There's A Fly In My Soup!

Chapter Three

I woke up at half three with an elbow in my ribs and someone sleeping on my head. I'm not joking, Monty has this habit of draping himself skilfully across my pillow and often across my face. The clock in the hallway was doing that really annoying thing, where during the day you can hardly hear it but at night it's like it's crying out for attention, ticking and ‘tocking’ in stereo. I planned revenge on the arrogant clock, not just removing its batteries but throwing it in the bin and covering it with coffee grounds. Take that you miserable, attention seeking time keeper.

And then I remembered today's mission.

I moved away from the children with finely honed contortions. I'm sure if the Great Britain team needed another gymnastic, I'd be more than capable of joining the team. My phone was blinking at me, and before my feet even hit the carpet, I knew it was going to be bad news. You know when you just know? We as humans have this sixth sense for bad news. Like when I knew they wouldn't renew Suddenly Susan. Or when I knew that the really hot bloke, I'd been messaging on match.com was actually just a s*x crazed lunatic with a fetish for worn out socks.

Cheryl Woods, a woman I relied on day to day to take the kids to school and help out around the house had come down with the flu. It was so typical, that today, when I planned to go in all guns blazing and stand up for the little guys, aka us kitchen staff, I'd have to drive the kids to school, take Leon to his Physio session and get a handle on the three bags full of dirty laundry currently stationed on our kitchen floor. Not to mention removing Monty's latest masterpiece. A crayon mural of a hand that looks more like male genitals, all over the living room wall.

Frantically, hair a complete fright, and face still smeared with yesterday's makeup, I called a list of emergency numbers tacked to the fridge. The first three just rang off, the next two were working elsewhere today, and then finally, when I was about to throw in the towel, admit defeat, and drown my sorrows in a packet of a biscuits dipped in chocolate mousse, I managed to rescue what (in my head anyway) was turning out to be a bugger of a day.

I skipped from foot to foot, standing by the window, blinds pulled aside as Jessie Mitchell turned up. I'd never met her before, but Cheryl had recommended her. It wasn't much after four am, but I had to get to work and start on the breakfast prep whether Trent wanted me to or not. Now I'm always a bit wary of people I don't know. I'm not rude, but I like to make sure I'm not letting someone in who might steal my laptop, or my underwear. It happens. A friend of mine had a cleaner that liked to steal her lacy lingerie.

True story.

Jessie didn't look like the stealing undies type. She made me look like something that lives under a bridge, her hair was a glossy chocolate colour, twisted together in some intricate looking plait, and she wore jeans tucked into black flat boots and a batwing top like they were some designer fare. In contrast, I was still in a pair of Leon's pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt still bearing the stains of a painting session with the kids.

'Lovely to meet you.' Jessie extended her hand, passing me the kind of warm smile that reminded me of Miss Honey from Matilda, or Mary Poppins. 'Cerys, is it?'

'Yes....yes Thank you.' Why was I bowing? I straightened myself up, glad that she was now rifling through a notepad and not staring awkwardly at me as I came back to standing.

'Leon is your brother, the kids are Monty and Sarah? Is that right? And the kids should be dropped off no later than 8:30 according to the school’s website.... stop me if I've got anything wrong, I've not done this for a while!' She blushed, but she didn't look the slightest bit flustered. 'I've printed out a map with directions to the physio appointment.'

Wow.

She passed me a folder. Inside, I found photocopied certificates of all her qualifications and a booklet full of references. And it was then that I realised that I'd never been as 'together' as this woman. She came to the door today having researched her job, dressed for the occasion and she was raring to go.

I needed to do the same.

The kids heard us talking in the hallway, and soon after, Leon stumbled out of bed too. Cheryl was used to seeing my brother half naked, having joined our mad arse family shortly after they moved in with me. His mobility wasn't great back then, so she'd help him get dressed, which he hated but came to accept with the grace that amazed me. Every. Single. Day.

I can't imagine being in his shoes.

Jessie however, was not used to nakedness, and she turned the colour puce. I felt like fanning her, but paid her back for pretending she hadn't seen me bowing before, and I pretended to check through her certificates.

When I looked up, Sarah was holding Jessie's hands and batting her eyelashes while Monty prattled on about having ice cream for breakfast. It was and is his most treasured dream.

I didn't have long to change into an outfit that said I wasn't in the mood for taking any s**t, but within the time I did have, I realised I didn't have an outfit that said I wouldn't take any s**t. So, I pulled on a grey dress I'd bought for a funeral once, and checked my reflection. The dress said relatively hot. The hair said relatively homeless.

After a wrestling match that stone-cold Steve Austin would be proud of, my hair looked semi presentable. I scrambled from the bedroom, sidestepping evil chunks of Lego that threatened to puncture the soles of my feet in agonizing pain.

'Go get 'em sis!' Leon grinned, as I zipped up my biker boots and pulled on my wool beanie. 'And I think me and the new babysitter are gonna get on just fine.' He winked, and I shoved him playfully.

Taking a deep breath as my feet hit the doorstep, I couldn't help the cheesy grin. It was the first time in years that I'd seen Leon smile like that.

.........

The revolving doors at the Clifton are a nightmare. If you attempt to step into them at the same time as someone else there's this awkward dance you wind up doing.

You go first.

No, you.

This morning I nearly crushed Sam Worthington. Well, Sam Worthington's long-lost twin. His hair was a dark red colour, his face peppered with stubble, and he had that strong jawline that could melt a woman in a millisecond. At this time of year, we don't get many hotties, well, not until December rolls up and we host corporate functions. Christmas parties are the ideal place to window shop for sexy suited professionals. And I say window shop because I'm stuck in the kitchen and when I do get to venture out of the kitchens for my breaks, I'm wearing a blood splattered unflattering white tunic, a hair net, and my face is a sweaty mess.

Not that I'd get time to date anyway. It all seems too much effort.

Anyway, I was almost clear of the doors, and any risks of banging into anyone when Sam Worthington showed up. And because I don't meet many blokes with his devastating good looks, I felt my mouth opening and closing, completely independent of my commands.

'You okay miss?'

Aussie. Definitely Aussie. I could picture this bloke on a beach, six pack displayed for all to envy, beads of sea water dripping off his twelve pack. The way his grey t-shirt clung to him, he had to be sporting more than a mere six pack.

'I'm...I'm...' Oh bloody hell, pull yourself together you look like a dog salivating over a piece of steak.

He was steak. Filet mignon.

I groaned internally. This was inevitable. Years of avoiding men because they were a complication I just couldn't be arsed with and bam. Now I felt like a firework about to go off because some hot Aussie had dared to venture into my personal space.

I pulled myself together, focussing on my conversation with Trent instead. In the lobby, the gorgeous red headed Aussie strode towards the staircase. That meant he was a guest. Forbidden fruit. Argh. Even worse. And then he looked back, this coy smile on his face. I wondered whether I'd seen something that wasn't there, till I heard him call out.

'Have a good day.'

My cheeks blazed as pent up hormones bobbed to the surface. And I walked straight into Marianne.

.............

'Watch where you are going!' Marianne scowled, holding a duster to her chest like it was a new-born baby and glaring at me in horror. 'Mr Callaghan has given me the key to the grand ballroom.' When she said 'me' she closed her eyes and smiled at the ceiling. The woman baffles me. She's a bloody fruit loop. 'I have sparkling crystal to clean. And he's entrusted that ginormous task, to yours truly.' The dreamy look in her eyes caused a great giggle to bubble in my chest till I had to disperse it with a cough. 

'Speaking of Mr Callaghan, where is he?' I hated to break up her romantic moment but I was ready to say my piece and inform him, in no uncertain terms, that I would be keeping my job or he'd suffer the consequences. I should have written all of this down.... don’t be an amateur Cerys!

'He'll be back around ten. I expect he'll want to admire my experienced hand, as I have the ballroom looking divine.'

I ignored her, and headed off towards the kitchen. She was so full of hot air she could talk for days about how her job keeps the hotel going and without her we'd all be stuffed. I forced myself to get through the breakfast service, and after I'd killed it once again with my waffles with chocolate and Pedro Ximenez sauce, and my famed crepes with honeyed orange, I'd be in battle mode.

.............