Anna pushed against the arched, wooden doors that gave way with a slow, inconvenienced creak. She tumbled into the dimly lit reception area of Clawthide castle and rearranged her outfit. Compared with the bright, summer sunshine outside, the castle seemed dark and sleepy, watching her through half closed eyes.
A trial shift at Clawthide castle was “nothing to be sniffed at”. That’s what Anna’s mother would say, anyway.
“Celebrities get married at Clawthide.” she would also say.
“There are plenty of rich men at Clawthide weddings.” ew, Anna thought. What is this? 1850?
Anna checked herself in the tall mirror of the reception area: White blouse, black, knee-length skirt, minimal makeup and hair tied back neatly, just like they’d said in the briefing. A neat, blonde chignon with a couple of slightly curled tendrils around her temples would have to do for the day. She had wanted a French twist but no quantity of blog posts or Youtube tutorials could help her achieve the so-called ‘effortless’ updo. She had to get this job.
She looked down at her reflection, admiring her choice of shoes. Three inch heels was the best height for her legs, she felt, and she couldn’t resist them in the sale. They provided enough calf definition and a curve of her dainty feet without making her look like she was going to Cheltenham for the day. Anna was on the taller side of average: slim, still carrying around that gangly youthfulness from her late teens, and was very much unaccustomed to the best lipstick shades for her stereotypically English skin tone. It would have to do for now. She hoped her new manager wouldn’t mind her choice of court shoes. While she deliberated, her face flushed red as she caught sight of a man sitting in a green chesterfield armchair behind her. He was well dressed in a tweed suit; he was reading a newspaper and smirking, trying not to look. The heat of her embarrassment spread like wildfire from her gut to every extremity. He saw me checking myself out. Oh god.
In the mirror, he lowered the newspaper slightly and winked at her. She turned around, flustered. There was nobody there.
The chesterfield sat empty. A tall, Tiffany floor lamp hovered over it like an attentive servant helping its master to read in good light. The seat was plump; it showed no indent of a backside having recently impressed upon it.
Suddenly, the thunderous heels of another woman came click-clacking down the wood panelled corridor. The aged, hardwood floor shook ever so slightly under its modern usage. The chandelier above the seating area tinkled with a cheeky anticipation. Emerging from the doorway signed ‘HOTEL’ came a short, older lady wearing court shoes and a black jacket over her dress with a smart, gold name badge bearing “PAMELA” on her left breast. Her dark brown hair was neatly swept back in a sleek, elegant French twist. She held out a heavily braceleted hand with one arm and held a clipboard close to her with the other.
“Anna, is it?” she asked, shaking Anna’s hand. “I’m Pam. I’m the hospitality manager. We didn’t get to meet at the interview; I was at my son’s wedding in Corfu!” Anna noticed that even in the yellowish gloom, Pam had a spectacular tan- the type of browning a lady of a certain age would develop from years of staying in the homes of expat friends in Spain. “You’re a bit early but that’s great.”
“Thanks.” Anna said with a nervous smile. She was always early. Better early than late had been drilled into her at school. On time had never been a consideration at St Bridget’s.
“Come with me then. I’ll show you where you’re working today.”
Pamela led Anna through another gothic arched doorway, down a carpeted stairway and into a more modern doorway with a fire door. Above the heavy, straightforward rectangle was a sign that read “KITCHEN”. She opened it with a shove and they entered a well lit, noisy room with endless metal countertops and tall racks. Coats and jackets adorned the hooks on the back wall and a door stood wide open, revealing the gravelly car park and colourful bins outside. The loud hum of the refrigerators and extractor fan was almost deafening. “This is the kitchen” Pam said with exaggerated lip movement, as though hearing was a thing of the past. “You’ll be coming in here to collect the plates and return the dirties.” Over Pam’s shoulder, Anna caught a glimpse of another man. He was olive skinned and wearing a centurion’s uniform. He smiled, waved and wandered back outside through the open back door. Anna stared hard. Pam was still talking. “Do you follow?” she was asking.
“Yes.” Anna said blankly. Pam winked.
“Don’t worry, Amadi will be here any minute now. He’s the catering manager.”
They passed through the kitchen via another door that led to a handful of steps going back up to the ballroom. The large, mirrored reception room was laden with champagne bottles, silver balloons and white bows on every dining chair. The thick, starched tablecloths contrasted with the mahogany panelling and sections of bare stone wall. “The florists haven’t been in yet but it’s quite pretty, isn’t it?” Pam beamed.
“Lovely.” Said Anna, looking around at the sultry, cavernous room and up at the polished beams in the vaulted ceiling. “Is it a costume wedding?”
“I don’t think so. I think this couple are traditionalists. We had a costume wedding two weeks ago, actually. It was a medieval wedding with a banquet. I didn’t quite like the stuffed pig but each to their own I suppose.” Pam mused. “The dresses were sublime.”
“Has anybody ever had a Roman wedding?” Anna asked.
“No. I don’t think so. It wouldn’t be out of place with all the ruins around here, though.” Pam was fiddling with a chair and repositioning it. Anna saw the Roman centurion again in the mirrored wall of the dancefloor this time. He was also fiddling. He was rearranging cutlery on the tables, mimicking Pam as he did so. Anna blinked and turned to look at him. He was still there.
“Honestly. I’m always having to fix things in here.” Pam muttered as she picked up knives and forks and placed them back down in the correct order. “Two forks on the left” she said through gritted teeth, placing the cutlery in its correct order. “You know how to arrange cutlery, I assume?” she asked with narrowed lips. Anna nodded. “Good. I thought the skills were dying out. Someone around here doesn’t know what they’re doing.”
Anna was startled by the sound of a door swinging open. A tall man emerged in a white chef’s jacket. “Good morning lovely Pamela!” he bellowed.
“Amadi, my darling!” she rushed over to give him a hug. “How are you?” Amadi smiled widely.
“I’m great Pamela. How is my favourite work mum?”
“Oh, you cheeky…” she batted him slightly with the clipboard. He laughed and raised his hands.
“Work auntie. That’s what I meant, honest.” He looked over to Anna who stood there awkwardly with her hands clasped.
“This is Anna, Amadi. She’s doing a trial shift today.”
“For a wedding? Pamela, you are merciless.” Amadi clicked his tongue and chuckled. “Hi Anna,” he came forward and shook one of her hands with a secure grip. “I’m Amadi. I’m also Pam’s favourite.”
“Oh shhh” Pam flushed red. “Anyway, I’d better get back upstairs. Amadi, please show Anna where everything is, will you?”
“Of course, Pamela.”
“Good luck, Anna and I’ll see you later. The wedding is in an hour upstairs and I’m sure nothing is in the right place up there, either!” Pamela swiftly exited the room with her thunderous click-clacking, partially cancelled out by the carpeted areas.
“I see you’ve met Demetrius.” Amadi said with a smile.
“Demetrius?”
“Yeah, the Roman guy. Do you speak italian?”
“No.”
“Good. Neither does he.” Amadi threw his head back and laughed. “He only speaks latin.”
“I don’t know any latin.”
“I do.” he shrugged. “Nigerian parents and grammar school. Potent mix.” He turned to look at the bar where Demetrius was playing frisbee with beer mats and barked something in latin. Demetrius laughed and replied in latin, pointing at Anna.
“What did he say?” asked Anna.
“Oh, I can’t repeat that.” Amadi laughed again.
“Pam didn’t…” Anna began. “Pam couldn’t, er…”
“See him?” Amadi smiled. “Yeah, you can see ghosts. Pam can’t. She thinks I’m crazy.”
Anna swallowed. She looked at Demetrius. He was in the room just as Amadi was.
“What?”
“Yeah, don’t worry. It’s weird at first but you know, if you can see them you’ll do alright here. It’s the guys who can’t see them who get fired. These guys are harmless, too.” Amadi smiled. “It’s a nice place to work.”
“I saw someone else, upstairs.” she felt hesitant but the words spilled out anyway, “a man in a tweed suit.”
“Oh that’s pervy Claud. He loves the ladies.”
***
After the wedding party had retired to their rooms and taxis, Anna and the other hospitality staff swept up the debris and stripped the tables, bin bagging most of the limp, expired decorations. She had not yet processed the experience of witnessing Pervy Claud and Demitrius dancing with oblivious bridesmaids, swapping drinks to start fights or flinging beer mats at each other. It was unlike any job she had ever done a trial shift for and she would never forget it.
Pervy Claud, as Amadi had named him, was sitting in one of the chairs with his legs crossed. “So, Anna” he purred. “How was your first day?” Anna looked around at the other waiting staff. “They can’t see me. But you can and that’s delightful.” he winked. “It’s been one way with the ladies ever since…” he brought his hand up to his neck and scraped his index finger across it with a grimace.
“No offence P… Claud but you’re like, forty.” she whispered without looking at him.
“Make that ninety five, actually.” he said.
“Oh God,”
“I’m over it now. Oh, here’s Pamela.”
Pamela emerged from the main doorway with her clipboard. The French twist had tried to escape by now, barely held by a clip that had slid off to the side. She had swapped her high heels for some trainers. “Anna, how did you find it?”
“It was busy but I enjoyed it.” she said, trying not to look at Claud.
Pamela sighed with relief. “Good. Do you want to come back tomorrow? The job’s yours if you want it.”
Anna looked around the room and saw catering staff quietly packing things away. She observed Demetrius heading into the kitchen and looked down at Claud. He was resting his head in his hand, staring up at her dreamily.
“Yes. I’d love to.” she said.
Fear not, there’s more in the Clawthide castle series. Below, you can read Cassandra’s story.
Nice! Reminds me of Ghosts (which I loved).
Pervy Claud! I love it! This was wonderful.