Twist Of Fate

Thirty Three

HARRY

The room is incredible. It is at the very front of the hotel overlooking the beach, with an amazing view of the harbour at one end and the cliffs at the other. The walls are soft grey with white trim, and the curtains adorning the windows are thick, heavy and luxurious. Tassles hang from the wide pelmets, and a gauzy net curtain drops between the fabric and the window pane for extra privacy. The room itself is large, light and airy, with a king size bed in the middle of one wall, dressed in the same shade of grey. Two bedside tables are each home to a vase of flowers, and there is a large wardrobe and chest of drawers on the opposite wall that look expensive and well made. A doorway between them leads through to an ensuite bathroom with a marble counter, polished chrome taps and a corner bath big enough for both of us to get in, if we wanted to. Not that we would, obviously. Fluffy white towels are piled on a shelf above the sink and a dish of complimentary toiletries sits in the corner, containing all manner of lotions and potions, most of which I have never heard of.

"You weren't kidding when you said this place was top notch," I mutter, walking back into the bedroom from the ensuite.

Chloe doesn't answer. She is sitting on the edge of the bed with what can only be described as a scowl on her face.

"What's up with you?" I ask, frowning.

"Nothing."

I stare at her for a moment, unsure how to react to her. She doesn't seem on the verge of another breakdown like earlier - this seems more like she is pissed off with me for some reason, although why I have no clue. Do I push the issue, or let her ignore me and give myself a break?

I haul my rucksack onto the bed, unzipping it and pulling out all my dirty clothes. I'm pretty confident they all stink, having baked in my bag, sizzling in sweat, for the past few days. A quick check of the basket of freebies in the bathroom tells me there is no washing powder, and I don't know whether shower gel will do the job of getting everything cleaned properly or not. I glance at Chloe, but she is facing the other way, her stance feeling deliberately prickly. 

I would guess the hotel has some sort of laundry service but it probably costs an arm and a leg, and who knows when we might need to make a run for it without warning? I would hate to have to abandon all my belongings just because they were held up in the hotel's washing room. I want to ask Chloe if there is a launderette near here, but she doesn't seem in the mood for mundane conversation. Nevertheless, I need to know, and since when have I ever been worried about pissing somebody off? Everyone else pisses me off, and doesn't give a shit about doing so.

"Is there anywhere locally that washes clothes?" I ask, loudly.  "Like a public launderette? My tshirts stink. I don't mind going and sitting in somewhere while they get cleaned. I think I'd prefer that, than asking someone from room service to come and do it."

She shrugs, without turning round. "Dunno. Probably."

I pull a face behind her back to release my irritation "Probably," I echo sarcastically. "Well, that was a great help, thanks."

"You could always go and look yourself, instead of asking me," she snipes, and I feel my eyebrows rising in surprise.

"Alright, what's the matter with you?" I huff. "You're obviously pissed off about something, but I haven't a clue what it is."

"Pfft," she huffs back, derisively. "I'm surprised you even noticed." 

I lift my arms, turning my palms skywards and staring at her back. "Wha... give me a clue, Chloe!"

Is she annoyed that I overruled her and got us a room here, when she suggested we find somewhere cheaper? Is she angry about the sleeping arrangements? Obviously we will have to share this double bed, but if it's going to be that much of a fucking hassle then we can top and tail. I'm just about to put this forward when she speaks again.