She went straight to her hotel, not looking up to the second floor, so did not notice any change on the outside. She certainly noticed a change in the reception. “You’re back,” the owner, Mrs. Hardie, said. “I am.” Mae smiled, knowing any small kindness would not work; the owner had disapproved of her from the instant she saw Mae Bell, but she needed the custom. “My key?” “Oh, it’s a key you’re wanting. That’s fine then. A key. But don’t be expecting a bed. There is none. And we need to have a wee talk about the damage you caused. Beds are not cheap, you know.” Mae Bell had had enough of the woman. “Explain,” was all she said. “Your room was attacked with acid. The mattress was burnt beyond saving and your stuff was ruined by the firemen.” “Glad I wasn’t there,” Mae said. She sat down on the sofa that was even harder than the train seats, crossed her legs, lit a cigarette, and blew the smoke at the No Smoking sign, glad to see Mrs. Hardie looking as though she would combust at any minute.
