Pauline had to put her hand right into the bend of the lavatory to ensure the condoms would flush away. Even with her Marigolds on she could feel their jelly fish slime slipping from her grasp.
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Once the toilet bowl shone she placed a fresh toilet roll in the holder, un-sticking the seal and then turning down the corners. There was always a spare one on the ledge but it was amazing how some people, even if they just stayed the one night, still ran out.
She was working Christmas Eve again.
‘I wouldn’t ask but I'm absolutely desperate.’ Julie Fowler, the supervisor almost shouted in her ear as if to inform everyone how desperate she was for staff over Christmas.
It was assumed that just because she was unmarried and didn’t have children that she had nothing better to do over Christmas except clean up after other folk too lazy to look after themselves. It would be the third year running she had missed Christmas morning communion. She loved it when she sung in church:‘ Yea Lord we greet thee born this happy morning.’
Then afterwards everyone would shake hands and wish each other ‘Merry Christmas.’
She wouldn’t get back from work until 6am and then she’d be so exhausted she’d just go to bed. Last year she only just got up in time for the Queen’s speech.
The office parties had started even earlier this year and she had already begun to scrape up vomit off the blue carpets. The washer vacuum was meant to clean it but it never got properly into the weave of the carpet. Some of the other domestics didn’t bother. That Gina she was a lazy madam. She’d do a bit and then she’d be out round the back having a fag with Marcos the chef from Burger King. She never seemed to get caught and when Madam Fowler was on the war path she somehow managed to be in the right place at the right time. It’d serve her right if someone shopped her one of these days; it wasn’t fair on the ones who always did their work.
Pauline regretted taking redundancy from the primary school job. That had been far more satisfying. She got to know quite a few of the little kiddies, especially the ones whose mothers were always late picking them up. Occasionally she even helped them with their reading books. That’s what she really should have done with her life, become a teacher rather than end up as a domestic. Perhaps if she’d have had more encouragement from her parents, things would have been different.
. ‘You’ve failed your O Levels, so you’d better get out there and get yourself a job. Me and your father can’t afford to keep you while you waste your time with schooling’
That wasn’t strictly true; she had a CSE grade 1 in Domestic Science and her teacher, Miss Ford, said her Victoria Sandwich was the lightest she had ever tasted Of course brain box Dorothy got 5 O levels and a RSA 2 in typewriting and shorthand. Dad always said he found it difficult to believe the two of them were sisters. One so bright and the other...
Her sister always used to brag about her job as senior librarian and her monthly ‘one to ones’ with Norman Cartwright, the County Librarian for Suffolk County Council. Anyone would think he fancied her but he wouldn’t look twice, well not at the likes of her anyway. In their Mother’s words neither of her girls had ‘been blessed with looks’.
Still they’d all gone now, there was just Aunty Pat left and she was in her nineties and very deaf. She was glad she had Sylvia and George next door and could pop in for a chat and a game of whist whenever she liked.
Pauline felt she had been slowing up since she reached sixty. She wasn’t really sure how much longer she could go on working. When she first had the travel lodge job, she could get round the whole of the O1’s before the 11am break and enjoy her flask of coffee and chocolate biscuit in peace before the gossipy women came into the staff room. She was sure they called her names behind her back, just because she didn’t join in their silly chit chat about celebrity sex and who was going to win X Factor. What did it matter? She never watched the rubbish; give her a good book any day. The murder mysteries were the best. She’d read the whole of Inspector Dalgleish series and was a member of the Crime Fiction book club. She didn’t think the likes of Maureen or Joyce had ever read a book in their lives.
Pauline still lived in the family house. She thought of moving to the big bedroom when mum and dad had both passed away but somehow it didn’t seem right. She preferred her little room looking out on to the garden.
She paid George her neighbour to look after it for her but he said he was struggling these days and hinted that she might have to pay a ‘proper gardener’.
When Dorothy died a couple of years ago, it was quite lonely but she kept herself busy and it was amazing where the time went to. One thing she didn’t miss was the constant squabbles; Dorothy always did think she knew best.
Getting to work was a struggle and it was ten times worse over Christmas time. She wished that she hadn’t given up on those driving lessons she had in her 30’s. She would have passed eventually. Harold the porter drove past the top of her road most days but she never asked him for a lift, well not after the little ‘incident’ which happened shortly after she had started working at the hotel. Harold was fat and chesty and was always sucking humbugs which had rotted his teeth and made his breath smell.
They had been chatting pleasantly enough but then when she went to get out of the car the handle was sticking so Harold lent across and seemed to purposefully press his forearm against her bosom. She got out pretty sharpish then and to make matters worse he winked at her and said, ‘I like a voluptuous woman, Pauline; any chance of a coffee?’
‘Oh no, I'm expecting visitors, good evening.’
Of course there was no one coming round, the only people she ever saw were George and Slyvia from next door and she visited them rather than the other way round, but she wasn’t going to let him know that. The cheek of him! It quite upset her for the evening and put her off reading the final chapter of. Death in Holy Orders.
Every time she saw him after that he gave her a certain look that was most disarming. She was even thinking of complaining to management about sexual harassment but it would be his word against hers.
She waited nearly an hour for a bus on Christmas Eve and had to watch two going past packed with last minute Christmas shoppers. Her feet were blocks of ice even though she was wearing her fur lined bootees. She suffered agonies with her chilblains.
When she eventually got to work it was straight on with her overall and no time for her usual cuppa and chocolate digestive. Glancing in the hall mirror she thought she looked a bit of a fright, her cheeks bright red and her hair flattened from wearing her woollen bonnet.
It was fairly quiet to begin with. There was just Miss Fowler on reception and her doing all the domestics. She was there to give out any extra towels; toilet rolls etc and deliver the orders for newspapers. Sometimes she was asked to show the guests to their rooms. They were meant to put all their tips in a kitty but as she never went on the staff nights out she felt justified in slipping the few odd coins she sometimes got, into her overall pocket. Gina always got the largest tips and Harold the porter said it was because she had the’ largest knockers.’ Pauline was polite though and knowledgeable about the local area and at least some people appreciated that. There were a lot of travelling salesmen who wanted to know where the decent restaurants were or which route to take to avoid the snarl up on the A14 through Ipswich to Norwich. Of course, she never went to fancy restaurants but she read the reviews in the local paper and kept her eyes open on her bus journey across town. Miss Fowler didn’t like her chatting to the guests and was quick to swoop.
‘Please don’t delay the guests Pauline, they’ve busy lives. And anyway, number 43 has phoned twice to ask for an extra loo roll while you have been gossiping.’
On Christmas Eve Miss Fowler had been called away unexpectedly from reception and so Pauline was the only one who saw him when he first arrived. There had been a light flurry of snow and the broad shoulders of his dark coat were covered with snow. It looked like sparkly dandruff and Pauline resisted the temptation to brush it off. She gave him a warm smile as she bundled some fresh towels on the shelves behind the desk. His face was swathed in a brightly coloured scarf and his eyebrows and the few protruding whiskers she could see, were white. His laughing blue eyes shone like jewels.
‘It’s OK Pauline, I’ll see to this gentleman now. Good evening sir, can I take your booking reference please? Dreadful night.’
‘Yes and I’ll be out in it most of the night unfortunately. It’s Mr P James.’
‘Well make sure you keep wrapped up warm. Thank you Mr James. Would you like to be shown to your room?’
‘Pauline!’
They both looked towards her expectantly.
‘Yes of course. This way, please sir.’ Then they began to walk along the narrow corridor together. She thought the shabby rucksack he had slung over his shoulder was slightly incongruous with his generally smart appearance.
‘It looks like we’ve both drawn the short straw, Pauline.’
‘How do you mean, sir?’ She liked the way he used her name in a quiet, respectful way.
‘Well, working Christmas Eve, when everyone one else is out celebrating.’
‘Well I'm not really one for going out much. Rather have a night in the warm with a good crime book.’
‘You’re a person after my own heart. I'm a big fan of crime fiction. I’ve brought my Inspector Dalgleish with me.’
‘Did I hear you say, you’d got to go out this evening?’
‘Yes I’ve got presents to deliver in the Cromwell Street area as a good deed to a friend of mine. The only thing is I seem to have lost the address with the number on.’
‘Well that’s a strange coincidence; Cromwell Street is where I live.’
‘Family with two small children, name of Hardy?’
‘I don’t know of any young children. I live at number 48 on my own and there’s only an old couple one side and the young couple opposite have gone away up North to visit family.’
‘Right, I would phone him but he’s out in the Australian outback, God knows where.’
‘I think there may be a young couple opposite me but they’ve only just moved in and I haven’t seen them with any children.’
‘Well thanks for your help. What time does your shift finish?’
’I work through the night until 7am.’
‘Perhaps we can share a sherry and mince pie together and you can fill me in on the best places for a Dalgleish enthusiast to visit.’
‘Oh, that would be lovely. I’ve got the entire boxed set of Morse, Dalgleish and Frost at home. My pride and joy.’
‘Say midnight then?’
‘Well as long as I'm on my break; they have very strict rules here.’
‘It is Christmas, a good time for breaking a few rules..eh?’
Pauline opened his door for him and as he gave her a pound tip she felt the soft pad of his thumb press against her small dry palm.
The rest of the evening went by very quickly, there were plenty of jobs round the hotel to occupy her and she was glad there was only her on duty. She thought about midnight when she would see him again.
Mother of course would have called her a silly girl and then contradicted herself by saying she should know better at her time of life. Well it was only two friends having a chat and getting to know each other better. What’s wrong with that?
Dorothy would have been so jealous; he was just her type!
She wished her hair looked less frizzy and she’d dabbed a bit of that scent Sylvia gave her a few Christmas’s ago. She combed her hair with a damp comb and put a bit of powder on her nose and cheeks. Lipstick never seemed to look right on her so she nibbled at her lips a bit the way she’d seen them do on telly.
Groups of silly girls had started to come out of their rooms, drunk before they even got to their party. They had no shame, with their skirts no more than a belt and leaving nothing to the imagination. Asking for trouble.
The girls were even worse than the boys. At least they didn’t leave makeup on the towels and unmentionable things on the floor of the bathroom.
At 11.50 Pauline made her way to her new friend’s room. She stood looking out onto the car park for a moment and across the flat lands of the Suffolk countryside.
She thought perhaps she hadn’t knocked hard enough because there was no response but she could see a light on under the door and she thought she heard music playing. Of course she had the keys and could have knocked and walked in at any time but it didn’t seem right to do that. She knocked again much harder and called out, ’It’s Pauline, the domestic.’ which sounded ridiculous but she couldn’t think what else to say. There was no answer. He must have been delayed, got talking and forgotten all about their meeting.
‘That’s where you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Number 65 has not even had the beds made up. I’ve had a complaint from the young couple there and I’ve had to do it myself! Where were you?’
Miss Fowler was half her age and yet she talked to her as though she was a naughty child. Pauline carried on with her duties and tried not to feel disappointed. She made up all the beds and saw to the needs of the guests. At the end of the shift Miss Fowler made a big do of presenting her with her Christmas gift; it was always a soap and body lotion set.
‘Taxi for Miss Pauline Deakin.’
At least she was reimbursed for the taxi fare. Part of her wished that it had snowed so hard she couldn’t make it home and then perhaps he would have come in at some point and asked if he could see her. Lights were already on in bedroom windows as children woke to the magic of Christmas morning.
As the taxi turned the corner of her street she noticed a police car outside George and Sylvia’s bungalow. Immediately she thought ‘poor George has had another heart attack’. Then she noticed the two of them were standing outside her house chatting to the police officer. Sylvia was still wearing pink fluffy carpet slippers.
‘Oh dear, Pauline we tried to phone you but they said you’d just left in the taxi.’
‘Why what’s happened?’
‘There’s been a robbery. Midnight we heard some banging about. But to start with we thought it was you.’
‘I told you I was working Christmas Eve, don’t you remember, that’s why I couldn’t come round for our usual Christmas drink and mince pie?’. She found herself beginning to shout at Sylvia. She thought how stupid she looked standing outside her house at 7am wearing silly pink little girl slippers. What on earth did George see in her?
‘Hey come on Pauline. Try to calm down’ George put a protective arm around Sylvia.
Why was Sylvia blubbing? Pauline thought, it wasn’t even her house.
‘We called the police as soon as we could. He’s done next doors as well. The police reckon they must have known they were both empty.’
A delicate looking police woman came across and told Pauline she would come with her into the house.
I warn you they’ve made a bit of a mess. Be careful as there’s quite a lot of broken glass.’
Gently the policewoman guided her through the front door into her lounge. Broken ornaments and plants littered the carpet.
She looked across at the overturned mahogany bookshelf. Most of the books had come out of their boxed sets and were splayed out with broken and damaged spines. Some of the covers were stamped with his muddy footprints. .
And somewhere in the Suffolk countryside he drove on through the night, his blue eyes laughing.
Ive been writing a long time. Got a BA In Eng Lit at UEA and an MA in creative writing two years ago from Bolton Uni. I come from Ipswich and have 3 grown up children. I work part time as a college teacher. I live in Chorley now with my Koi Carp!