Chattering
Conrad was at Reception, handing in his key card.
‘Hi there!’
He turned and saw her and seemed shocked. ‘My God, are you all right?’
‘Just cold and wet. Are you—’
‘Did you get rescued? Who did this to you?’
‘Mr Bradshaw did this. Conrad, are you … checking out?’
‘Ah. Yes. Yes, I am. I was about to write you a note. I need to get back for work.’
‘I thought you had Mo-Monday off?’
‘Yes, but it’s a – it’s a long drive and the weather’s terrible and I don’t have the kit, the boots and …’ He stepped towards her, whispered, ‘I can’t stay in this hotel.’ Then, in his normal voice, ‘Also, I remembered I hate walking! Hey, do you need a blanket or a towel?’
‘I’m fine. I’m going to d-drip dry.’
‘But I’ve got your number off Cleo and we can meet in the Big Smoke, yes? Your teeth are actually chattering.’
‘It’s an … involuntary action.’
‘I thought that only happened in cartoons.’
‘No, no, that ha-happens.’
But he was eyeing the exit now. ‘Anyway, the taxi’s taking me back to wherever it was I left the car. Hope it’s still there. It’s an electric Audi.’
‘Yes, you said.’
‘You’re very pale. Go to your room! Ask for a good one,’ and here he stepped forward and put his arms loosely around her as if she were a dog that had just climbed out of a canal. ‘I had fun with you,’ he said.
‘You certainly did,’ she said. ‘I’d better ch-check in now.’
‘Of course. Of course. Have a great break!’ He left without looking around and she squelched to the reception desk. The Wi-Fi password was wainwright2014.
In her room, she pulled off all her clothes and hurled them in great sodden lumps on to the bathroom floor, where they landed with a cartoon splat. Shivering, hair and skin still wet, she clambered into bed, punching the excess cushions to the floor, pulling the covers up to her chin and waiting for sensation to return. It was a large hotel, imposing from the gravel drive but over-lit and functional inside – meeting rooms, a cavernous breakfast hall, a conference hotel between conferences. Borrowdale, the hotel information claimed, was the most beautiful valley in the country. Through the condensation on her window she saw rusty garden chairs huddled under a tarpaulin, a waterlogged tennis court, nets trailing in the puddles. She thought, I waxed my legs for this?
Once feeling had returned, she padded to the bathroom, furiously twisting her clothes into plaits and squeezing grey water into the tub. It was true, she had not hit a conversational groove with Conrad, and had only found him attractive in a theoretical way, true also that they’d not really had a chance to open up (horrible phrase) beyond the superficial biographical stuff, though perhaps that might have come with time. But even if nothing had happened, it was humiliating to be abandoned like this – a bad date in front of a friend, in front of her godson! – and, once again, she was confronted by the gulf between expectation and reality, no sun on her face, no union with nature, no laughter with friends, no sex. No matter how carefully you packed your bag, there was no protection against this furious disappointment. Gathering up her tortured clothes, she arranged them on the radiators. A sign politely asked guests not to dry their clothes, but what else could she do? Blow on them?
At least the laptop had survived, and she returned to Twisted Night. A masked killer was murdering members of LA’s sex-party community, but she was distracted by her feet. The friction of the wet socks had rubbed the dead city skin so that it was flaking off in grey worms like the rubbings of a pencil eraser and she picked at the stuff, appalled, and began to feel better. At least she had the pleasure of the cancelled plan. No performance tonight, no brandy-fuelled clowning, just her feet and then dinner with an old friend. Michael too, though she didn’t feel the need to perform for him. Was that good or bad? Never mind. The new skin beneath the dead stuff was as shiny as the white under the shell of a hard-boiled egg and this was by far the best time she’d had all day.
Her phone bleeped, a text from Cleo.
Are you alive? There’s a POOL! Meet you in the hot tub in 20
She texted back –
Work to do. Also no costume!
– though even as she pressed send, she knew this would not be permitted.
They sell them at Reception. See you in 15