one of those Travelodge places across the way. You should do that, too. They’ll have pens and paper galore, and actually, they’ll have Wi-Fi. I can get my laptop out, transfer the money to you there and then.’
‘Zara, I can’t.’
‘Jim, you can. And you will.’
‘Who are you? Me ma?’
‘I hate the way you do that.’
‘What?’
‘Make out like I’m being a nag when I’m just protecting you.’
Jim narrows his eyes, cocks his head to one side.
‘What if you fall asleep at the wheel?’ I say.
‘I won’t.’
‘Or what if another car skids into you because they can’t see the road clearly? You might not be as lucky as you were this morning.’
‘Lucky?’
I look at my pile of luggage and back to Jim.
‘Well, for the very, very last time … can you give me a lift?’
There’s only one room vacant.
Sitting behind the reception desk of the Travelodge is a middle-aged woman, her uniform tight and stretched across her chest, her eyeliner drawn thick and wonky below each eye, her name badge simply stating Manager. A young guy, skinny and camp with huge hands flapping about, is working beside her and telling a most animated tale. His badge says Kyle.
I greet them. Where I’m getting my chirpiness from, I don’t know.
Kyle pauses mid grand gesture, unleashing a sigh of disgust at being interrupted.
‘Only one room?’ I repeat what he tells me.
I might have missed my flight to Dubai, due to take off any second, but many other flights to various towns, cities, countries have also been cancelled due to the gale force winds. Sure, we could hop back into the minibus, drive around to the Premier Inn, to the Ibis, to the Radisson, but as Kyle informs us with a smugness that I find both unnecessary and unhelpful, other hotels are likely to be fully booked tonight, also.
‘No bother, I’m going home,’ Jim reiterates, stepping away from the suitcases, checking I’ve got all of my things safely with me. ‘I wanna wake up in me own bed in the morning.’
I point towards the entrance, to the rain being swept sideways by the harsh winds.
‘You’re not driving all the way to Liverpool in that.’
Kyle volunteers to agree. ‘She’s right, you can’t drive to Liverpool in that.’
‘It’s a twin room,’ the manager pipes up. ‘Plus, there’s a chair. And a pouffe.’
Chuckles erupt from the pair behind the desk, Kyle’s eyes streaming with tears as he holds onto the manager’s hand, her face all screwed up as if she’s trying not to wet her knickers. Jim walks away, clearly too cool for this. Handing my passport over as identification, I pay for the room upfront as Jim flicks through leaflets advertising West End shows and London attractions. The manager starts typing away while Kyle spins around in slow circles on the chair beside her, studying his fingernails.
Is Jim really going to drive all the way to Liverpool now? In that storm?
Or is he going to share this room with me?
I’ve shared tents at festivals with people I hardly know, hostels with backpackers I didn’t know at all. What’s the big deal about this? We’ve been in close confinement all day long. Still, there’s a stigma with hotels, an intimacy, or sleaziness, or both. Jim walks towards me, fanning himself with a leaflet for the London Dungeon, keeping himself awake, I suspect.
‘I’m gonna sleep in the minibus,’ Jim says, yawning.
‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘I’ll recline the back seats, it’ll be dead cosy. Like camping.’
‘I can’t let you do that.’
The manager stands. ‘Actually, I can’t let you do that.’
‘Why?’ both Jim and I ask, in unison.
‘Because our parking is strictly for guests only.’
‘Come on, Jim,’ I say. ‘It’s a twin room. No point in wasting a good bed.’
Jim takes hold of my suitcases for the umpteenth time that day. Anyone would think he was being marched to the room with a gun to his head, not being given a comfortable space to sleep for a grand total of free.
Stop it, Zara, I tell myself. Shake it off. An opportunity for company has arisen rather than spending the night alone. Be grateful, Zara.
As we both trudge my belongings down the corridor, I get distracted by the hum of a vending machine. I stop and toss some loose coins in, choosing a few bags of potato chips, a couple of Snickers. The thrill of the items slowly twisting from their shelf and tumbling into the tray never fades, no matter how old I am. What does get boring, however, is hotel key cards