Black Hotel

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  Black Hotel

  Renee Wakefield

  Contents

  1. The Dinner Party

  2. Midnight Snack

  3. Folding

  4. Mother

  5. Sunshine

  6. Exploring

  7. Trains?

  8. That’s it

  9. Squeaks and Strange People

  10. Zoo with no animals

  11. Brownie

  12. Interfering With The Results

  13. Whispers

  14. Energy

  15. Door Open

  16. Cricket

  17. Confronting Hector

  18. Lollipop

  19. The Thing Roaming the Halls

  20. A Real Person

  21. Investigations

  22. Merch’s Shift

  23. Not Engaging

  24. The Targs

  25. Other People’s Eyes

  26. Livestock

  27. The Date

  28. The Comet

  29. Heroin

  30. Don’t Scare Daddy

  31. A New Tactic

  32. Tell me what you see

  33. Hector’s disappointment

  34. Amanda

  35. Aftermath

  36. Targ Manor

  37. Charlotte

  38. The Oak Tree

  39. The Dakes

  40. Checking In

  41. Jennings

  42. Nicolette

  43. The Fire

  44. Hero

  if you have a moment

  Renee’s Readers

  Coming soon - G L I M P S E

  1

  The Dinner Party

  Jack sighed. That same thought flickered across his mind yet again. He’d had it a lot of late.

  My whole life, it’s like the entire world knows the secret. A secret I just don’t get.

  He wished someone would let him in on the joke.

  Conversation bubbled all around him. He glanced about at the dozen or so other people at the dinner party, all chatting and laughing happily. His friends.

  ‘So, tell your builder that’s not what you want. You can’t have your backyard divided in half like that.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. But the planning permit.’

  ‘Who cares? Just tell the builder to do it anyway.’

  ’I suppose. He said he was going to start the decking this week, but …’

  This is what most of the evening’s conversations had been like. Revolving around people’s renovations. Planning permits. Comparing builders. Construction concerns. Or children and schools and Saturday sport. What could Jack possibly contribute to discussions like that? Smiling politely and nodding along quickly became tiresome.

  His inattention had caused him to drift out of a conversation cluster sometime ago. Now there was no way back in. He had to sit there quietly, looking awkward. Still, it was probably preferable to engaging in small talk.

  Jack glanced down at his plate. Usually, in these situations, he could at least hide behind his food. Eat in lieu of speaking. He liked to eat and generally had no issues finishing any meal, but the duck was most unappealing. He couldn’t figure it out. Why would they serve duck? And whatever the array of vegetables was supposed to be.

  In truth, he had been thrown since he first arrived and offered a port. Did people their age actually drink port and sherry? It was as though his friends had made a conscious decision that they were grownups now and therefore if they were grownups they should start copying whatever their parents had done. In the old days he would have been expected to show up with a packet of chips and a bottle of soft drink. At least then he would have known there’d be something he could eat.

  What was the time? Maybe they could go home soon. He glanced over at Merch, trying to give his housemate the eye. A subtle indication it might be time to leave. Merch was too caught up to notice. Submerged in a lively, flirty, touchy one-on-one conversation with an attractive woman in a low cut red dress. Blonde Rachel. Surely Blonde Rachel was out of his league.

  The apartment was swish and modern. All pricey designer labels Jack imagined, although he had no eye for spotting such things. The closest thing they had to designer was the kitchen table Merch had liberated from hard rubbish. Where did these people get all the money from? Not that he wanted an apartment like this, but it would be nice to own something. Have something to show for the nearly 40 years on this planet. To have accumulated more than an oversized belly, some old T-shirts and an out-dated DVD collection.

  Uh oh. The woman beside Jack was free. Their eyes met, and she gave a polite if somewhat forced smile. He tried to remember her name. Sonia? Something like that. To Jack’s way of thinking, Sonia was a ring-in. A friend of friends, who suddenly started appearing at things some time ago and now was ensconced in the group. Was Jack supposed to consider her a friend? The rules were all different now. The assumption was that the two of them were friends, yet he barely knew this woman. He’d never spoken to her, at least not individually. Did merely being invited to the same events constitute friendship these days? Or maybe that was why they had been seated together. An attempt to force the issue.

  I should try, Jack thought. ‘Sorry, what is it you do again? Accountant?’

  ‘Lawyer’

  ‘Lawyer,’ Jack repeated pointlessly. He should have guessed. That’s right, he’d overheard something earlier in the evening. When they had the port. ‘And did I hear you saying something about … you’ve just switched firms?’

  ‘Yes, well, you know… Out of the corporate grind.’ Jack didn’t know. ‘I wanted to help people a bit more. Do some good. Work with marginalised people. Refugees. So-called Boat People.’ And on she went.

  Jack drifted away. Her speech gave the impression of being well practised. Maybe that’s what he needed. Some well practised patter. Perhaps he could say he was a lawyer. That was a big part of the trouble. He never had anything to say to anyone. He was never terribly interested in anyone else’s lives and couldn’t imagine why they’d be interested in his.

  ‘Sorry?’ Jack blushed, aware Sonia had asked him a question.

  ‘Last time we spoke you said you working for Cam?’

  Last time we spoke? That was a lie. Jack had no recollection of speaking to this woman ever. Not individually or about anything. Why would she lie?

  ‘Umm, working with Cam? That was a couple of jobs ago now.’

  Please don’t ask, please don’t ask. Of course she did. ‘So where are you now?’

  ‘Oh, you know, just working.’

  ‘Working where?’ Her eyes narrowed, focused on him. Awaiting some sort of response.

  Jack opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Fortunately, a voice cut in from across the table. ‘Oh, Sonia…’ Rescuing her and saving Jack.

  What he should have said? ‘What do I do? Well, I fold paper, actually.’ That was selling himself short. First, he unfolded the paper, and then he re-folded it. Was this really his life? How had he managed to get into this position? 38 years old and stuck in the most menial of menial low paying jobs. Look around. People his age had careers and houses and money. Not that he wanted these people’s lives. He had no interest in going to a real job every day, having to dress in a suit and do whatever these people did in those enormous city skyscrapers. But he didn’t want to be where he was either, folding and unfolding paper. A job so low skilled they could train a monkey to do it.

  With Sonia actively engaged in another conversation, Jack sank back into solitude, at on
ce both comfortable and uncomfortable. The comfort of not having to force awkward small talk, mixed with the discomfort of knowing it was a dinner party and he really should be making more of an effort to talk to someone.

  There were nine others seated around the custom-made, wooden dining table. He and Merch could barely fit ten people in their pokey apartment, let alone have chairs for them all. All of them successful people. He tried to remember everyone’s jobs, not that he had any idea what any of the job titles actually meant. Daniel worked for the government. Doing… something. Whatever it was, Daniel had recently returned from overseas doing it. Didn’t someone else work for the government too? Jean worked for Xerox or IBM or something to do with computers. There were a few lawyers like Sonia and a designer and … he couldn’t remember the rest. Suits and ties on the men despite the late summer warmth. Most had come straight from work. Jack had made a conscious effort to try to dress up and yet these people were considerably better dressed than him in their everyday work clothes.

  At what exact point did all this happen? Jack had known many of these people since school/university days when they were all layabouts in much the same boat - drinking too much beer and squandering their potential. Share houses and beat up couches and second hand everything. Yet somehow all of his friends had evolved, and he hadn’t. Like he missed the memo. They had left him and Merch in their dust. Or maybe just him. Merch was different.

  Across the table, Merch laughed loudly and placed a flirty hand on Blonde Rachel’s arm. Settled in and comfortable. Jack’s wish to go home wasn’t about to be granted any time soon.

  2

  Midnight Snack

  Jack lay awake, staring at the dappled patterns on the ceiling. Shadows from the streets lights shining through the trees. Shimmering slightly in the non-existent breeze.

  Social engagements always left Jack feeling wired yet flat. At worst they left him downright miserable. Conversing with people took so much energy. Talking, laughing, smiling politely. Would talking be less taxing if he were better at it? Not that he had any desire to hold court and be the life of the party. Just a little less awkward and uncomfortable would be good.

  He really needed to sleep. The spectre of a tired day at work weighed heavily upon him. Unfortunately, the need for sleep never had much bearing on his ability to sleep. The heat wasn’t helping matters. Neither were the loud, ongoing sex noises coming from Merch’s bedroom. Merch and Blonde Rachel weren’t being particularly noisy, but the walls in their apartment were particularly thin.

  Jack and Merch had known each other since preschool, and it had been the one friendship in Jack’s life that had really stuck. Originally their friendship had been born out of convenience and proximity. Merch lived only a couple of doors away. When the two of them reached leaving home age, they were still close, so it made sense to move in together. And they’d been housemates ever since. The friendship worked because they were similar without being exactly the same. Well, perhaps not similar physically. While Jack could be described as portly (if one was being kind) Merch was weedy. All skin and bones. Looks aside, they were much the same. Both approaching 40, both aesthetically challenged and both nerdy. And yet Merch was… Merch.

  Jack rolled onto his left side again. The last resort in the hope of inducing sleep. He had tried both sides and lying on his back. Doona and no doona. Letting his mind wander. Concentrating on thinking about nothing. All the strategies. Falling asleep was such a basic activity and yet some nights it was as though he forgot how to do it. Left side didn’t help, just as it hadn’t last time. He knew he had reached that point. Time to get up. He had no desire to get up. He was exhausted, but if he wasn’t asleep now sleep wasn’t coming any time soon. Better to get up and make use of the time rather than lie there getting increasingly annoyed.

  Sneaking out of his bedroom, Jack tiptoed passed Merch’s door as quietly as he could. He planted himself on the couch with a large bag of Doritos, ready to re-watch some Westworld. The opening credits had barely finished when Merch emerged from his room in his pyjama bottoms.

  ‘Cheese, cheese…’ He opened the fridge. ‘Hey, buddy. Do we have any cheese?’

  Jack didn’t reply.

  ‘Oh no.’ Merch said, noticing the Doritos. ‘Corn chips in the middle of the night - that’s never a good sign.’ He crossed over to the couch and plonked down beside Jack. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Jack lied, trying to focus. The robots were beginning to realise they were not humans. He should probably pause it, but since this was his fourth time through Series One, it would probably be okay. He’d never bothered watching Series Two a second time.

  Merch grabbed the remote and paused it for him. ‘Want to talk about it?’

  ‘Don’t you have to get back to Blonde Rachel?’

  Merch made a dismissive hand gesture, indicating there was no hurry. Jack didn’t particularly feel like chatting but knew Merch well enough to know there was no way out of the conversation. ‘I don’t know, Merch… Just life, you know?’ He sat quietly for a moment before continuing. ‘Why duck?’

  ‘Ha, well you know Justine. She likes to think she’s on Masterchef. Even if she can’t cook.’

  ‘Last time we went to Justine’s she served us sausages in bread.’

  ‘That was a barbecue, ‘ey?’

  ‘Yeah. I guess. I just don’t know when everything got to be so fancy.’

  ‘You might have to stop going to dinner parties. You always get like this after being around people.’

  ‘People with jobs’

  ‘You’ve got a job,’ Merch dug his hand deep into the bag of chips.

  ‘That girl I was talking to…’

  ‘Sonia. “That girl”’ Merch huffed. ‘You know Sonia. She’s at everything.’

  ‘She’s like… a lawyer… That’s a real job.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, I fold paper.’

  ‘Better than not having a job, no?’

  ‘Is it? It’s hardly heroic.’

  ‘Not sure you’ve got the physique for heroic.’

  The squeak of Merch’s bedroom door reminded them someone else was in the apartment. Blonde Rachel strutted out wearing nothing more than the other half of Merch’s pyjamas. The top barely reached her legs.

  ‘Ooh, Doritos…’ She leant between the boys on the couch and helped herself. Jack immediately wished he put on more than only his boxer shorts. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Jack’s having an existential crisis. He’s wishing he was a superhero.’

  ‘No,’ Jack protested. ‘But it’d be nice to do something that helped people.’

  ‘I’ll leave you guys to it.’ Rachel said, fishing out another handful of chips.

  Jack made an effort not to stare as Blonde Rachel traipsed back to the bedroom, her shapely rear end barely covered by Merch’s pyjama top.

  ‘You help people. You help the data people – you unfold the paper, so they don’t have to.’

  ‘It’s hardly something I’m going to be remembered for.’

  ‘Could be worse. You could be a telemarketer.’

  ‘I was a telemarketer, remember? That’s how I ended up at the factory.’

  ‘Maybe. Hard to keep track of all your jobs.’

  Jack’s ill-fated attempt at telemarketing had only lasted a few weeks. In retrospect, he wasn’t sure what he had been thinking. How could he expect to cold call strangers, let alone ask them for money? Actually, that wasn’t right. He knew exactly what he had been thinking. He’d been thinking he needed a job.

  ‘What am I going to tell my kids? "What did you do for a living, Daddy? "Well, I was a paper folder. I folded and unfolded pieces of paper."‘

  ‘Getting ahead of yourself, aren’t you?’ Merch asked, standing. ‘You need a girlfriend first.’

  ‘There’s just gotta be more to life… ‘ Jack reached for the remote.

  ‘Gets back to the physique thing.’ Merch helped himself to some more chips and left Jack t
o his humanoid robots.

  3

  Folding

  ‘Wakey, wakey.’ The boss’s surprisingly high-pitched voice brought Jack back to reality.

  The small man with angry eyes gave Jack a poke in the back as he passed to reinforce the point. How long he had been spaced out for? Jack was disappointed to see only five minutes had passed.

  Jack glanced about. The amount of colour he could see when he looked about the office always surprised him, because whenever he reflected on work outside the job the office seemed nothing but grey. Grey and drab. The workplace was some kind of cross between a factory and an office, not entirely succeeding in being either. Downstairs a loading bay opened onto a warehouse area where a troop of unfriendly men packed orders to ship out. Upstairs, where Jack worked, was open plan with desks and chairs and about a dozen computers off to one side for data entry. The kind of place dreams come to die. Jack made little effort to figure out what anybody else did on an individual level or what the company did as a whole because he couldn’t have cared less. The only thing more depressing than having to show up here every day was the idea of becoming stuck and having to come here every day for the rest of his life.