The Unluckiest Boy in the World Page 7

She would see her son off to school in the morning, and not hear from him some days until six or seven in the evening, when he came back from the flat in Carlton Place. Maybe now was the time, she thought, for her own life to return to normal as well.

  In the years before that fateful holiday in Spain, Mrs Frith had been the deputy manager of a Trust House Forte hotel a few miles outside town. It was a job she had enjoyed. She had loved the busyness of hotel life – the receptions, the conferences, the gala celebrations – as well as the people, the staff and the whole buzzing, humming energy of it all.

  Having any sort of job, let alone working in a hotel, had been impossible while Nicholas was under the curse of Toribio, but now… now perhaps it was different. Within a week, Mrs Frith had applied for and been given the job of Reception Manager in the Royal Hotel in the centre of town, and she reported for her first day’s work with unconcealed delight.

  In view of how much she was looking forward to it, and how determined she was to do a good job, it was rather disappointing that she should have been fired on her second day.

  ‘Fired?’ Nicholas was almost as upset at the news as his mother. ‘Why? What for?’

  ‘I found one of the girls on the desk stealing money from the cash register,’ Mrs Frith explained gloomily. ‘I reported her to Mr Billings, the hotel manager, but he didn’t do anything about it. When I told him I couldn’t manage a reception where staff are allowed to steal from the till, he said in that case I’d better leave.’

  So Mrs Frith had left, but she was very upset. Returning to work was something she had dreamed of for more than a year and, when it had finally happened, she had been dismissed after barely twenty-four hours.

  Nicholas felt the injustice of it very keenly. He thought his mother should complain to someone, but she pointed out that Mr Billings was the manager, and there was no one else to complain to.

  ‘She hadn’t done anything wrong!’ Nicholas protested to Fiona the next day. ‘He actually fired her for doing the right thing. It’s not fair!’

  Fiona agreed and, at the end of the day, suggested that they call round at the hotel themselves before they went home. ‘I think someone should complain,’ she said. ‘Even if your mother won’t. Someone needs to tell Mr Billings that what he did was wrong.’

  ‘It won’t do any good, though, will it?’ said Nicholas gloomily. ‘I mean, it’s not going to make him change his mind. He probably won’t even listen.’

  ‘Oh, I think he’ll listen.’ Fiona took her friend by the arm and led the way into town. ‘You may not have noticed, but you have a way of getting people’s attention.’

  The Royal Hotel was a large, modern building, in a road just off the high street. Nicholas led the way through the main doors and across the hall to reception.

  The girl at the desk had blonde hair, was painting her nails and did not look up as Nicholas explained that he had come to see Mr Billings.

  ‘What for?’ she asked, without lifting her eyes.

  ‘I want to ask him why he made my mother lose her job,’ said Nicholas, ‘when all she did was report someone for stealing.’

  The girl looked up and glared at him.

  ‘The manager’s not available,’ she said. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Fiona. ‘We’ll wait until he is.’ She took Nicholas over to a sofa on the other side of the hall where they sat down. The receptionist stared at them in hostile fury before returning to work on her nails.

  ‘I’m not sure this is wise,’ said Nicholas nervously. ‘She looks really angry, and you know what happens when people get angry near me.’

  ‘I think that’s her problem, not yours,’ said Fiona. ‘All you’re doing is waiting for a chance to see Mr Billings.’

  They did not have to wait very long. A woman in a suit appeared from the lift, complaining that she couldn’t get into her room because her key didn’t work, and a moment later a man rang the desk to complain that he couldn’t get out of his room because the door had locked itself.

  The hotel used electronic locks, with keys looking rather like credit cards, and within minutes there were several other hotel guests in the lobby, all unable to get into their rooms, and all of them understandably annoyed. Not long after that, Mr Billings appeared to explain that there seemed to be a fault in the central computer that controlled the cards, but that he had called someone to come and fix it.

  ‘That’s him,’ said Fiona. ‘Go and have a talk to him now.’

  A little nervously, Nicholas crossed the floor to Mr Billings.

  ‘Could I ask you about my mother?’ he asked.

  ‘What?’ Mr Billings spun irritably round to face him. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Nicholas,’ said Nicholas, ‘and my mother is Mrs Frith. You fired her yesterday, and I think it was very unfair. All she was doing –’

  ‘I don’t have time to talk to children!’ Mr Billings interrupted angrily. ‘I’m extremely busy. Please leave this hotel at once!’

  ‘He’s not leaving,’ said Fiona, ‘until you explain why his mother –’

  ‘If you don’t leave,’ shouted Mr Billings, ‘I shall throw you both out myself!’ And he was actually reaching to grab Nicholas by the front of his shirt when there was a loud crash from outside. He ran to the doors in time to see a huge lorry slowly overturning in the driveway, depositing forty tons of gravel on the tarmac in front of the hotel, and completely blocking the entrance to the hotel car park.

  While Mr Billings stared at the sight in horror, a waitress came in from the gardens to say that customers having tea on the terrace were complaining about the smell of dead fish coming from the ornamental pond, and what should she do?

  Mr Billings did not answer. He was still staring, white-faced, out of the hotel at a man who was climbing over the mountain of gravel and making his way to the main doors.

  ‘Mr Ryder…’ The manager’s mouth formed a sickly smile. ‘This is an unexpected honour!’

  Mr Ryder, a large, powerful-looking man, did not return the smile.

  ‘What the devil’s going on here?’ he asked, and Mr Billings tried to answer, but his voice was drowned out by the dozen or so other people in reception all eager to voice their complaints. Mr Ryder held up his hands and waited for them to stop.

  ‘All right,’ he said, ‘let’s take this one at a time.’ He pointed to the woman in the suit. ‘You go first…’

  *

  Twenty minutes later, the computer fault was being repaired, the people having tea on the terrace had been moved indoors while the pond was being cleared, and the emergency exit to the car park had been opened so that guests could get their cars in and out. The only people left in the lobby, apart from Mr Ryder and Mr Billings, were Nicholas and Fiona.

  ‘I’m sorry you’ve had to wait so long,’ Mr Ryder said. ‘What can I do for you both?’

  ‘You don’t have to worry about these two,’ said Mr Billings. ‘The boy is a troublemaker. I’ve already told him to leave.’

  ‘I’m not a troublemaker,’ said Nicholas. ‘I’m here to ask why my mother –’

  ‘Out!’ shouted Mr Billings. ‘I warned you. Get out, or I’ll call the police.’

  ‘Nobody is calling the police.’ Mr Ryder’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Nicholas. ‘What’s this about your mother?’

  ‘I want to know,’ said Nicholas, ‘why she lost her job here when she was only doing what she was supposed to do.’

  ‘This is ridiculous!’ Mr Billings took a phone from his pocket. ‘I’m calling for security to come and deal with him…’

  Mr Ryder waved him to silence.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Nicholas Frith.’

  ‘I’ve heard of you.’ Mr Ryder nodded slowly. ‘Don’t you go to school at Dent Valley?’

  Nicholas admitted that he did.

  ‘I have a friend who teaches there. Michael Daimon.’ Mr Ryder paused. ‘I am the owner of this hotel. If you have a complaint, perhaps you sho
uld talk to me.’

  Mrs Frith got her job back. Mr Ryder actually called round to the house that evening in person to offer it to her. He said that Mr Billings and the girl on the desk had been dismissed. He had suspected them both of dishonesty for some time but been unable to prove anything and he was, he said, extremely grateful to Mrs Frith for the stand she had taken. He brought her an enormous bunch of flowers to apologize for the way she had been treated.

  Mrs Frith invited him in for a drink, and the two of them passed a very pleasant couple of hours talking together. It turned out they had a good many common acquaintances in the hotel industry and had even worked together, albeit very briefly, one summer before Nicholas had been born. Mr Ryder said he would be taking over the management of the Royal himself for a while, and Mrs Frith assured him she would be very happy to come back and manage reception.

  Mr Ryder did have one request, however. He said he had nothing against Nicholas personally, but he wondered if, in future, he would mind keeping away from the hotel. He did not know if there was any truth in the rumours he had heard, he admitted, but he would feel better if Nicholas promised never to come near it again.

  In the circumstances, as Fiona later said, it seemed only fair to agree.

  And after that, life really was rather good. It wasn’t perfect, but it was vastly better than anything Nicholas might have expected.

  Now that Miss Murajee had explained why the accidents happened, he was getting quite good at preventing them. By watching the people around him, lie was often able to tell when they were becoming too agitated or emotional and, if they were, he would slip away quietly to a place where he could be alone, or to the Safe Room at school.

  He still wasn’t sure if Miss Murajee was right when she said that happiness was not something that happened to you but a decision, but he was changing his mind even on that. He watched Mr Gibbon one day, chuckling at the fact that he had squirted chocolate sauce on the fish fingers for supper instead of ketchup, and thought how easy it would have been for him to be upset and angry about it instead of amused. Mr Gibbon, after all, had more reason to be upset than most people but almost never was. In fact, he was the most consistently happy person that Nicholas had ever met.

  Maybe, Nicholas thought, he shouldn’t feel quite so sorry for himself about living under the curse, and should concentrate instead on enjoying the things he had – because the things he had were giving him a lot of pleasure. The accidents were almost under control. His mother was happier in her new job than he had seen her in years. His friend Fiona was proving to be cleverer and kinder every day than he could have believed and, on the odd occasions when things did go wrong, he had Miss Murajee and Mr Fender to turn to for help.

  One way and another, he thought, life could be a lot worse. In fact, all things considered, he could hardly ask for it to get any better.

  And then it did.

  At breakfast one morning, his mother passed him a letter. It was from his father in America, asking if he would like to come out and visit him that summer.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Nicholas had never met his father. Dwight Dyer was an American from Cedar Falls in Iowa, who owned a company that made chewy toys for dogs. Twelve years ago, his business had brought him to England, where he found himself attracted to a young woman on the staff at his hotel – Rachel Frith. She, in turn, was rather taken with the tall, quiet American and, when he asked her out to the cinema, readily agreed.

  The visit to the cinema was followed by a good many other trips out together and the two became very close. Close enough for Dwight to ask, when it was time to go back to America, if Rachel would come with him. There was, he admitted, the slight problem that he already had a fiancée back at home in Iowa, but he was going to tell her, on his return, that he had met someone else, and then Rachel could fly out and join him.

  When Dwight got back to America, however, he found his fiancée, Mary-Beth, was expecting a baby. After many sleepless nights, much agonizing and a good many long and tearful phone calls to Rachel in England, he made his choice, and he and Mary-Beth were married in their church at Cedar Falls.

  Two weeks later, Rachel Frith found that she was expecting a baby as well, and on Christmas Eve that year, Nicholas was born.

  Mr Dyer behaved a lot better than some men do in this situation. He had made a bad mistake, but he did what he could to take responsibility for it. On the first day of every month, his lawyers sent a cheque to help cover the cost of bringing up his son and, every Christmas, he sent Nicholas a birthday card and two presents. With them, he would enclose a short letter, sending Nicholas his good wishes and enclosing a photograph. The photo usually showed Mr Dyer with his growing family (he had four children now) so that Nicholas could see what his half-brother and half-sisters looked like.

  For the last two years, the presents had arrived broken – postmen had a tendency to fall over and drop things when they were delivering mail to the Frith household – but the photos were unharmed and Nicholas would often look at them, wondering what sort of a man his father was. The figure that stared back at him from the pictures had changed slightly over the years, putting on a little weight and losing a certain amount of hair, but the smile had stayed the same.

  Most of the pictures also featured his half-brother, Zak, who was three months older than himself, and his three sisters, getting taller each year. Nicholas wondered what they were like as well, and whether he would ever see them, and whether he would like them if he did.

  And now there was a letter. Two letters. One was from his father saying that, if his mother agreed, he would like to invite Nicholas to stay for three weeks in the summer holidays and meet the American side of his ‘family’. He said he would be happy to cover any expenses, like the flight, and hoped that Nicholas would agree, as they all wanted very much to meet him.

  The other letter was from his half-brother, Zak, and said much the same thing but in a less formal way. He said hi, and he really hoped Nicholas could come over as there was so much to do and life with three sisters was OK, but having a brother would be ‘real neat’.

  Another photo had come with Zak’s letter, of his father surrounded by at least twenty other relations, and Nicholas wondered what it would be like to live with such a large family. In England, he had no grandparents, cousins or aunts. All his life it had been just him and his mother, and the more he looked at the picture, the more he wanted to go to America and see them all.

  He wanted it a lot.

  ‘If you’re that keen,’ said Fiona, ‘then you should go.’

  The children were sitting on a bench outside the science block at break. It was a wonderful sunny morning, showing the first touch of spring, and Fiona’s eyes squinted in the light as she spoke.

  ‘How can I?’ Nicholas looked at her. ‘I can’t go anywhere under the curse, you know that.’

  ‘I know it used to be true,’ said Fiona, ‘but it’s not at the moment. Things hardly happen to you at all these days, do they?’

  This was not entirely true. Only that morning, in tutor group, Miss Greco had found a couple of adders nestling under the radiator, but she had reacted very sensibly. She had moved the class to the library, while she called for someone to deal with the snakes, and there had been no real crisis. No one had been hurt.

  But events like this were, Nicholas had noticed, getting fewer. In the last two weeks, he could remember only one serious incident at school, when a man giving a lecture on the power of the English longbow had inadvertently shot the history teacher, Mr Walker. Even then, he had not been badly hurt. The arrow made a couple of holes in his jacket when it pinned him to the wall, but the cut on his arm was little more than a graze.

  Nicholas had learned what to do on those occasions when he felt the tension rising around him. He simply left the classroom and went to the Safe Room until Mr Fender or Fiona told him it was all right to come out. But if he went to America, there would be no Safe Room to go to. In Cedar Falls he would
be putting his own family, some of them young children, at risk.

  Fiona pointed out that at least they knew what the risk was. Nicholas had told his father, in one of his thank-you letters, about the trip to Spain and falling under the curse of Toribio de Cobrales.

  ‘If you’ve told him about the curse,’ said Fiona, ‘and he still wants you to go, then you should go. He’s said he doesn’t mind.’

  Nicholas was not so sure. It was one thing to say, from 3,000 miles away, that you didn’t mind living with someone who attracted accidents and disasters, but it might be quite another when they actually started happening. And he did not want to cause any accidents around his father and his family. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt any of them and that was surely what would happen if he accepted the invitation. No, it was out of the question.

  But he did take Fiona’s advice on one thing. She said he should talk to Miss Murajee before he made a final decision, and he did.

  Miss Murajee came in to school every Wednesday, to boost up the power in the Safe Room and to see how Nicholas was doing.

  ‘I don’t see why you shouldn’t go,’ she said, when he showed her the letter from his father. ‘Wonderful country, America. Lovely people…’

  ‘But what about the curse?’.

  ‘I think I agree with Fiona on that one.’ Miss Murajee had set fire to a bunch of sage and was vigorously fanning the smoke around the room. ‘You’re managing the whole thing so much better these days. You’ve learnt how to keep the accident rate down. You should be all right.’ She paused. ‘The tricky bit’s going to be the flying. On-board an aeroplane, with all those anxious emotions flooding the air and nowhere for you to go… But I might be able to help with that.’

  ‘You might?’ Nicholas felt his heart lifting.

  ‘I could probably provide some sort of protection for the duration of the flight. And if you flew very early in the morning, while everyone’s still a bit sleepy… yes, I think we could get you there safely. If you really wanted to go.’