The Big Dreams Beach Hotel

‘I had to be at de church,’ she says, settling her bulk into the chair beside the Colonel and tucking her riotously patterned caftan around her. ‘Today is tea and sympathy day. It’s so sad how those poor souls have got no one.’

None of us can meet her gaze.

Unlike Peter and Lill, Miracle lives at the hotel thanks to her three grown children rather than the council. Every month the Colonel can depend on the fee for Miracle’s room and board. That’s more than Miracle can depend on when it comes to her useless offspring. None of us has ever actually laid eyes on them, so whatever they’re so busy doing, it’s not visiting their mother.

I don’t know how they can do that to such a giving lady. My parents drive me round the bend, but I still see them regularly. Granted, it’s not exactly a hardship when they live in a picturesque village not far from Moulins in France. But the point is that I’d visit even if they lived in a council flat in Skegness.

Nobody imagined they’d actually leave Scarborough. At first I thought they were joking about moving away from the water. Not only are they away from the water, they found the most landlocked village in France to live in. It is nice to visit for a few days, but then I miss the sea.

‘I’ll have to run off straight after lunch,’ Peter tells us as Cheryl and Janey bring our fish and chips to the table. Not that we ordered it. Chef doesn’t so much run a restaurant as a school canteen. We eat what we’re given. ‘I’ve got a three o’clock birthday and Barry and I have some lines to run through.’

We all nod as though it’s perfectly normal for Peter’s dog to run lines with him. Because, in a way, it is.

Peter’s had his trained dog act for decades and he’s well known on the children’s party circuit. Barry’s not your usual dancing dog, though. Well, a basset hound is never really going to be a great dancer, is he? But what he lacks in agility he makes up for in personality. He’s the perfect straight man for Peter’s act. When Peter tells his jokes, you’d swear Barry understands. His facial expressions are always spot on.

The Colonel clears his throat.

‘Have you got a fish bone, William?’ Lill asks. When she puts her hand on his arm, the Colonel blushes.

‘I’ve got something to say.’ Never one for public speaking, he shifts in his chair. ‘We’ve finally had some interest in the hotel.’

This is great news. ‘Was it the North Yorkshire Gazette advert?’ He wasn’t keen on spending the money, but I knew it would bring the punters in. And out of season too. If we keep up the publicity, imagine what we could do when it’s not rainy and cold. ‘We’ll have to open up some of the other rooms, though,’ I say. To keep the utility bills down we only keep the first floor open for hotel guests. We’re managing. Just.

‘It’s from a US hotel,’ he says.

I’m confused. Why would a US hotel send guests here? ‘Do you mean some kind of exchange?’ If so, we haven’t got many guests to send their way in return.

‘You don’t mean a sale, Colonel?’ Peter asks.

No, he can’t mean that.

‘It was a surprise to me too,’ the Colonel says. ‘You remember when we tried selling the place after we played ‘The Last Post’ for my sister. Couldn’t give it away with a free prozzie then.’

‘William.’

‘Sorry, Lillian.’

I do remember that summer. It was when I worked here in school, though I didn’t have anything to do with its management. I was under Chef’s tyrannical regime then. It’s hard to imagine the hotel more run down than it is now, but it was.

‘They approached me,’ he says. ‘Made an offer sight unseen.’

‘You’ve sold the hotel?’ Lill asks. It’s clearly news to her. ‘William, how could you?’

‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ he says. ‘You know how long I’ve wanted to get out from under the place. Now I’ll be free.’

‘You thought I’d be pleased? How long have we known each other?’

‘Eight years, Lillian.’

I’ve only known Lill for three and even I can see that the Colonel’s news is about as welcome as a parp in a phone box.

‘And you think I’d be pleased to know you’re selling the hotel out from under us to strangers? Out of the blue?’

‘I’m not selling it out from under us! We’re all staying. It was part of the negotiation. I made sure, Lillian. Now we won’t have to worry about keeping the hotel running. Let it be on someone else’s watch. I did it for us, really.’ His bushy eyebrows are knitted together in concern. ‘All of us.’

Lill crosses her arms. ‘There is no us, William.’

The poor Colonel. His upper lip may be stiff, but his bottom one starts wobbling with emotion.

‘Rose Dear.’ The Colonel looks beseechingly at me. ‘Once we’re established with new owners here, you might be able to do a stint with them back in the US if you want. Wouldn’t that be nice?’

I want to make it better for the Colonel, I really do. But I’ve spent the last three years trying to forget all about my life in the US. The last thing I want is to go back there now.

Chapter 3 (#udee33b39-625f-526b-872a-2f20d10c0ec4)

The mood at the hotel has been subdued ever since my party, when the Colonel dropped his bombshell about the sale. It’s not helped by the fact that Lill won’t speak to him. He’s moping around the place, every inch the lovelorn old man, and you can’t help but feel sorry for him. He still sits in the conservatory every day, but Lill won’t even set foot in there. If they do happen to be in the same room, she makes a big show of ignoring him. But then that’s not a surprise. Lill makes a big show of everything.

I would too, if I’d spent half a century in show business like she has. Between her gorgeous voice and flamboyant stage presence, she was a sensation once, nearly up there with the greats of the sixties and seventies. It must be hard to let that go.

I don’t blame her for being cross with the Colonel either. We’re all a little out of sorts, because it seems that the hotel sale isn’t just a possibility. It’s a done and dusted deal. Some company called Beach Vacations Inc. now owns the Colonel’s hotel, and what I’ve found on their website doesn’t exactly make me think this was a good idea.

Luxury island FIVE-STAR service at three-star prices!! it boasts all over the place. It’s got hotels on islands and keys in Florida and on a beach in Rhode Island – which isn’t an island, despite the name.

We’re not an island either, and that’s what’s got me worried. Every photo of their interiors and their staff look as if they’re kitted out in fabrics made from gaudy old Hawaiian shirts.

Our hotel couldn’t be more opposite. It’s Victorian and quintessentially British, ta very much. The public rooms have high ceilings, ornate cornicing and parquet floors. The floors might be dented and scratched, but that just gives them a fine old patina. The brass and glass chandeliers are originals, throwing a warm yellow light over the wide entrance hall, and the bar is really pretty spectacular, aside from the old pub carpet that’s coming away in places. And Peter was up on the ladder only last month painting over the water stains in the corners, so they don’t look too bad, considering all the holes in the roof.

My point is that some loud-shirted American company won’t do us any favours in the style stakes.

And worst of all, now we’ve got a transition manager coming to turn everything upside down.

‘I think that’s him coming!’ Peter cries from his lookout post in the conservatory. His announcement startles Barry, who’s been napping beside Peter’s chair. ‘He’s definitely from London. He’s got pointy shoes.’

And pointy horns, probably. I’ve never met a transition manager before, but the whole point of them is to change things, right? That’s the last thing we want around here. Ta very much again.

Tempted as I am to run to the window to see the bloke, we can’t have him thinking that we care that he’s here.

‘I think you’ll like him, Rosie. He’s a good-looking lad.’

‘He’s changing our hotel, Peter, not asking us out.’

‘Right. Still.’

I can see his smile through the wavy old glass of the door even before he reaches it. They must teach that at change management college. Introduction to Sincere-Looking Smiles.

I hate to admit it but, flippin’ heck, Peter’s right. This bloke is a looker, if you take away the thick specs he’s wearing. Tall and broad-shouldered, he looks natural in his fitted grey suit, like one of those arrogant Wall Street types. Only his hair isn’t slicked back. It’s stuck up with gel and there’s a lot of it.

I let him push open the door instead of opening it for him. No reason to roll out the red carpet for someone who’s about to do us over. ‘Are you Rosie? I’m Rory Thomas.’