little line that winds along the streets between the two.
*
Yukiko reaches the hotel in less than five minutes and is initially flummoxed. The word Hotel suggests an establishment of some stature – big enough, at least, to maintain one’s anonymity. But this is essentially just alarge English house with the words ‘Grosvenor Hotel’ stencilled in a retro font onto the glass above the door. All the same, it is without doubt the same doorway her mother posed before in the photograph and for that she is tremendously grateful. She climbs the steps and whacks the knocker against the door a couple of times.
The woman who opens the door is in her sixties maybe, but not quite as old as Mrs Kudo and company. Once she’s hauled back the door she gives Yuki a big smile, which is much appreciated. And it occurs to Yuki that she should have maybe rehearsed a handful of words regarding the requesting of a room. Instead, she lifts the OS map and the street map. As if to say, I’m a Foreign Tourist Person. Do you really want to hear me desecrate your language? And this seems to suffice, because the woman steps back, to allow Yuki to come on in.
The hall is a little overwhelming. There’s an old table covered with stacks of leaflets. The walls are filled with framed prints and old photographs. The carpet is its own geometric universe of greens and oranges, which by one doorway intersects with something predominantly pink and floral. Yuki makes a mental note to come back later and take a photograph or two.
The woman holds out a laminated list with the cost of a room printed on it – a figure which to Yuki seems wholly acceptable. Then, once she’s written her name in an upholstered ledger, the woman leads Yuki across the hall into the dining room.
As they stand on the threshold, the woman explainsthat they no longer offer evening meals. We’re really just a B & B, she says. And, seeing Yukiko’s look of bewilderment, she does her best to explain what a ‘B & B’ is.
She slips through another door, re-emerges with a key in her hand, then leads Yuki on up the stairs. The bedroom has a big old bed in it and lots of large, brown furniture. Yuki looks around for a door to an en-suite bathroom. Where’s a person meant to do their pee-pee? she wonders. In the sink?
The B & B Lady beckons Yuki to follow and opens a door across the corridor. Steps back, to let Yuki pop her head in there – a tiny room with a massive bath, and a toilet and sink right beside. The woman smiles and Yuki smiles right back, nodding madly. Perfect! Now I can brush my teeth whilst sitting on the lavatory.
As soon as she has the key and the B & B Lady has left her to it, Yuki climbs up onto the enormous bed. Thinks, I could fall asleep – right now, in these cold, damp clothes. I might not wake for a month or more. The sun would slowly swing by the window. People would go up and down the street, oblivious. And when I finally woke, all my little obsessions would’ve been smoothed away and my life would be solved, like a puzzle. I’d have a cup of tea at one of the little tables in the dining room, pay the bill, take the elevator down to Haworth International and fly straight home.
Eventually, she sits herself up, takes out the folded envelope and picks through the photographs. Finds the one of an open window and carries it over to the windowin her room. She pulls the net curtain back and stares across the street. Not bad, she thinks. In the photograph, a dressing table stands in the foreground, with paper and pens spread across it. The window’s open, and clearly visible in the distance is the house across the street. It’s the same house that Yukiko can now see, but from a slightly different angle. A little to the left of where it should be. But to have come all this way and to be this close, thinks Yuki. That really is not so bad at all.
Yuki takes off her damp clothes, hangs them over radiators and the backs of chairs and wraps herself up in a
*
Yukiko reaches the hotel in less than five minutes and is initially flummoxed. The word Hotel suggests an establishment of some stature – big enough, at least, to maintain one’s anonymity. But this is essentially just alarge English house with the words ‘Grosvenor Hotel’ stencilled in a retro font onto the glass above the door. All the same, it is without doubt the same doorway her mother posed before in the photograph and for that she is tremendously grateful. She climbs the steps and whacks the knocker against the door a couple of times.
The woman who opens the door is in her sixties maybe, but not quite as old as Mrs Kudo and company. Once she’s hauled back the door she gives Yuki a big smile, which is much appreciated. And it occurs to Yuki that she should have maybe rehearsed a handful of words regarding the requesting of a room. Instead, she lifts the OS map and the street map. As if to say, I’m a Foreign Tourist Person. Do you really want to hear me desecrate your language? And this seems to suffice, because the woman steps back, to allow Yuki to come on in.
The hall is a little overwhelming. There’s an old table covered with stacks of leaflets. The walls are filled with framed prints and old photographs. The carpet is its own geometric universe of greens and oranges, which by one doorway intersects with something predominantly pink and floral. Yuki makes a mental note to come back later and take a photograph or two.
The woman holds out a laminated list with the cost of a room printed on it – a figure which to Yuki seems wholly acceptable. Then, once she’s written her name in an upholstered ledger, the woman leads Yuki across the hall into the dining room.
As they stand on the threshold, the woman explainsthat they no longer offer evening meals. We’re really just a B & B, she says. And, seeing Yukiko’s look of bewilderment, she does her best to explain what a ‘B & B’ is.
She slips through another door, re-emerges with a key in her hand, then leads Yuki on up the stairs. The bedroom has a big old bed in it and lots of large, brown furniture. Yuki looks around for a door to an en-suite bathroom. Where’s a person meant to do their pee-pee? she wonders. In the sink?
The B & B Lady beckons Yuki to follow and opens a door across the corridor. Steps back, to let Yuki pop her head in there – a tiny room with a massive bath, and a toilet and sink right beside. The woman smiles and Yuki smiles right back, nodding madly. Perfect! Now I can brush my teeth whilst sitting on the lavatory.
As soon as she has the key and the B & B Lady has left her to it, Yuki climbs up onto the enormous bed. Thinks, I could fall asleep – right now, in these cold, damp clothes. I might not wake for a month or more. The sun would slowly swing by the window. People would go up and down the street, oblivious. And when I finally woke, all my little obsessions would’ve been smoothed away and my life would be solved, like a puzzle. I’d have a cup of tea at one of the little tables in the dining room, pay the bill, take the elevator down to Haworth International and fly straight home.
Eventually, she sits herself up, takes out the folded envelope and picks through the photographs. Finds the one of an open window and carries it over to the windowin her room. She pulls the net curtain back and stares across the street. Not bad, she thinks. In the photograph, a dressing table stands in the foreground, with paper and pens spread across it. The window’s open, and clearly visible in the distance is the house across the street. It’s the same house that Yukiko can now see, but from a slightly different angle. A little to the left of where it should be. But to have come all this way and to be this close, thinks Yuki. That really is not so bad at all.
Yuki takes off her damp clothes, hangs them over radiators and the backs of chairs and wraps herself up in a
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