Read Online Hotel World by Ali Smith - Free Book Online

room. The old man falls on to it. My legs , he says, are not working right at all . Ade’s eyes are wide, he is staring. He points at the man’s legs hanging off the bed. The man is wearing long cowboy boots with his trousers tucked in. They are shining; elaborately stitched; their leather is fawn-coloured and unmuddied. They have fringes at the knee and at the ankle. Within minutes the man is asleep and snoring. Ade pulls the boots carefully off the man’s legs. They decide to stay the night; Ade thinks the man won’t mind. There is a piece of cut carpet, quite big, by the side of the bed; she and Ade can fit most of themselves on it though Ade’s feet are on the linoleum and hers would be too if she took them off Ade’s shins. She flexes her toes. She runs her foot over Ade’s legs; she feels how hairy they are, and how taut and good his muscles are, running the length of him. In the morning when she wakes up the first thing she will see is Ade’s worn old boots there beside the amazing cowboy boots. Ade’s boots are the shape of his feet. Laced through their holes, the green waxy string that keeps the boots on Ade’s feet is knotted at its ends so it won’t fray. That morning she will stretch the length of herself on the piece of crumby carpet and yawn, Ade breathing at her ear, and watch as the sun moves its white light across the two pairs of boots. She will remember it, that morning, that sun, those boots, as one of the times in her life when she was completely happy.
    Now again. The woman in the hotel uniform is saying something but Else is dizzy and can’t hear properly. Shelooks at the woman’s shoes. They are recent and fashionable; they have thick soles of the kind of moulded plastic that looks industrial and prehistoric at the same time.
    The woman gets up. She stops, stoops down again and picks up something. Here, she says to Else, holding out her hand.
    In her thumb and forefinger is the one pence piece Else couldn’t reach earlier.
    Else nods, takes it.
    Yours, the woman says. The one that got away. Nearly.
    The woman straightens her back, and goes. She stands at the kerb again for a moment surveying the street, up then down.
    Bye, she says over her shoulder to Else.
    She walks back along the road and up the steps and disappears through the hotel doors. Their revolving glass flashes, dark then light then dark then light. Else holds the penny above the small pile of change by her knee. She drops it. It makes a single small clink when it hits the other coins.
    Someone goes past, loaded with shopping.
(Sp sm chn?)
    Nothing doing. Nobody else about. Else covers her money with the edge of her blanket. She pulls one foot out from under her, slow. Then the other, slow. She has to stop to cough. She tries to cough quietly, because they can hear her in the hotel. She gets to her feet by pushing against the hotel wall behind her. She is dizzy; she spits. It is always like this when she stands up after sitting. She gets herbreath back and waits for the traffic to thin, then she sets out. The kerb; remember to step down. One step, then the next, then the next, then the next, then the next; halfway there. A car; wait. Another car. Now. One step then the next then the next, go on. The kerb; step up.
    Else’s heart jolts with delight. She coughs. She laughs. The girl has left the money and the money is still here.
    She sinks down on to the step and counts it. Not bad, about thirty-two, thirty-three. Thirty-three quid in so short a time, good going. Ten times as much as Else has made. That girl could have made even more if she’d shown them her face. All the same. All the same. It has been a good day, Else thinks, one filled with luck, so far at least.
    From over this side of the road you can’t not see the hotel. It’s like the street exists just for the hotel to be there in it. It sits squarely before her like a huge obedient dog. It is lit up from outside; up-lights spaced all along its front make it look