And now for something completely different

Chapter 1

Lizzie didn’t expect much. But then, she didn’t get much either. Sometimes she didn’t know which came first, the not expecting, or the not getting. Most times, she didn’t care. So she wasn’t surprised that the front face of the building was a dirty grey, with dark window-eyes. ‘So what?’ the windows said, to the sea and to Lizzie. Neither deigned to answer. The hotel was no more than she was expecting. No more than she deserved.

Lizzie stopped in front of the hotel and frowned, checked against the piece of paper in her pocket, spat out her chewing gum, and stomped up the paint-flecked steps to the front door. She pushed the bell. Then pushed it again, and folded her arms.

Lizzie. Sixteen. Pale hair scraped into a merciless ponytail, and girlish rounded features that she subdued with menacing rings of black eyeliner. Lizzie eyed the world sceptically, mouth on one side, brows glowering. And the world regarded her back with some trepidation, moving swiftly out of the way as she fought her way through her day

After a few minutes the door opened a crack and a man inserted his head into the cold air,

“This,” he said, with an air of infinite patience, “is a hotel”. Seeing Lizzie’s obvious incomprehension he took it upon himself to elucidate, “- that means, at this time of day, you don’t have to ring a bell. You don’t stand out on the doorstep waiting for someone to take your bags. You just come in. That’s part of what being a hotel is. ” This was Archie. “I’m Archie.” he said, in a slightly conciliatory manner.

“Lizzie.”

“Well, Lizzie. What can I do for you?”

Lizzie thrust a piece of paper in his face. “I’m here from Connection. The temping agency. They said I should report to Veronica Symons.”

“Aha! Come with me.” And Archie sashayed his way in. “How long are you here for, Elizabeth?”

Ignoring, for now, the hated name, she replied, “Just a week. Perhaps two.”

“Ha! They all say that. You’ll be here for months.”

Lizzie decided upon silence, but her expression spoke for her. “Not if I have anything to do with it.” (Which, of course, she didn’t.)

They walked through the dark reception and past a desk with a bored young man sitting behind it. He whistled loudly and stared pointedly at Lizzie’s legs, “Well, hell-oooo!” and he stood up and leaned over the desk ostentatiously to watch her walk past.

“Ignore him!” said Archie, stiffly. Lizzie blushed. “That’s Carl. Just ignore him.

Lizzie waited until they were a couple of steps down the corridor to turn and have a quick look at whoever Carl was. When she turned he was still looking at her and he winked. She turned back, embarrassed, to find that Archie was giving her something of a tour, at top speed.

“Rooms number 103- 106 down there, 102 that way, 111- 117 over there, down that corridor and on the left.. although 117 is a bit of a bastard, it’s round the corner, the number’s fallen off the door. it looks like a cupboard – we get all manner of complaints.” She tried to nod thoughtfully, as though she was committing all this to memory. “Dining rooms and of course kitchens are this way- fire exit over there – club and bar that way,” his arms flailed dangerously as he pointed at top speed. “And Veronica- is here!”

And there she was. Five foot nothing. Mouth pursed. Hair bouffed and died brassy red. Eyes firm.

“You must be Lizzie.”

Lizzie mumbled something in response.

“You’re ten minutes late. Don’t think I won’t mark that on your time sheet.”

“Cheers.”

Veronica sniffed haughtily. “Don’t you ‘cheers’ me. And smile, young lady -it won’t kill you.”

“Got a good reason for me to smile?” Veronica looked askance. “Give me a good reason and I’ll smile. Okay?”

Veronica rearranged her formidable bosom very expressively. We’ll see about her, her breasts said as their nipples were shunted skyward. “What about four pounds fifty an hour?” she said. “Is that a good enough reason for you? Or should we ask the agency to send someone else?”

Veronica. Fifty. Veronica was brittle. As stiff on first appearances as Lizzie, and today Veronica was having a bad day. Lizzie was their third temp in as many days, and she was tired of explaining the routines. She was tired enough of the job itself, and going through the processes, the locations, the whims and dislikes, seemed to make it all more painful, seemed to make the days longer and the work harder. She eyed Lizzie as sceptically as Lizzie eyed the hotel. How long until this one left? Hours? Days?

Veronica took one look at Lizzie and decided that she Did Not Like Her Attitude. Lizzie, Veronica decided, would just have to Sort It Out Or Else.

Veronica often thought in capital letters. She rarely let it out, save in the odd telling gesture. She had a sniff so eloquent it could fell a grown man at fifty paces. Veronica didn’t think that these days young people were disrespectful and lacking discipline. Veronica thought that young people had always been disrespectful, dirty, lacking discipline, and too full of energy which they might appropriate for clandestine uses. She thought that the youthful spirit should be shackled and restrained until it was trustworthy. Veronica included anyone under thirty in her indictment. Lizzie would have to actively redeem herself in order to win Veronica’s trust. As for respect, that would be even longer in coming. And thus far she was, as Veronica told herself firmly, Going About It All Wrong.

Lizzie chewed her lip, self-consciously, and coloured when Veronica called her ‘young lady’.

“Well, young lady? Are you staying here, or are you going back home?”

An inarticulate noise came from Lizzie’s lips.

“Hmmm?”

“Staying! Okay?”

“We’ll see.” Veronica promised herself that she would Have Words with Denise from the agency. Denise was thirtyish, with blondish hair and a smartish air about her, but what distinguished Denise from interminable so-so-ish-ness was her phone manner. Denise could talk to you on the phone as though you’d been best friends for years. She seduced people using the phone. She had seduced Veronica, with her promise to send a temp the very next day, after the last chambermaid had run off with the takings from the bar.

“Well. For the moment, at least, come with me.” And Veronica bustled off through reception, and down the stairs.

Lizzie held the garment out in front of her dubiously. It was an off-white, even though its stiffness and crisp folds betrayed that it had only just been cleaned. “It’s a tabard.” Archie said to her later, pointing at it with his biro.

“It’s an apron.”

“It is no such thing. Aprons are for parlourmaids and serving staff. You are a chambermaid and waitress in a hotel, and hence you wear a Tabard, not an apron.”

“Oh ignore him.” Veronica leant over in a moment of softness and said to Lizzie, “Archie doesn’t half talk a load of old bollocks. Take him with a large pinch of salt.”

“The agency just told me to wear smart black and white. Do I have to wear one of these as well?”

“You pick up a fresh one every two days,” said Veronica, staunchly ignoring the question, and also ignoring the black miniskirt that was Lizzie’s interpretation of ‘smart black and white’. “From laundry – in the basement.”

continued