“You froze me out of our bank accounts.” Annie’s voice was quiet but loaded.
Max looked nervous.
“Come home and we can work it out,” he said.
“What you did cannot be worked out. Not this time. Unlock the accounts. That’s my money too, and you have no right to take control of it.”
“I was frightened. I didn’t know what you might do.”
Annie took a deep breath. The couple at the next table were eating chocolate fudge cake, and Annie was filled with an almost overwhelming desire to scoop it up and squidge it in Max’s pleading face.
“Just unlock the accounts, Max.”
“I will, I promise. But we need to talk,” said Max.
“You had one job,” said Annie.
Max put his head in his hands. One of his elbows was resting in a splodge of ketchup. She didn’t tell him.
“What did we agree after the last time?” said Annie. “What did you promise?”
“I know. I know!” said Max from behind his hands.
“Don’t fuck the staff!” said Annie.
The couple at the table to the left looked over, the woman’s eyes bright with curiosity, but she swiftly returned to her mixed grill when she met Annie’s stare.
“I’m sorry,” said Max. “It was a slip-up. It’ll never happen again. I promise.”
“You’ve made me look like a fool,” said Annie. “And yourself look like an arsehole.”
“It didn’t mean anything,” Max sobbed quietly. “She’s nothing!”
“That’s even worse,” hissed Annie. “That poor girl! For God’s sake, Max, if you’re going to ruin what little was left of our marriage, at least do it for something more than nothing.”
“What do you want me to do?” asked Max. “Tell me what to do. Anything. I’ll do it.”
“I want a divorce,” said Annie.
“No, Annie. Please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please,” said Max.
“It’s over,” said Annie. “I’m done.”
Chapter 5
When her extra nights at the hotel were over, Annie rolled over, pushed her arm out of the duvet, grabbed the hotel phone, and called reception.
“Hello, how can I help you?” came a female voice.
“Oh, hello,” said Annie. “This is Mrs. Sharpe in room 208. I’d like to book another three nights in this room, please. Just charge it to the card I used for the last booking.”
“I’m sorry,” said the receptionist. “This room is booked for tonight.”
“This actual room?”
“Yes.”
“You have no other spare rooms in this hotel?”
“Oh yes, madam, we have other rooms. We could move you into one of those,” said the receptionist brightly.
“No,” said Annie. “I don’t want to move. I’m already here and settled. But if the arriving guests haven’t requested this actual room and all the rooms in the hotel are identical, then you could put them in the room you want me to move into and they will never even know they’ve been allocated a different room.”
“But we have a system,” said the receptionist, less brightly.
“But I’m already here and they won’t know the difference,” said Annie.
“But this room is booked out,” said the receptionist.
“Look,” said Annie. “I’m a reasonable woman. Ask anyone. Ask my cheating husband! I am the most reasonable woman you could ever hope to meet. But I am not moving from this room; you’ll have to come in here and carry me out.”
“I’m just going to put you on hold, please, Mrs. Sharpe,” said the receptionist.
Annie was treated to a tinny rendition of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony while the receptionist presumably decided whether to call the police or the psychiatric team. After a few minutes, another voice came over the line.
“Thank you for holding, Mrs. Sharpe,” said the voice. “I’m the shift supervisor. That’s another three nights in room 208 booked in for you.”
Annie thanked the patient supervisor and apologized for being a pain in the arse and explained that she had recently found her husband having sex with a waitress half his age on a velvet banquette and it was making her behave rather oddly. When she put the phone down, Annie pulled the duvet back over her greasy head and slept for another nine hours.
When she woke, there was a note pushed under the door, which read: Delivery outside.