The Victoria Hotel, PB

(Yet another competition thing... this time a 'Highly Commended'. And another story written this week, too, which I am quite pleased with... now I just need to decide where to send it out to. Here's Sharon from the Victoria Hotel in Port Brokeferry.)

THINGS A BIT DIFFERENT AT THE VICTORIA HOTEL

Sharon was called to the desk of Mr Struan Courtald, as she was most mornings before the breakfast bell sounded. It was Dugald McVey who took the call in the kitchen. He sent her up with a cup of tea.

‘It is just the tea, he calls you for?’ said Dugald. ‘It’s not you spying on me for him is it? You seem to be away longer than it takes to deliver a cup of tea.’

Sharon said it was just the tea. And that Mr Struan Courtald checks that she is dressed right for serving the breakfasts. Her hair right and her blouse and her skirt and her shoes.

She touched the blue bear for luck. That was new. The bear was sitting by the door and beside her small handbag. Nothing much in the bag: Dugald McVey’s phone number written on a torn piece of newspaper – that was new too; a blue eye-liner pencil furred at the tip; her appointment letter from the manager of The Victoria Hotel; a purse with small change in it and a photograph of herself with her hair down. She touched the bear with its yellow ribbon tied into a bow at its neck, the bear that Dugald had won for her.

‘Thanks for last night,’ she said. She threw the words over her shoulder as she left the kitchen. Dugald looked up to say something in reply but she was gone.

She handed the cup to Mr Struan Courtald and stood back from his desk so he could check that she was turned out right. She looked him in the face and smiled. That was also new. Mr Courtald waited for a moment in case Sharon had something to tell him. Then when she didn’t, he spoke.

‘Is there a message for me, Sharon?’

‘A message?’ she said.

‘From your mother. Something she told you to tell me?’

‘No, Mr Courtald. There is no message today. Were you expecting a message?’

Mr Struan Courtald shook his head. Sharon was still smiling, as though this was all a joke of some sort. Not a joke against him. It was not an impudent smile. Not a smile that held any spite behind it.

‘You seem to be in good spirits this morning, Sharon.’

‘Yes, Mr Courtald. My mother said so too. She said I was as bright as button this morning. That’s a funny expression when you think about it. Bright as a button. Maybe she was referring to the buttons on your waistcoat.’

Mr Struan Courtald had not heard the rush of so many words come from Sharon in the one speech before. Different when she was with her friends, but not like that with him. Not in all the time he had schooled her how to be when she was applying for the job at the Victoria Hotel and all the months since. And she was smiling. First there was the singing when she’d been setting tables and now smiling and being pleasant to him.

‘Is there something you want to tell me, Mr Courtald? About my mother. About why she sometimes sends you messages and why you call on her some days when I am at work? She seems as bright as a button these days, too, and I think that maybe her being so bright has something to do with you.’

Mr Struan Courtald was stuck for words. He looked down at the hotel diary and back at the smiling face of Sharon. He checked his watch against the hotel clock and made sure that the buttons of his waistcoat were all fastened.

‘You look nice, today, Sharon,’ he said at last. ‘You can go about your work now.’

Sharon turned and went back to the kitchen. She touched the blue bear for luck upon entering. Dugald McVey looked up and looked away again. The radio was on and music was playing.