NOTE: This is another chapter from my WIP novel 'The Old Hall Hotel.' A failing hotel which still accepts permanent guests. This is a rough draft, so any notes would be appreciated! Characters in this story: DANIEL: A struggling writer, tasked with writing a piece on the hotel to try and encourage public interest again. ALEX: The night watchman. Omnipresent, he knows everything about the residents. His life revolves around the hotel. LILY: An elderly, permanent guest. She is known to be eccentric and has segregated herself from everyone in the hotel, besides the kindly Alex. ‘How old is Lily?’ Daniel had limited information about his later interviewee. Alex had been helpful in providing him with the basic information about the previous clients, so that they could skip the standard first questions and get to the interesting middle section. ‘Eighties.’ Alex was frowning over some documents. ‘Late eighties, I would say.’ Daniel scribbled into his notebook. ‘And she’s happy for me to interview her?’ ‘She was yesterday.’ Alex finally looked up from his work. ‘Listen, Daniel. I should maybe pre-warn you about her character- or at least her mood- it can shift quite rapidly.’ Daniel nodded. Could be an interesting one. Daniel glanced down again at the notes. ‘You didn’t give me a surname.’ Alex opened his mouth and closed it again. ‘Ah.’ ‘What?’ ‘I think it’s perhaps best you wait and see which one she offers you.’ ‘Which one…’ ‘And ...best to just go with it. Don’t look too shocked. She’ll like you more if you take it on the chin.’ Choosing not to worry about it, Daniel nodded and scribbled ‘probable psycho’ into his notebook. * ‘Lily?’ Daniel flipped through his notes to make sure he had the right room. 102. ‘Lily?’ He tried the door and found it opened very easily. Taking this an invitation he stepped in. A Dickensian shadow was cast over the room. That or Hitchcock. Despite the sun, creeping through the shut, floor to ceiling blinds, candles were lit in the room, displaying only the edges of tables and the suggestion of the rest of the furnishings. ‘Lily?’ A hissing noise made Daniel make an involuntary gasp. Adjusting his glasses and blinking into the darkness he saw two glowing eyes meeting his from behind a cage. It gave a faint meow and then another hiss. ‘Hello.’ A woman was sitting in an armchair, bolt upright, watching him. How long for he couldn’t be sure. ‘Lil...Lily?’ ‘How presumptuous of you to let yourself in. I thought Alex had fixed the automatic lock.’ ‘I’m very sorry, I thought you were expecting me.’ She didn’t reply and Alex reddened ‘ Not that that entitled me to just come in. I was worried I was late, you see and waiting at the wrong door, I knocked and I was just checking to see if it was locked and it wasn’t, so I tried...’ ‘You’re rambling. It’s not attractive.’ The cat mewed rather pathetically. ‘I’m sorry but… you are Lily?’ ‘Lily? How confident. Indeed, I’m Lily.’ She paused. ‘Miss Hilter to you, though.’ ‘Miss...Hitler?’ ‘Correct.’ She switched an out of place desk light on and studied him, her eyes travelling from his face to his shoes. ‘Oh, now. Don’t you start judging, sonny.’ ‘I...I wasn’t.’ ‘Of course you’re judging. Over a silly name. Goodness me. You should have seen the fuss it caused in Starbucks. They won’t let me in anymore. The café downstairs is simply ghastly, too. Utter discrimination.’ ‘I was just surprised Miss…’ ‘Miss H if you really can’t stand it.’ ‘Miss H….’ ‘AICH not HEICH. Alex told me you were an educated man.’ ‘I don’t know about that.’ ‘Well, he told me that you’re a writer.’ ‘They aren’t exclusive’ ‘They should be.’ She poured some sherry from a canister into a grey-looking mug. ‘My father was a writer.’ ‘Really? What did he write?’ Lily swirled the sherry in the mug. ‘Perhaps, we could go through to my study? I think you'll find it enlightening. Or at least a satisfying backdrop to this meeting.’ ‘Wherever you are most comfortable.’ She poured more sherry into the mug and shrugged .‘Follow me.’ Daniel quickly collected up his notebooks. ’You wouldn’t find Premier Inn having a study.’ Lily chuckled. ‘You know, I think once upon a time it was a second bathroom. Put a desk and a few books in any room and it becomes a study. This way. That door ahead of you.’ Lily stood and Daniel chanced a proper look at her. She was a handsome lady. She wore a buttoned up grey jacket, leaving only room at the neck to display a chain with a ring. A beige skirt which touched the floor trailed behind her slightly as she walked, barefoot. Gesturing to a door she stood back. ‘After you.’ *** ‘Oh…’ The walls were painted black in rough strokes- apart from the central wall, which was covered by a huge swastika. Over the top were various framed photos of Hitler- ones that Daniel had never seen before. He was smiling in every one. There was one exception. A more modern photo of a young woman, maybe in her twenties. Daniel walked toward it ‘My Tabitha.’ Daniel’s voice was failing him. Every part of him wanted to leave. This woman, this room... ‘Who is she?’ he croaked. ‘My daughter.’ She brought up too long red fingernails to stroke the picture.’ Thank you for noticing her. Not many people do. I sometimes think I should perhaps move her to a different wall.’’ ‘You have a daughter?’ ‘I do. A beauty. Don’t you agree, young man?’ Daniel looked again at the photo. Her hair was severely cut, and her eyes looked too big, terrified and wide as though posing for a Victorian photo. ‘I don’t have a recent one.’ Lily turned away. ‘I wish I did.’ She placed two chairs next to a small wooden desk and set them out like a job interview. Daniel made to sit in the one facing toward the door, away from the central wall but Lily sat herself down forcing him to look at the flag and its photos. Lily watched him for a moment, apparently enjoying his discomfort. ‘So. What do you want to know?’ Daniel shook himself slightly and reached inside his satchel. ‘Are you happy to speak about your family?’ ‘My father, I presume?’ ‘If you like. We can start there. Your father…’ ‘Which one?’ Daniel tried to keep his face neutral. Don’t look shocked. ‘You have more than one?’ ‘Three, actually.’ ‘Three?’ ‘Three. Daddy. Step-father. Hitler.’ The more she spoke, the more Lily’s voice altered. Daniel noted it slipped from BBC posh, to Scouse into an odd German tilt. None of them seemed authentic, more like ones heard in a Monty Python sketch. ‘I suppose… I have to ask about Hitler.’ ‘Settle yourself, then. I won’t stop. Hold your questions. Just write.’ * ' Mummy was from Liverpool. The poor part. She had a sweetheart. Billy. He worked on the Docks and with the little money he had he would take her ice skating, or to a show if he was feeling particularly flush. That’s where Hitler met her. At the ice rink. She was by herself that day. Mummy was very pretty- if she went by herself and the right person was working at the kiosk he would let her in for free. And there he was- a man who looked so painfully out of place that Mummy couldn’t help but stare at him. And he stared right back. And then he was flat on his backside. Mummy skated over and helped him up. He spoke little English and Mummy little German. But they smiled a lot. Mummy said she never met a more polite person. They became friends and poor old Billy was given the boot. So, they used to go skating in Wavertree. Hand in hand and round and round they went. They even kept a pair of his skates behind glass when he became famous. People used to stare at them. Some people would just spit. Then without even a goodbye, he left. Went back to Germany and started causing trouble. Mummy was so upset. She collected all the press but just cut out his picture. She didn’t like to read what they were saying.' Lily stopped here. Looked at Daniel. ‘You seem distracted by the wall.’ Daniel had attempted to keep his eyes squarely on Lily. ‘Sorry.’ He thought she was about to ask him to go. Instead she sat back again, and continued. ‘In 1938, without warning he came back to Wavertree. Mummy was skating as usual and she looked up and there he was! He came back to Liverpool and stayed with her just before the war. He did, lad, I swear to you, don’t look at me like that. He came for a holiday. And they had me. He stayed with mummy and they skated, painted and spoke about astrology. And they had me. Then off he went. Off he went to cause even more trouble. ‘She never gave up hope. She would tell her girlfriends- ‘I just need to speak to him. Have a good old skate and talk. Get these mad ideas out of his head. That’s all. Then it got personal and things changed for mummy. ‘You see, she was cross because he bombed the house in Toxteth. She had been staying with a friend at the time and came back to flat land. ‘What happened?’ a neighbor yelled from across the road, ‘Did you and Adolf have a domestic? ’ Mummy felt such shame and anger. She thought he might have given her a warning. She thought they were closer than that.’ ‘She tried to defend him even then. She would talk with Bobby, her little brother. He was only a little boy. She would say to him, ‘How can people think they know someone from words spoken by others?’ Bobby would agree and hug her. He loved his sister. ‘Then Hitler did something Mummy could neither explain nor forgive. Mummy’s little brother was killed. They were living in Bootle with an aunt after the bomb destroyed their home. Bobby had gone walking when the air siren went off. Someone told Mummy they had seen Bobby before the bomb went off and that he had no chance of avoiding it. He was dead. ' ‘Please.’ Her eyes looked into his, suddenly looking every inch her age. ‘It isn’t that I approve. I wish I had known Uncle Bobby. I hate this man I know to be my father. But I frame history, both good and bad. The photos...that one, the one of Hitler with the children- I got that one newly framed. It got broken again. It is the only time Alex has turned me down. I had to order the empty frame and do the blasted thing myself. ‘ ‘But your mother… did she find Bobby?’ She paused. ‘She had rushed to find his body because nobody can ever believe someone is gone until they see a body, you see? She was told he was with the others in the Co-op building- that was where they used to store the bodies- that she should go home and see him tomorrow. She did because Mummy was scared of the dark. When she woke up there had been more bombings. They had got the co-op building. Bombed the dead. And right there is the difference between cruelty and evil, she used to tell me. To take someone but not to give a chance for closure, for goodbyes? My Mummy never forgave Hitler, not ever. She says he left her his skating t.shirt. She used to sleep with it. That night she cut it up into small pieces. ‘Why didn’t you burn it, mummy?’ I would ask her ‘We were short on tea towels.’ she told me.’ *** She stood. ‘I am tired. Are you not tired?’ Daniel remained in his seat. ‘I was curious about your other fathers..’ ‘I will see you another time, Daniel. Another time. Please be sure to say goodbye to my cat on your way out. I will not let him out when people are in my room. He will disgrace himself. But perhaps you could do him the courtesy of a smile. You want to know his name?’ Daniel ran names run through his head, all more inappropriate than the last. ‘Um..,’ ‘Socks.’ ‘Oh. How nice.’ *** ‘Hitler!...Seriously, not even a heads up?’ ‘Ahh.’ ‘Alex!’ Daniel spread his arms out. ‘What the actual…’ ‘I’m sorry. It’s been a while since she was Mrs Hitler. I was hoping that wasn’t who you would meet.’ ‘And who was I supposed to meet?’ ‘Mrs Kennedy?’ Alex pulled at his tie nervously..’ Mrs Churchill. Her Royal Highness. If you were lucky, just Lily.’ ‘She’s a schizophrenic?’ ‘She’s just… sad. When I last spoke to Lily….well, she told me more than she’d ever told me.’ ……………………. ‘She was a war child. Her dad went off to war not long after the wee Lily was born. Her mum brought her up and they moved from Liverpool to escape the bombings. The part about her uncle Bobby appears to be true- it’s the only part that never changes. So Lily and mum came to the countryside. To this hotel in fact.’ ‘Her mother met someone. A porter named Billy. They became...close. So close that Lily took to calling him Daddy. She told me how they would play. How he would take her to the park. The way he held her hand and cuddled her when she was scared. He would make up ‘Lily stories’, set in a magical land, far away where only beautiful plants grew, never weeds and yet it never rained. Then, when she was seven, the war was over. And one day, Lily got home from school to find a strange man standing in the kitchen saying he was her father. Her room was packed up and a car was waiting for them outside. He took them all back to Liverpool- a place she couldn’t remember- and her mum kept telling her that this strange man was her real father. And she would scream and cry until she was sick for Billy, her daddy- and this strange man, with eyes like hers- would watch her cry and say nothing. Not a word. I suppose her mother hoped she would forget about Billy. But she didn’t. She hated her real father- this man who had taken her from all she had ever known- and who would wake her screaming and swearing in the dead of night about things she couldn’t understand. He killed himself. Her real father. It was just her and her mum after that. Lily...she wandered. Wandered through stories and people. Sometimes she speaks of a Tabitha. I tried to find her, this girl- but I couldn’t. Sometimes Tabitha’s picture is up. Sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes her room has a swastika, sometimes an American flag, sometimes nothing. She usually smashes the Hitler pictures… and then asks them to be reframed.’
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