Summer Evenings at the Seafront Hotel: Exclusive Short Story by Vanessa Greene Page B

without even trying though, could I?’
    Cally said goodbye, and unlocked her front door. Tonight, like every night when she arrived home, she and her dad would talk over their days with a cup of tea, and then she’d get dinner ready. They’d watch TV, and laugh together. Each month she got a pay cheque that supplemented his disability living allowance and meant they could keep on living the way they had before he got ill. She was going to be there for him, the way he had always been there for her.

Chapter Two
Friday 28 th June
    At midday, a yellow tourist coach with
Sol y Luna
on the outside pulled up outside the hotel. Light streamed into the lobby on the warm summer’s day, and Cally readied herself for the new arrivals, getting up from her seat and walking over to the door. The guests disembarked from the coach slowly, chattering to each other and collecting their luggage. Cally envied them. She thought back to four years ago, when she and Kat had got bargain flights out to Greece and spent a fortnight lying on the beach. It was the last holiday she’d had.
    ‘Hello. Welcome to the South Cliff Hotel,’ she said to the group, as they made their way up the stone steps. She saw an elderly couple down on the pavement struggling with two heavy-looking suitcases. She called out to them. ‘Leave those, we’ll help you with your bags.’
    She looked back inside for some assistance. Giovanni, Liliana’s brother and the new porter, was leaning back in the window seat as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
    ‘Just a moment,’ Cally said, excusing herself from the Spanish group.
    ‘Giovanni,’ she said standing over him, her sharp tone waking him from his daze. ‘Could give me a hand?’
    ‘No worries,’ he said, getting to his feet slowly.
    By the time Giovanni had made it down to the pavement, Cally had already ferried most of the baggage up the stone steps and into the lobby. She thought of Joe, how much easier it would be if he was there. Settling new arrivals had just seemed to happen effortlessly when he was around.
    ‘Hey,’ came a soft voice behind her. She turned and saw Liliana. ‘Sorry about my lazybones of a brother. I’ll have a word with him.’
    ‘Thanks. He’s a nice guy, but I’m not sure he shares your work ethic.’
    ‘Hmm. Yes. He’s always been a little … laid back, I suppose,’ Liliana said, biting her lip. ‘Sorry, I thought at twenty he would have grown up a bit.’
    Cally spent the afternoon getting the new Spanish guests settled, handing out maps of the local area and advising them about things to visit – the funicular railway, the Japanese gardens at Peasholm Park for concerts, the Victorian Spa. She chatted to them, recalling a few words from her GCSE Spanish to help them feel at home. They got ready to leave at lunchtime, and a woman of about forty stopped by the front desk.
    ‘A question,’ she said, speaking slowly. ‘The food. Tonight. I’m sorry … for my English. But some food. I get a bad,’ she pointed to her stomach, then got an electronic translator out. Cally read the screen: GLUTEN.
    ‘Ah, you’ve got an intolerance?’ Cally said.
    ‘Sí, sí
.’
    ‘Don’t worry. I’ll speak to our chef about it and let you know what’s OK for you to eat tonight.’
    The woman smiled gratefully and went on her way.
    The hotel felt strangely quiet when the group had left. Cally walked down to the kitchen and put her head around the door. The room was warm and steamy and she immediately felt her cheeks get hot. To her right, the head chef, Anton, was chopping garlic at a countertop. He looked up at her and smiled, wiping a trace of sweat from his brow. ‘Hi. It’s Cally, right?’
    She nodded, feeling suddenly shy.
    ‘What can I help you with?’ He put the knife down.
    ‘I just wanted to check this evening’s menu over with you – if you’ve got a minute.’
    ‘Sure,’ he replied.
    ‘One of the Spanish group has a gluten intolerance, so wanted to know