Page 24 of The White Octopus Hotel
Eve’s tattoo had not always been a tattoo. It had started out as a pencil sketch, just like the other octopuses. Only this one didn’t limit its exploring to the edges of the sketchbook. It drifted right onto Eve’s hand where it rested on the page, the ink sinking into her skin as it took up its preferred place on her thigh. Eve had been shocked, of course, had wondered whether she ought to attempt to scrub it off. But she could never bring herself to try. Its presence was comforting and made her feel more like herself. Black turtlenecks seemed like a small enough price to pay for that.
There had never been any long-term romances in Eve’s life, but on the rare occasion when there had been a brief fling, the octopus had mostly remained on her thigh, or else the man in question hadn’t noticed it move. But there was one night with someone she’d met in a bar that had been different, unpleasant. It had been Eve’s birthday and she was desperate to take the edge from her loneliness, to feel the warmth that could only come from another person’s touch. But then he saw the octopus move up her leg.
“What the fuck?”
She could still hear the horror in his voice, still see the appalled look on his face.
“What is that?” he’d demanded, still staring at her like she’d slithered up from a drain.
“I don’t know,” she’d replied honestly.
She had no answers and imagined she never would. Even that night on her birthday, when the man had gathered up his clothes and left her feeling lonelier than ever, she hadn’t been tempted totry to wash away the octopus. If the choice was hers, then she would choose the octopus over a man, every time.
Now, in her room at the White Octopus Hotel, she gazed at the silk dress and couldn’t see an alternative to wearing it. Filthy jeans would attract attention, too. And in a magical hotel filled with impossible things, perhaps the octopus wouldn’t be quite as conspicuous as it was back home. Perhaps people wouldn’t be horrified? Besides which, she knew she would wear this dress because she had already done so. The old photo in her pocket proved that.
But more than that, shewantedthe dress, longed to feel the cold silk against her skin, and suddenly she was sick of hiding, sick of pretending to be something she wasn’t. She removed her clothes, and as she did so, her phone fell from her pocket. When she picked it up, she was surprised to see that it remained on at all, but obviously, there was no reception.
The thought occurred to her that perhaps she could use it to take photos of the hotel. That way, even if she forgot about it upon checking out, she would have evidence on her phone. Would that be cheating? Would the hotel find out and, what, impose a penalty of some kind? She decided to think about it later. She switched the phone off to conserve the battery and tucked it into the drawer by her bed before returning to the wardrobe.
She slipped the dress over her head, relishing the way it clung to her body in all the right places. The loop of pearls was so long it reached down to her navel. Placed neatly on the shelf below was a pair of black snakeskin print heels. Silk stockings. Lace underwear and a garter belt, all in black. A lipstick and a hairbrush.
Eve sat at the dressing table to roll the stockings up to her thighs; they reached just to the spot where her octopus was currently resting. She picked up the lipstick and turned towards the mirror, pleased to find it was the blood-red shade she’d always favoured. The hairbrush had a mother-of-pearl back with an octopus motif. When she swept it through her hair, it didn’t only dry it but transformed her hairstyle too.In the blink of an eye, she had thirties-style finger curls, just as she’d done in the photograph. When she opened the wardrobe door to replace the hairbrush, she saw that another item had appeared on the hanger—a black sable coat. She recalled that Alfie had said something about wearing a coat, so she slipped it on.
When she looked in the full-length mirror inside the wardrobe, she didn’t recognise herself. She smiled and her lips were red against white teeth. She could be someone else here if she wanted to be, and no one would have to know. Even she herself wouldn’t know if she forgot everything the moment she checked out. It was an intoxicating thought. Eve allowed herself a small moment of silent triumph. She had done the impossible. She had travelled back eighty years to check in to the White Octopus Hotel. And she was going to undo her past.
Chapter 16
On her way out, Eve took care with the key, making sure to turn it clockwise in the lock. Even so, when the door opened, she half expected to see a ruined shell of a building beyond and to be greeted with the smell of damp and neglect. Instead, an immaculate corridor stretched away from her, containing a double row of closed doors, brass number plates gleaming. The wooden floorboards were a pale golden brown and the wallpaper was elegant stripes—no hint of graffiti, no trace of water damage. It was like seeing her imagined vision come to life. There was even a pair of smart men’s shoes left out to be cleaned partway down the corridor, and a used room service tray awaited collection from Room 28, directly opposite. She turned to look at her own door and saw that the hotel had somehow made room for it. The number on the outside now read 27.
Then there it was again, that smothered giggle, only this time it was more of a chuckle and came from a little girl with freckles and a mop of auburn hair. She was peering out at Eve from the end of the corridor, a look of mischievous delight on her face.
“Boo!” Eve said.
The girl gave a little shriek and scooted off. By the time Evereached the end of the corridor, she had vanished. A door nearby opened and out stepped a handsome gentleman, with an elegant woman holding his arm, both wrapped up in coats. This was the first woman that Eve had seen up close since she arrived and there was something a bit startling about her appearance. Perhaps it was the tiny rosebud effect she’d achieved with her lipstick, or the Hollywood-starlet brows, which had been heavily plucked and then pencilled back in with an ultra-thin line. It was so different to what Eve was used to and she couldn’t help thinking that it gave the woman the look of a femme fatale.
“Good evening,” the man said politely, tipping his hat in her direction.
Eve managed to return the greeting, her skin tingling with the strangeness of speaking to people from another time. She wondered whether they believed she was one of them, or if her “otherness” was written as plainly on her as it seemed to be on them. They walked off and she followed in their footsteps, feeling a little conspicuous at being unescorted and trying to remember whether this was common in the thirties. Fortunately, the walk didn’t last long because they soon reached the lift.
Unlike in the modern-day ruin, the lift doors were in place, and it was a relief not to be faced with an empty shaft plummeting straight into the darkness. More than that, though, the doors themselves were a delight. Like so many other things from this era, they were special and stunning, surfaced with a veneer arranged in stylised coral and seaweed shapes from a variety of different woods that were no longer common in Eve’s time. She recognised Cuban plum pudding wood, American walnut, and Japanese ash, all combining to create a rich, glossy tapestry of art deco motifs.
To Eve, they were extraordinary, but the couple barely glanced at them before the gentleman pressed the button to summon the lift. Together, they listened to the rumbling clanks and whirs as the lift made its way up to the fifth floor and came to a stop with asudden clang. The doors slid open to reveal a spectacular birdcage lift with intricate, ornate ironwork moulded into the shape of tentacles. A lift operator in his sixties stood inside, dressed in a similar uniform to the one Alfie had worn, with a green jacket, a round hat, and spotless white gloves.
He slid the gate back and said, “Good evening, sir. Ladies. Going down?”
“Yes, as quick as you can,” the male guest replied. “I’m afraid we’re running late for the event in the Sunset Room.”
“Never fear, sir,” the operator said as the three of them stepped on board. He flicked a quick glance at Eve before his eyes slid away again. “The speech won’t start until you get there.”
A brass panel on the wall contained buttons for floors one to six. The operator selected the ground floor and the lift clanked its way down through the levels until it emerged into the steel cage in the lobby.
The room revealed itself bit by bit and Eve found it impossible not to stare at the splendour, delighted by the sight of the room brought to life, restored to its glory. The graffiti and rubbish were gone, and so were the moss and the insects, the rot and ruin. Beneath lay a stunning lobby, shining in white St. Genevieve marble. There was the sparkle of water running from the fountain and the mirrored piano stood smart and gleaming and all in one piece. A pianist was seated there, and music filled the room. The grandfather clock was polished from top to bottom, ticking and tocking out the minutes as the few remaining stragglers hurried out the front doors in the direction of the party.
Eve was glad of her fur coat then, because the evening was already icy cold. She had no idea where the Sunset Room was, so she followed the other guests as they walked outside and along the veranda to the front of the building, where the manicured lawns were now frosted with a light cover of snow, stretching all the way down to the water’s edge. There wasn’t time to linger because sunset wasalready painting the lake in fiery shades of orange and yellow, and everyone was heading straight towards the steam baths sprawled on the other end of the lawn.
The grand outbuilding’s front doors stood wide open in welcome. Eve followed the others into a small reception area. She felt a flicker of unease as she checked her fur coat into the cloakroom with the others. She was very aware of the evening air brushing over the bare skin of her back, but her octopus tattoo remained on her thigh for now.
She was directed next door, where it seemed like the entire hotel had assembled in the Sunset Room, leaving only just enough space for Eve to squeeze in at the very back. The sun’s final glow poured in through the massive windows, lighting up the room like it was the inside of a jewel. The walls were lined with golden mirrors, and the floor was tiled with crushed pieces of pearl-pink shell. A marble champagne bar took up the entire wall facing out towards the lake and Eve was mesmerised by the sight of exceptionally elegant guests perched upon the tall stools, holding coupes of golden bubbles as they talked, and laughed, and admired the view beyond. Alive again, after all these years.
