Chapter 1
‘Mr Clayton, Room 335 Hibiscus Wing, lost his Zimmer frame on the flight out.’ ‘Oh, dear. So how’s he getting around?’
‘Slowly.’
‘Last seen?’
‘The Zimmer frame or Mr Clayton?’
‘Let’s start with the frame.’
‘Manchester Airport check-in.’
‘And the guest?
‘Passing Reception a few minutes ago.’
‘How’s he managing to move?’
‘Piggyback from his wife, they were heading in the direction of the pool. The couple are part of the Merry Widows of Warrington group.’
‘How come there’s a man in a group of widows?’
‘That’s what I wondered, but he’s in with the damsels. I’ll check and report back…’ ‘How old are the couple?’
‘Late seventies, I’d say. Neither will make eighty - or the pool - at the rate they were going.’
‘Have them followed by a lifeguard, please. We don’t want bodies in the shallow end come sunset; it would spoil the underwater lighting effect. Any Plan B?’
‘Utilities are knocking up a bamboo walking frame for him’.
‘Good thinking, keep me informed, please.’
The recipient of the phone call - Mo Swindlehurst - held a number of positions at the 5 star Bali Batik Deluxe Hotel on Sanur Beach on the Island of the Gods - Bali. The large-framed (as she put it when looking in the mirror and breathing in) lady was On site Rep. for Tropical Dream Tours of Manchester, England, as well as Public Relations Director and Events Coordinator for the hotel. Mo had so many roles she would soon have more positions on her wide-screen business card than detailed in the Karma Sutra.
Mo loved her job for its variety and the fact that you never knew what was coming – or going – as in the case of the missing Zimmer frame if not her excess weight.
The hotel’s ‘Miss Fix It’ was at that time of life when people described her as ‘mid thirties’ covering both her years and expanding waistline. Such were the inevitabilities of life though when one spent day after day working in a hotel and falling for tempting food from an endless array of outlets, all free.
Monday morning saw the start of a new diet and by Monday afternoon she put it on hold as Devonshire Tea and Scones in the Green House Music Lounge beckoned. It was in this location that her musical mate Noel Cowward – note the double w - performed on his baby grand piano three times a day.
So bad was Mo’s calorie intake getting that when she recently arose from a poolside lounger after meeting a guest by the deep end the Weather Centre on the nearby island of Lombok reported a total eclipse over the east coast of Bali.
As Mo heaved herself upwards to her full height of five foot two and a tealeaf so the light declined, Elvis quickly left the beach and people in the Hazel Grove Hop-scotch group wondered if the end of the world was coming. If it were, it would hopefully be after morning tea and scones as it had all been paid for in their total package.
All this just because Mo stood up.
It got worse the next morning when a meeting with the hotel General Manager started with the lady asking her to pull up a sofa and sit down. Chairs were becoming increasingly beyond her as she was invariably beyond the width of the average. As usual, Mo told herself she really had to do something about the flab situation and would get serious about weight loss next time…starting soon. As if…
Mo grew up in the Manchester suburb of Chorlton-cum-Hardy, an area twinned with the Laurel-and-Hardy district of Hollywood as they shared many a laugh together. Not really, but there was the name similarity and a lot of blokes in Chorlton were called Stanley and Ollie. A lot of the women in Chorlton were also called Stanley and Ollie but we won’t expand on that right now.
Mo had always had a sweet tooth. Thankfully just the one as the thought of how she’d have looked had all her peggies been sweet conjures up elephantine images. Food was all
she craved when young. Then came the lad from the next avenue with the greasy quiff when she was fourteen but we won’t go there…and neither would he.
When she was a student at Whalley Range High School Mo and her best friend Do-Do Drinkwater (Doreen to her parents – Do Do to everyone else) both loved Astrology. During a Name Your Fave Planets class Mo went for Mars in top spot…the Milky Way came a close second …with Pluto – she’d always loved dogs - in third. Poor old Earth wasn’t even in the Top Ten.
Had it changed its name to Maltesers it would no doubt have fared better. These days it’s called re-branding, a term Mo always thought was changing the stamp on the side of a heffer when one farmer sold it to another. Dozy cow.
Mo voted in a General Election once. Just the one time, never again. After careful consideration she chose to give her tick to the party whose leader had a wife called Sherry, as Mo loved a glass of the dark liquid at Christmas along with a plate of mince pies. She swore she’d never do it again though as the results left her with a sour taste in her mouth as the price of chips went up.
Her dad’s warning ‘Don’t believe a word they tell you, it’ll all change once they get in.’ came true very quickly.
After leaving school she a night school course in Hotel Public Relations. Even if she didn’t make it as a Hotel P.R. Queen she could always cook the chips or make the beds as Plans B and C, if needed.
As things turned out she was a natural, being seen as bright, breezy, brilliant and brainy. All of which saw her graduate with a Diploma in P.R. and take a position involving Public Relations & Promotion in a small hotel along the banks of the River Mersey.
While helping out on the Reception desk one day an American guest appeared. ‘I’m Randy…’ his eyes smiled - lecherously she felt.
‘There’s a lot of it about. I blame it on the weather. Have you tried syrup of figs twice daily or sleeping with a frog? There’re plenty by the river if you’d like one, though none will probably turn into a prince in case you’re wondering. I’ve tried…’ She winked.
‘No thanks, I’ll pass. I’m Randy Trowbridge the third from Boston, I have a reservation.’ ‘Hello and welcome, let me check. Yes, here you are…one single.’
‘Right.’
‘Did you cancel the booking for the other two Randy’s, as I have three names here?’ Thorough, she was thorough, everyone said
‘My father’s back in the US and my grandfather died 30 years ago.’
‘But did you cancel their bookings? We have a 100% no-show charge for those not cancelled…sorry and all that, but I’ll have to charge your Card for three.’
‘Are you mad? I just told you my grandfather died years ago.’
‘Well, I’m sure we sent a Get Well card beforehand followed by a Sympathy card after the event as this hotel prides itself on always doing the right thing by its guests. What I can’t do though is let you off with his room charge, and those of your father…sorry. You’ll have to pay.’
She left the property soon after.
One thing led to another and while All roads lead to Rome in Mo’s case they led to the Arrivederci Roma hotel in Rimini on Italy’s Adriatic holiday coast.
It didn’t really matter that she couldn’t speak Italian as most guests came from England anyway. Mo stayed at the hotel for two years then spotted a position with a hotel on Sanur Beach in Bali as On-site Representative for a Manchester tour operator, she applied …and got the nod. Actually she got the nod and a wink from the local hot-blooded headhunter who invited her to a jelly wrestle between two nearby ice cream stands after the interview. Declined.
Mo had been at the Bali Batik Hotel for almost three years, looking after visitors from all over the world, though mostly from the north of England. The lady was well liked by both guests and staff and all in all it was a varied and enjoyable experience.
Nella Johannsen was the hotel General Manager. Originally from Lappland, the lady was known among the staff as Eskimo Nell. A kind and caring person – who could be a little frosty - she had only been at the Bali Batik for a few months: thawing out, as she put it. Nella loved the hotel and was happy to have swapped Permafrost for Permatan, feeling she got the better option of the two. She did though miss her reindeer, Ikk. Especially his antlers, which she used for hanging her hat and coat on when they arrived home after a hard day at the Igloo Hotel – a Five Icicle Rated Property - where she used to work.
There were moments when Nella felt more Ikk-sick than home-sick, if the truth were known. But life is a journey and this part she had to take without her faithful reindeer cum-coat-hanger in attendance as she couldn’t bring him to Bali because of the heat.
Nella’s former hotel was within the Arctic Circle so the sun wasn’t seen for six months of the year. All of which meant the cost of a one-night stay at the property could be something like US$48,000. Some guests went to bed in September and didn’t get up until May, by which time the breakfast was cold and the tea badly stewed.
Mo’s Balinese assistant, Ida (pronounced as Eeda), did a great job supporting her in taking care of the needs of groups and individuals at the 455 room Bali Batik five star hotel. The property was a sprawling set-up on classy Sanur beach that had grown in style, size and reputation over the years.
The ‘heavy stuff’ though landed on Mo’s desk, and there was plenty of it. Especially during the peak season in the European summer months which they were currently in the middle of according to the Rare Balinese Orchids calendar behind Mo’s desk.
The phone rang again.
‘Mo…’ it was Sales & Marketing Director Quentin Salmon ‘there are a few problems with the Merry Widows of Warrington who checked in this morning.’
Another English member of staff, Quentin was a ‘Birmingham Salmon’ as opposed to a Scottish Salmon. After leaving school Quentin had struck out for the Orient seeking to ‘find himself’, a task his mother put beyond him as he couldn’t find his way home from school most days of the week. His tea was always cold by the time he turned up.
Crossing Asia on his dad’s bike without its crossbar, the attachment having rusted away years ago, Quentin made the most of the missing feature by parking his umbrella in the just-the-right-size slots. All of which allowed him to ride on during rain by quickly removing the brollie and doing his Mary Poppins impersonation.
The trip went without incident except when he was chased by a mad cow in India.
The lady reminded him of the woman living next door but one to his mum, which was why he’d innocently asked if she had a sister called Rani running a curry parlour in Birmingham. It ended with him riding down the River Ganges cycle-path shouting ‘How would I know you didn’t have any rellies in England – everyone else here has.’ He added a ‘Daft cow!’ for good luck as the lady started throwing fertilizer deposits from a passing herd of Amritsar Angus at him.
The happy wanderer eventually joined a mass meditation course on the island of Bali as he sought to find the true meaning of life. Not that he’d seen any signposts to such a revelation.
During an enlightenment session he met the owner of a certain Sanur Beach hotel while chanting an ‘Ommmmmm for Global Harmony’ in a soggy field with six thousand others …and had been working in the Bali Batik Hotel ever since. Fate had indeed smiled kindly on him at that particular mommmmmment in time.
Mo flicked to the Merry Widows of Warrington file on her computer. She wore one of her hotel uniform batik blouses with a pale grey skirt, the patterns and colour mix of which varied daily.
‘I know about the Zimmer frame-less fellow in the group so take it the Merry Widows are not so merry because of something else?’
‘Indeed. In fact it’s been quite a morning, and it’s not even half ten yet.’ The hotel Sales Director was prone to having a turn when things got tricky.
‘Well, let me share some good news. The creative folk in Utilities are knocking up a bamboo Zimmer frame for the currently sluggish Mr Clayton, so that should soon give us one Merry Man among the Merry Widows. Mind you, can I ask how come there’s a man in among the Merry Widows in the first place?’
‘To keep them all merry.’
‘You are joking?’
‘I am. Two seats popped up at the last minutes so the ladies agreed to the Claytons coming along to make up the numbers, and keep the price down. Between you and me I think a couple of Randy Ritas fancied the prospects of a late night knee trembler by the koi pond. Holiday adventures and all that…’
‘He’ll be fighting them off then?’
‘Not with his Zimmer frame he won’t. Because it’s not here.’
‘Worry not, our bamboo frame will soon set him in the right frame of mind.’
‘Let’s hope. The other Question of the Moment though is, what about the missing Mrs Grimshaw? She’s the reason for their overall concern.’
‘Missing from what?’
‘The group, the plane, the hotel, all of the above. No sign of her anywhere.’ ‘Last seen?’
‘Manchester Airport check-in.’
‘Wasn’t pushing a Zimmer frame with the name Clayton on the handle, was she?’
‘That would be too easy. Widow Dolly Blue – the group’s official songstress - saw her during the Middle East stopover, but after that…she’d gone…no sign of her anywhere.’
‘Can she ride a camel?’
‘Probably better on a bike, but who can say. She could be sitting under a palm tree taking tea with a handsome Sheik right now for all I know. Can you get on to it?’ ‘The camel or the bike?’
‘Both.’
‘That’s why I’m here, my sweet Dumpling-Pie, leave it with me. Now you have a lie down while Aunty Mo gets on the trail of the missing Tuareg.’
‘Missing toe-rag? That’s not very nice.’
‘Tuareg, my love. They’re arab desert wanderers.’
‘Something like Bolton Wanderers?’
‘Possibly, though in this case it seems the lady doesn’t play that well away from home.’ ‘Neither do Bolton…’
Everyone except her mum called the hotel P.R. lady Mo, it was the more formal Maureen when she and mother Betty spoke.
‘If I’d wanted a mo when pregnant with you, our Maureen, all I needed do was stop shaving for a week.’ The shoulders would give a supporting shudder. ‘So - unlike everyone else - I shall use the name you were given, in full, and at all times.’ Crossed arms would support shaking shoulders as mother made her point on naming rights.
Mum Betty and Mo’s aunty Reenie had been to Bali for a holiday last year and luxuriated for three weeks sitting under their own palm tree – appropriately signposted, ‘Our Betty and Our Reenie Live Here: So Keep Away, wud yer!’
Reenie was well known at home for reading tealeaves having given up reading newspapers years ago – all far too gloomy.
So good was she with the tealeaves that customers would gasp at her accuracy when looking into a chipped cup and declaring ‘I see rain…’ Had the recipient of the forecast looked through their front-room windows she’d have seen it was chucking it down and had been for the last few hours.
Most of her clients wanted lottery numbers rather than weather forecasts so Reenie would duly oblige with six numbers…all made up as she went along. When everyone lost she would cover her tracks by blaming the low-lying cloud in the bottom of the cups. It
always worked…and she lived to count another day: at two pound fifty a reading. Not bad considering her clientele stretched across half of south Manchester.
After six hours of daily sun the sisters would take cool showers then luxuriate themselves in after-tanning cream.
All of which caused them to slip off everything they sat on for the next few hours. A week of slipping and sliding off not just verandah chairs but bar stools and beds had the ladies take to sitting on the balcony floor when sampling their post-shower evening Pims and watching daylight give way to a super sunset.
The pair brought new meaning to phrases such as ‘Just slipping downstairs to get a couple of postcards from the souvenir shop…chuck…’ as Betty then skidded across the outside corridor straight into the lift (doors always open - fortunately) and smoothly out again on ground floor landing right in the shop.
Betty’s husband had left the family scene centuries ago. Betty well remembered the ‘till death do us part’ bit from the wedding ceremony which in her case it became ‘till the randy Lollipop Lady on the zebra crossing outside the kids school gets her mits into you…’
When Mo started school her dad would walk her to the building every morning and at the same time catch up on his interest in African wildlife. He was particularly keen on zebras so would stand and watch the zebra crossing as the Lollipop Lady focused on her job of getting the kids safely across the road and into the school.
Ms Lollipop would give lollies to her fav
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