“Think we should knock on the door luv, time’s ticking on,” Madge remarked.
Holly thought for a moment, she didn’t want to be too intrusive. Maybe he’d decided to skip breakfast. If it got to
one o’clock and he still hadn’t come down, she’d knock on his door. In the meantime, Holly would do some ironing
and Madge could hoover the stairs and landing.
When it got to one o’clock, Holly trudged up the stairs preparing for action. After all, I’m running a business and guests should vacate hotel rooms by midday… She had just rounded the stairs when, to her horror, she saw Madge peeking through the key hole into his room.
OMG, supposing he suddenly opened the door? Madge would be flung down the stairs, her butter-ball little body, landing in an unconscious heap of wobbling pink blancmange in the hall.
“His big toe’s poking out of the sheet, it’s stayed in the same position since the last time I looked,” she squeaked.
“How long ago was that?”
“About fifteen minutes…”
Holly dropped down on her haunches and looked through the key hole. There it was; standing tall and rigid just like Madge said. There were no other signs of movement in the room.
“Oh God, Madge, what should we do?” Holly could see the scene now. Undertakers in dark suits turning up with a body bags to remove poor old Mr Wainwright in the early hours. Then, no doubt he’d come back to haunt her and Tess, who would literally, go barking mad and never be the same again.
“Supposing he is dead? What about his wife? I’ll have to tell her.”
Holly felt the colour drain from her cheeks while Madge busied herself dusting nowhere in particular.
“Right, that’s it, I’ll have to get the key and go in.” Holly said, resolutely, bending down to take another peek. Then, bam! a large bulk was walking towards the door which suddenly opened.
“Oh, Good morning!” Holly jumped up awkwardly, suppressing a shriek. Madge screamed, clutching her feather duster to her ample bosom.
Dressed in his dressing gown Mr Wainwright surveyed them sleepily, his hair all ruffled.
“I’m so sorry Ladies, I overslept, is it too late for breakfast?”
Holly was so relieved, she said that was fine. Thank, God he is alive. Madge was rooted to the spot. Her face was bright red, she was breathing rapidly and dramatically fanning her face. As Mr Wainwright, oblivious to everything, made his way into the bathroom
next door, the two women hastily made their way back to the kitchen, desperately trying to compose themselves.
“Thank god I don’t have to get in the undertakers.” Holly giggled, making them both a coffee while poaching two
eggs for Mr Wainwright.
“Mrs Baxter would never cook breakfast this late Holly,” Madge chided her fondly....
