There's A Fly in My Soup!

Chapter One

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You'd think the way everyone was acting, that Queen Elizabeth was paying a visit.

No, no, scratch that. The Queen and the Pope riding on the back of a magical Pegasus with rainbow coloured hair. I'd only seen the Clifton Hotel this manic with worried looking chamber maids, and doormen with faces like slapped arses one time before. When Beyoncé and Jay Z came to stay during Summer 2013. I heard squabbling, and the sounds of two voices I knew very well. Marianne, head of housekeeping, argued heatedly with Kevin, one of the bellboys. And my self professed partner in crime. I ducked behind an ornamental statue, of some half naked Grecian God, and finished the piece of toast i'd grabbed before running over here. It looked like feathergate part two. Marianne was fiercely possessive over her dusters. We wondered whether she slept with them, different strokes for different folks, Kev always said. We'd once watched a tv show where men married their cars, and that was miles more mental.

Once, Kevin and I had used one of Marianne's extending dusters to force down the back of a radiator.

We were on our lunch break and Kev had dropped his weight watchers bar down the back of one of the huge ornate radiators in the conservatory. Within seconds Marianne was spitting feathers, her highly coiferred hair bouncing around like an excitable parrot. I literally had to bite my lip to avoid snorting. I drew blood and everything. Kevin never did recover the bar. It was probably still festering down there.

I twisted my curly black hair into a bun, cursing the rogue tendrils that weren't quite long enough to be included in the hairstyle. My hair, much like Marianne's, has a life entirely of its own. Kevin left his adversary to squawk on her own, and grabbed my arm as I made my way down the service corridor. Unlike the hallways used by guests, the place reminds me of a morgue. It's cold, drafty, and the carpets are covered in stains that look no less than repugnant. We've theorised that Marianne drags errant workers down here on Halloween and punishes them for smears on mirrors and poorly constructed towel swans.

'She's bloody mental!' Kevin seethed, readjusting his red bow tie. 'Then again it was a full moon last night.' He pointed out, with way too much seriousness, might I add. 'The cow accused me of stealing jay cloths from her cupboard. Jay cloths! What the friggin' hell does she think I'm doing with them?'

'Beats me.' I sniggered, punching him on the arm. 'What are you doing with them Kevin?'

'It's not funny Cerys.' He pouted, jumping in front of me and dramatically blocking my path of escape. 'They've said twenty of us are being made redundant today.'

Oh.

Nothing like the threat of being fired to cast its long overbearing shadow on your day. So this was why everyone was running around like they had bees up their arses. Great. Happy Monday morning, Cerys. The tone changed, just like that.

'Have they said which departments?' I scoured Kevin's face. He was way too pretty. Then again, all the hot bellboys round here are, and ninety percent are gay. My gaydar has always been way off the mark, so I rely on Kev to set me straight. Straight. Get it? He ran a hand through his glossy auburn hair, unfairly glossy when mine takes five hours of straightening to even achieve half the reflectivity of his barnet. And then one ounce of humidity and I look like a poodle during a hurricane.

'Oh god, I dunno chick.' He shrugged, a pained expressed on his face. He could so easily front an aftershave ad. With those cheekbones. 'Cerys' he whined. 'That last one in last one out thing doesn't bode well for me does it.'

'Oh Kev.' I gave him a bear hug and rubbed his back. 'Try not to worry mate. I'm sure it's all rumours. Probably witch face Marianne's doing.'

'Speaking of witch face, I'd better run.' He checked an imaginary watch and sighed. 'I'm supposed to be helping the girls at the front desk put up their Christmas tree.'