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I took the key, said goodnight to Esme and went upstairs.
The penthouse was enormous and slightly dusty, with a view of the whole city and a bathroom full of scaffolding. I fell asleep in my clothes across the middle of a bed the size of a tennis court.
At checkout the next morning there was a queue again. And standing two people ahead of me, suitcase at her feet, was the woman from Room 714.
Priya. In jeans and a leather jacket now, sunglasses pushed up in her hair. She saw me and her face lit up.
“Firewall man!” she said. “You survived!”
“They gave me the penthouse.”
“You’re joking.” She punched my arm. “I got a free breakfast. That’s it.”
We stood in the queue and talked. It moved painfully slowly, and I’ve never been more grateful for bad service. She was funny and sharp and she kept standing closer than she needed to. When she got to the desk she turned round, took a pen off the counter and wrote her number on the back of my hand.
“I’m in Manchester most weekends,” she said. “Next time you get the wrong room, ring me first.”
Then she was gone through the revolving door with her friend, a blonde in enormous sunglasses who gave me a thumbs up.
I didn’t wash that hand for two days.
Ending 15 of 16: Checkout Queue. Go back and try a different choice for the full happy ending.