests out of the hotel immediately,’ a man’s voice is barking down the phone at me, sergeant-major style as I race up to the top floor to start doing exactly that. ‘And once they’re outside, don’t let anyone back in again …’

‘I’M SORRY,’ I have to yell back over the alarm. ‘CAN YOU SPEAK UP PLEASE?’

‘Remember the lift is completely out of bounds –’

‘IT’S OKAY, IT’S AUTOMATICALLY DEACTIVATED WHENEVER THE ALARM GOES OFF …’

‘Also, make sure you feel all door handles before opening them. If they’re hot to touch, don’t open them. If there’s a guest trapped inside a room, we’ll get them out through a window.’

‘WINDOW. OKAY. GOT IT,’ I shout breathlessly, thinking, please for the love of God don’t let it come to that.

‘Also, you need to instruct staff to close all doors and tell guests to keep their heads down low if there’s smoke …’

‘YES, WE’RE ALREADY ONTO IT –’

‘And make sure to check the kitchen area, closing all doors there behind you. Most hotel fires start in the kitchen. We’ll be with you in five.’

The rest of what he says to me is totally drowned out by the roar of a fire brigade siren, so I click off and finally get to my station on the top floor, just like we drilled.

I bump into Liliana from Reception already knocking on bedroom doors as I immediately start helping to evacuate guests from their bedrooms. ‘Kitchens are cleared, Chloe,’ she has to shout at me to be heard. ‘And there’s definitely no fire there. My guess is it has to have started upstairs, probably in one of the bedrooms.’

As you’d expect, a lot of guests have already been disturbed and are sticking anxious heads round bedroom doors, wanting to know exactly what’s going on. But this is all part of our training and all around me, I can see the whole team quickly and efficiently dealing with this. Urging everyone to remain nice and calm, to leave all personal belongings behind and to follow staff outside to our assembly point. Big, calm smiles everywhere you look, notwithstanding the blaring that would make you wish for a pair of earplugs.

‘Oh my lord, this is such an adventure!’ I can hear Jayne drawl in the Noo-Yawk accent. I catch a quick glimpse of her on the landing in her dressing gown, the head of platinum hair covered in a net and clutching an old-fashioned vanity case, as one of the lounge staff guides her towards the emergency stairwell.

‘But if you think for one minute I’m leaving this little beauty behind,’ she says, patting the case and circling a protective arm around it, ‘then you’ve got another thing coming. Every single piece of jewellery that I own is in here. Everything Larry ever gave me. And you’ll have to prise it outta my cold, dead hands to get it off me!’

All of my couples from Germany and Finland are already out of bed and leading the way downstairs and from all corners of every corridor, guests are streaming out of their rooms and following them. And aside from the din the alarm is making, everyone’s being reasonably calm, thankfully. So far.

I knock on Andrew Lowe’s door, but no sooner do I rap against it, than he steps out, wearing a paisley dressing gown so expensive looking that the only other person who might possibly wear it is Noel Coward.

‘Fire alarm?’ he asks, looking pale-faced and exhausted. ‘Do you know where it’s broken out?’

‘I’m afraid not yet, Mr Lowe, but there’s absolutely nothing to worry about, it’s just standard procedure that we evacuate all guests downstairs.’

‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘If you’ll just make your way to the fire exit, that would be terrific, thanks …’

‘But Lucy – my wife –’

‘Don’t worry sir, I’ll personally see to her.’

The next door I hammer on is Dave’s and there’s a quick, ‘gimme a minute!’ before he opens up and comes out barefoot, dressed in a pair of boxer shorts and a Bruce Springsteen t-shirt, hair glued to the side of his head and standing up on end, like he’s just stuck two fingers in a plug socket.

‘I’m so sorry to disturb you …’ I begin to say, but he interrupts, practically sleepwalking past me in a somnambulant state. ‘S’alright,’ he groans. ‘But if this turns out to be a hoax, then Ferndale Hotels can send me on an all expenses paid hollier to Vegas. At the very least.’

Then a white-faced Dawn comes racing out of her room, looking like a waif from a Victorian melodrama in a long white nightie.

‘I heard the racket; is it the fire alarm?’ she asks worriedly.

‘Absolutely nothing to be concerned about, everything’s under control,’ I tell her. ‘Now all you need to do is follow me to the emergency stairwell and make your way outside. Don’t worry, staff will be there to guide you and this will all be over within no time.’

Jeez, it’s astonishing how much more blasé and confident I sound, than I actually feel.

I guide Dawn to the stairs, where big, burly Tommy, bless him, is waiting to show her the rest of the way and it’s Jo’s door next. I rap briskly against it, but she’s a step ahead of me and has it opened instantly, the only person to come out fully dressed and trailing a wheelie bag efficiently behind her. Suit, tights, the whole works, looking like she’s on her way to a corporate takeover meeting, unlike everyone else, drifting around in various states of undress and low-level panic.

‘I wasn’t asleep anyway,’ she says a bit waspishly, ‘but if this doesn’t turn out to be a hoax, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid Ferndale Hotels will be hearing a lot more from me.’

And not for one second do I doubt it.

‘Standard procedure,’ I smile at her and guide her safely on her way. ‘But it would be best if you leave your bag behind.’

‘Sorry, but it’s out of the question. No, not even for you, Chloe. Everything I need to get divorced is in here and if it goes up in flames –’

She doesn’t even finish the sentence. Like the very thought propels her to get the hell out of here as fast as is humanly possible.

Lucy’s next. Takes a few goes, but she eventually answers, without my having to resort to using my passkey. She’s groggy and a little red-eyed, but still looks a helluva lot more presentable than I would, given the state the woman was in a few short hours ago.

‘Feck this anyway. What’s up now?’ she asks me, blunt as ever.

‘Nothing to worry about, but the thing is I just need you to …’

‘Fire alarm?’

‘I’m afraid so, but this is just a precaution –’

‘Shite.’

‘I know, but I really have to insist –’

‘Ahh come on Chloe, do I have to go too? It’s just my head is pounding.’

‘I’m afraid all guests must be evacuated immediately, so if you wouldn’t mind just –’

‘Bugger it anyway. And when I get to the evacuation point, I suppose HE’LL be there?’

Fire drill in progression or not, there’s no denying the full import of what she’s asking me.

‘All guests are required to be outside at this point, yes.’

‘Fair enough,’ she groans, then goes back inside to change. I knock on the door beside her and a heartbeat later she reappears, dressed in the most immaculate nightie, long, silky and flowing, that honestly makes her look all tall and gorgeous, like a Helen of Troy about to grace Fitzwilliam Square with her presence.

‘Right then. Which way?’ she asks, betraying absolutely no sign that she must currently be nursing the hangover from hell. I point her in the right direction and she’s on her way.

Last and final room on this floor. Kirk. Who knowing him, probably could answer the door stark naked on account of he’s doing nude yoga or something. I brace myself and knock.

No answer. Knock again. Still no answer.

Right then. Sorry, but this is what happens in an emergency and I’ve no choice in the matter. I whip my passkey out of my jacket pocket, swipe it and barge my way inside.

And lo and behold there he is, with his iPod headphones glued to his ears, completely tuned out and utterly oblivious to all the racket and panic. He’s perched on the windowsill, with the window thrust wide open, smoking out of it and blissfully unaware that the whole room is thick with smoke by now. In a flash, the smell alone tells me what it is he’s been puffing away on.

Dope. I’d know it a mile off and not just from a couple of misguided puffs at college either. And now suddenly, it all makes sense. The smoke detector in his room is blaring away and of course, this automatically would have triggered off the main smoke alarm.

It all started in here, I think, instant fury flooding through me. There is no shagging fire and there never was. It’s just Kirk and his bloody spliff.

And right at this moment as I look at him, all calm and cool, peacefully looking out the window with his earphones plugged in, I happily think I could shove him out the window and just be done with it. Dawn would probably hand me a medal and it would serve him right for jeopardizing my entire career.

Kirk clocks me instantly, but instead of stubbing out the joint and looking guilty, like any normal person would, he just nods at me benignly, gesturing at me to join him.

‘You gotta try some of this grass,’ he half whispers, his eyes all blurry as he attempts to focus on me. ‘It’s seriously good stuff.’

Not a bother on him that the hotel manager is hovering over him, arms folded, with a thunderous expression that might as well say, ‘Start packing your bags now, hippie boy.’

He can’t hear a word I’m saying, of course, with the headphones stuck in his ears, so I’m forced to lean into him and physically click off his iPod. In a split second, he registers the blaring alarm, but instead of hopping to, like a normal person, instead he just shrugs and says, ‘That me who set it off, huh?’

‘Yes, sir,’ I say as politely as I can, given that my teeth are clenched tight. ‘I’m afraid it was, and now I’m going to have to ask you to evacuate the hotel. Along with the rest of our guests who are all making their way to the outdoor assembly point, right now.’

‘Bummer. Sorry if I caused you any hassle.’

If?
I want to yell at him, as I follow him out of the bedroom and guide him downstairs.
If
you caused me any hassle? Because of you, on our very first night, every single guest and member of staff are currently shivering in their night attire out in Fitzwilliam Square and you’re asking if you
might
have caused hassle?

I don’t though. Instead I stay tight-lipped and quietly furious as I escort him off the premises. We’re the very last out of the hotel, so I guide Kirk towards where everyone else is standing at the assembly point, just in front of Fitzwilliam Square, directly adjacent to Hope Street.

Staff are efficiently buzzing around everyone, assuring them that they should be able to re-enter the hotel shortly, while guests stand around looking a) the way anyone would look after a broken night’s rest and b) extraordinarily pissed off.

‘All present and correct,’ Chris tells me breathlessly. ‘I’ve just done a full headcount.’

I’m just about to thank her and all the team for a job so well executed, when two things happen simultaneously. The fire brigade swoops round the corner and lands outside the hotel, all sirens blaring.

Then a taxi pulls up right alongside it.

Red-eyed and a little bleary, like he’s been travelling all day and still hasn’t come up for air, out steps Rob McFayden.

*

The second handwritten letter had been shoved under her door just before dawn.

My darling.

Do you remember our very first holiday together? We rowed about it, I’m pretty confident from the whole idea’s first inception. I was, ahem, let’s just say a tad limited when it came to matters monetary, whereas you didn’t particularly give a rat’s arse where we went as long as it was in a five-star hotel somewhere on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. They were your conditions.

My humble suggestion was that we should head to Edinburgh for festival week and catch a few shows. Scotland, I thought. You’d love that, I figured. Who wouldn’t? Theatre and romance and a few boozy nights all combined with a bit of culture. I thought that would surely appeal to my highbrow amour? After all, it was our very first holiday together. Vital to get it right.

Row one was when you point blank refused to consider it, claiming that the only shows actually worth seeing would have been booked out way in advance, which meant we’d be left sitting in damp cellars watching would be stand-up comedians recycling stale gags, in the hopes they might end up winning a coveted slot on
Mock The Week
.

But you wanted to go to Manhattan, you insisted. So what part of ‘I’m stony broke,’ don’t you understand, was my counter argument. Hence row two. Which if memory serves, lasted right up until I came up with a plan that I thought was the answer to our prayers. Unknown to you, I’d trooped to a letting agency and managed to get a short lease on a tiny holiday cottage down in the wilds of Wexford. Why not give this a whirl? I asked you, presenting you with a fait accompli. Romantic log fires, I pitched. Long, lazy strolls down winding country lanes through the mist, I told you. We’ll be like a couple in an ad for Bord Na Móna peat briquettes.

You reluctantly agreed, and even though I could tell you weren’t all that keen, I knew you did it for me. God, I loved you for it. For not making me feel in any way embarrassed just because I didn’t exactly have the same financial clout as you did. For not judging me, just because New York was out of the question.