7. Woody
WOODY
“Beds are done, Nandi. You want me to start on next door?” I call as I straighten the throw across the bottom of the crisp linen bedding so it’s ready for the new hotel guests when they check in.
“A young man like you should have better things to do with his time than hanging out with an old woman.” Her wheezy chuckle travels from the ensuite before turning into a cough.
“Thought you said you’d been to the doctor about that?” I say, walking over to the desk and spotting the bills on top of a note with ‘housekeeping’ scribbled on it.
“What’s your name? Sherlock Holmes?” she mutters good-naturedly. “Take yours and get going,” she adds, poking her head around the bathroom door and gesturing to the cash.
I nod at her, and her kind, weathered face breaks into a creased smile, lighting up her eyes.
“You’re a good man. You don’t need to be feeling sorry for an old woman. Now get out of here before I kick you out.”
“Yes, Boss,” I reply.
I wait for her to disappear back into the bathroom.
I flick through the notes on the desk, counting them. Jeez, for a high-scale hotel, people sure are cheap. I pull a money clip out of the back pocket of my cargo shorts and add a bill to the pile.
“Same time tomorrow?” I ask as I pass the bathroom.
“Not getting rid of you yet, then?” Nandi chuckles.
“Not just yet.”
She sighs. “Still got a way to go? Saving for this trip you’re planning?”
I shrug. She knows how it is. Things cost money here. Like her medication for COPD.
And fake passports.
“Well,” Nandi says. “I suppose you’re a pretty sight for an old woman to see every morning. And you do a tight corner with a bedsheet.”
“Try my best.” I give her a smile.
She rolls her eyes with another chuckle. “Go on. Get out before management catch you.”
“Again?” Declan asks as he takes one look at my face.
I ignore him and walk into my small workshop situated farther along the beach from where the retreats are held. It’s little more than an old draughty bungalow that’s missing its bathroom after a storm blew a tree onto it. The hotel didn’t want to repair it and told Declan to use it for storage.
We worked out an agreement that means for as long as I’m here, it’s mine.
I put the piece of driftwood on the workbench, then lean on it with both hands, casting my eyes over the pieces I need to finish working on.
I exhale slowly. “She sounded worse today.”
“Nandi never sounds good. But you can’t top up her tips every day. What about you?”
“What about me?” I mutter.
“You know what I mean, Buddy. You knew this day might come. They came back. It might not be a one-off.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” I grit, pushing off the workbench and turning to face him.
Declan stares back, unaffected by the fire I know is burning in my gaze. He’s seen it enough times. Watched me punch things. Sat beside me as I’ve tried and failed to drink away the pain.
Nothing works.
I need to get out of here for good.
“This friend of yours, you said he works fast, right?”
Declan’s jaw tightens. “He’s not a friend, but yeah. For the right price, he can get you what you need within a few days.”
Getting the cash together is taking longer than I hoped. I haven’t walked that stretch of the beach since I saw the wedding. I told myself that was the last time and I meant it. Declan’s kept an eye out for me instead. They haven’t come back yet. But it’s only a matter of time.
I need that money now.
“You could do me a favor?” Declan says. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Done.”
“Don’t you want to know what it is?”
I look into his eyes. “Will anyone die?”
His lips quirk at my joke that isn’t a joke. “Only me if management finds out.”
“Fine. Tell me what it is and I’ll do it.”