Grimm (14 page)

“This is outrageous.” Rory slapped the copy of
The Chronicle
onto Grandad’s cluttered coffee table. Old cups rattled in their saucers and a half-eaten biscuit catapulted on to the floor. The front page headline on the discarded paper lay taunting the room. “
HOTEL MUST CLOSE NOW
! Kidnap Cable Car Horror for Kids”

“Outrageous, but not very surprising,” said Bonnie.

“Read it out to me,” said Grandad.

“Do I have to read that rubbish?” asked Rory not really noticing that Grandad sounded weary today.

“Are you denying an old man his paper?” protested Grandad, trying to raise a joke and lifting his hands in a mock plea to Rory.

“Oh, give us a break. You turn that ‘old man’ routine on too often,” snipped Rory reaching for the paper. Grandad put out a petted lip in jest, but said no more.

Rory began to read. “Whatever has gone on before, however patient the townspeople of Aberfintry have been, now is the time to rise up and demand the closure of the establishment that has blighted our beautiful town for over fifty years. Join the campaign now. Sign our petition. Cut out the poster page from your paper and put it in your window. Show your fellow citizens how you feel. Stand up and be counted.”

Rory held up the page which readers were being encouraged to turn into their own window poster. It said “
NO IFS NO BUTS. IT HAS TO SHUT.
” The words ran across a silhouette of Hotel Grimm, which had a big red cross scored through it. He carried on reading.

“Don’t sit back and accept this any longer. Get up and join us. Show your commitment and come to the public demonstration at 11am on 22nd June at the Lachlan Stagg statue. There we will state our case and set out a timescale for action to end this period of shame in the life of our town and look forward together to a new beginning.”

“Derek Goodman is like a one-man mission to shut that place down,” said Bonnie.

“Aye well, we’ll soon see if he
is
just a one-man mission, I suppose,” said Grandad. “I think this’ll bring a fair few people out of the woodwork.”

“Well his usual sources have also contributed,” said Rory reading on from the paper. “Bella Valentine, who has suffered at the hands of the hotel in the past commented, ‘I’m just glad those kiddies are safe. That cable car contraption is an accident waiting to happen and the man who runs it ought to be turfed out of his bedroom in his garage.’” Rory then read out how Bella was inviting the Goodman twins to join her in setting up a survivors group for others like them who had experienced “a brush with death” at the hands of Hotel Grimm.

There was a downbeat mood in the room for the rest of the time that Rory and Bonnie were there. It seemed that recent events had had an impact on Grandad. He had lost some of his sparkle and appeared content just to sit and let Rory and Bonnie do most of the talking. The two of them found they were pretty much at a loss. They periodically picked up the paper and re-read it, as if hoping to find that the words had changed or that they had missed something positive.

Eventually realizing that Grandad was going to be happier just having a doze and not having to think about things that might bring up stories from the past, Rory and Bonnie left. With Grandad’s earlier prediction still ringing in their ears, they headed up Boglehole Road wondering if people really were about to show their true colours. Their question was answered within the first two streets as they counted five windows sporting the cut-out posters.

“I thought it might have been worse,” said Rory trying to be optimistic.

Bonnie was more gloomy. “Yeah, but that’s only the start. The paper has only just come out. Some people won’t have bought it yet. Others will but they won’t have read it or had the time to track down their sticky tape”.

“Got your copy yet?” The shout took them both by surprise. Max Fletcher was cycling past, and judging from the brightly-coloured
bag he had on, he was in the middle of his paper round.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, putting these through people’s doors,” shouted Bonnie.

“Shut up, Worm,” said Fletcher. “It’s the end of the line for that place, and there’s nothing you or Zizz Boy can do to stop it.” His bike disappeared round the corner.

Bonnie and Rory agreed to check the same route the next day and sure enough the number of houses displaying posters had gone up to thirteen, with some shops joining in too. The day after that it was at twenty-nine. Rory began to feel very uncomfortable and decided to stop counting.

The worst thing was that even at school the campaign was taking shape, and it was no surprise that it was being led by Gordon and Gracie Goodman, who had now recovered from their cable car incident and were enjoying new-found celebrity status.

The first Rory knew about it was when he was approached by a second year he didn’t know and asked if he wanted a “
NO IFS NO BUTS
” sticker for his schoolbag.

“Er, no thanks.”

“You’re the first one to say no,” the girl said, as if this was big news in itself. As soon as he heard that, Rory knew that reports would soon get back that he wasn’t joining in with the crowd. He thought about taking one just to save himself a lot of bother but knew he couldn’t walk around sporting the slogan when he didn’t agree with it. It only took a couple of days for word to get around and for the taunts to begin.

“Heh, Zizz Boy, I hear you’re not joining in the campaign.”

“He’s best pals with the Grimms. I’ve heard he sits down to tea with them every now and then.”

“Thinking of changing his name to Grimm Boy instead of Zizz Boy, isn’t he?”

“Setting up camp on Scrab Hill is what I heard.”

“Yeah, a tent for two for him and Bonnie.”

“Zizz Boy and Bonnie are an item? That’s
wheely
funny!”

Rory had hoped that the school might take a line on not allowing this sort of campaign to happen on the premises, but there was no such message coming out of the headteacher, Mrs Horne’s office. In fact, some of the teachers had “
NO IFS NO BUTS
” car stickers much to Gracie and Gordon Goodman’s delight. They were now holding lunchtime meetings in the playground with updates on the latest people to sign up to the campaign. There was much excitement one day as they were delighted to announce that Mrs Horne herself now had a car sticker. Shortly after this revelation, the Goodmans began the second phase of the campaign. Arriving at school and lost in thought about the demonstration which was now just ten days away, Rory had nearly walked past the people on the school gate holding clipboards before he realized what he had done.

“Oi! Sign this,” said Max Fletcher.

“Sorry?” said Rory genuinely confused.

“It’s a petition, Zizz Boy. We want the whole school to sign it.” Marnie di Angelo sounded just as hostile.

“What’s it for?” asked Rory stalling for time.

“Closing the hotel. Next stage of the “
NO IFS NO BUTS
” campaign,” said Fletcher, sticking the clipboard an inch from Rory’s face.

“I might sit this one out,” said Rory ducking around it.

“Just sign it, Zizz Boy,” said Marnie.

“I’d prefer not to,” said Rory, “Thanks all the same.” He headed away from the gate feeling eyes boring into the back of his head as he went.

“You’ll regret that,” shouted Marnie. “Whatever it is you’re doing up there … it’s a big mistake.”

The last thing he heard was Fletcher saying, “I’ll go and let Gordon and Gracie know.”

Rory walked away, the heat creeping up the back of his neck. He was in a small and very silent minority and it didn’t feel like a good place to be.

Rory was keen to spend some time with Bonnie and Grandad trying to work out if there was any way to counter
The Chronicle’s
campaign. At the same time he was no further forward with an answer to rebranding Hotel Grimm, with only a day to go until he was expected back there with solutions. Things seemed to have gone backwards instead of forwards. The three had all just settled down with mugs of tea in the living room at Boglehole Road when they heard the front door open.

“Yooo Hooo!” Rory’s heart sank at the arrival and imminent interruption of his mother. To make matters worse, while Rory often felt a bit embarrassed by some of the outfits that his Mum wore, today she had taken things to a whole new level. Her shoes, skirt and top were perfectly split vertically into two halves. One side of her wore red and the other green. She had also extended the effect to her eyeshadow and Rory cringed to see that her hair sported two colours too, split perfectly down the middle of her new centre parting.

To make matters more bizarre, Momo was carrying a speed restriction road sign on a pole like giant lollipop. Half of the circular sign was missing creating a semi-circle. In the other hand she had a bag, which appeared to have been made out of recycled egg boxes and remnants of string woven together.

Rory was at a loss as to how his mother could put a positive spin on the ridiculous costume she had worn as she had walked down Boglehole Road.

“I’m
so
excited about my next exhibition,” enthused Mrs McKenna having carefully put down her peculiar sign and bag.

“Oh no, not this one again,” muttered Rory, rolling his eyes with
a glance over at Grandad. He remembered managing to escape this explanation when he had bumped into his mum near
The Chronicle’s
office.

Momo stopped suddenly on seeing Bonnie. “Hello,” she said beaming. “I’m Momo … Rory’s mum.”

“This is Bonnie,” Rory mumbled, cringing in embarrassment at his mum’s general flamboyance. Bonnie smiled in greeting.

“So what’s your exhibition about this time, dear?” asked Grandad, trying to sound as polite and interested as he could in whatever his daughter’s latest plan was, as he winked at Rory.

“Half Measures!” said Momo with panache, beaming and looking at Grandad as if she had said enough for him to be as enthused as she was.

“You’ll need to say just a wee bit more, to let me get the gist of it,” said Grandad.

Momo began to move around the room, picking her way as best she could between coffee table and settee and squeezing past Bonnie. “Half Measures,” she announced again with arms raised, her eyes widening with excitement as she visualized what this exhibition would consist of. “This won’t just be a collection of pieces of art, this will be a movement in society.” Grandad looked at Rory and pretended to fall asleep. Momo failed to notice. “What if we, each one of us here in this room, or every person in Aberfintry, or in Scotland, or in the UK, or in Europe, or in the world or …”

“Yes, Mum,” said Rory. “We get the drift. What if a lot of people what …?”

“I was coming to that,” said Momo. “What if all of us only had, used, bought or said half as much as we normally do?”

Momo looked at Rory, Grandad and Bonnie, expecting them to be already on board her rapidly speeding train of thought. She was unfazed by the blank looks that met her and carried on. “Imagine if we went half the speed of normal, ate half as much as normal, said half as much as normal, bought half as much as normal, threw away half as much as normal … if we thought a bit more, held back a bit more, considered not throwing our whole weight around any more.
If things were in half measures my question to you is … would we be half the people we are, or twice the people we are? Let’s stop halfway and become more.”

She left the last sentence hanging in the air, her arms outstretched. Rory couldn’t help thinking that the world would be a better place if his Mum held only half of the exhibitions that she did. Grandad, however, seemed a bit more taken with Momo’s idea.

“Aye, you have a point,” he said. “Everything is too fast-paced these days, and people don’t really care what they say or what they use some of the time.”

“It sort of fits with people starting to recycle more,” said Bonnie.

“Exactly, dear,” said Momo. “If people just held back a bit in every aspect of life, the world would be a different place. We would all look at things differently. Can’t you see? This could be the start of something really big. A campaign … a movement … we all sign up to Stop Halfway?” She held out a hand like a traffic policeman signalling “stop.”

“Well it’s a good idea, Morag. Mind you, I’m not sure how you turn a good idea into a movement,” said Grandad.

Bonnie chirped up. “People sometimes just need an example and they get the idea that life could be different. Look at
The Chronicle’s
campaign. It’s like people were just waiting for someone to take the lead. Give them a different idea and they might go off in a new direction.”

The conversation carried on but Rory wasn’t fully aware of what Bonnie, Grandad or his Mum were saying any more. A strange tingly feeling had gripped the back of his neck and his mouth had gone dry. Ideas seemed to be connecting into place in his head in such a way that he could almost hear them clicking as they did so.

“The telescope,” said Rory. He felt so peculiar and distracted that his voice sounded detached as he spoke. He shook his head to clear it and jumped up. Momo, Grandad and Bonnie looked at him in surprise.

“I need the telescope,” said Rory. “I need the telescope.” He pushed his way over to the window.

“All right, all right, calm down,” said Bonnie as he bumped the coffee table sending a pile of magazines sliding to the floor. The room fell silent as Rory scanned and focused. Three people behind him looked at each other and shrugged. “Is he all right?” whispered Momo.

“Just give the lad a wee minute,” said Grandad.

“There’s the solution,” said Rory in a quiet voice. “That’s it.”

“What is? What can you see?” said Bonnie.

Rory turned back to face them all. “Mum, your exhibition sounds fantastic. Inspirational in fact.” Momo looked confused and flattered that her son had decided to pay her a few compliments. Uncertain what she had done or what she ought to do now, she began to play with her beads.

“Well, I don’t know what to say. It’s early days for this idea, but I do always try to do things that have an impact on people.”

“You have this time. Believe me,” said Rory with determined sincerity. Grandad grumbled something about Rory changing his tune.

Bonnie got exasperated. “Come on, Mr Genius. I seem to remember that the last time you declared that you’d cracked it, you were the only one who agreed with yourself,
and
you went on to be wrong. What’s the great idea this time?”

“Rebranding Hotel Grimm,” said Rory in a quiet voice. “That was the challenge and this is the answer. It’s not about trying to repackage what the hotel is. Finkleman is right. You can’t sell the unsellable. Do you know, I’m not even sure Granville Grimm or Grog for that matter wants it to be a hotel anyway. The answer is about creating something different altogether. A fresh start. A chance to do things differently. Some new place that’s neither the hotel nor the town. A place that people do want. A halfway house.”

“Well if you’re looking out of the window, then halfway is in the middle of nowhere, on Scrab Hill,” pointed out Bonnie.

“Exactly. The Halfway House,” said Rory as if it meant something.

“What are you talking about, Rory?” said Bonnie. “What halfway house?”

“Why not make it that people go halfway up the hill to do business with the Grimms, rather than going
all
the way to the hotel?”

Bonnie gave Rory a look that suggested that he had gone completely mad. “You can’t use a hotel without going into it. How can you go halfway to a hotel?”

“Not to a hotel,” replied Rory. “To the pavilion on the ledge. Turn it into a café with the best view in the area, where people can’t help but see things differently. That would be the unique selling point of the place for anyone who lives in the town … the fact that it’s not in the town.”

“You’re forgetting something,” said Bonnie. “You talk about a café, but the pavilion is a wreck according to your description and the hotel is a cesspit. Surely no one wants food that comes out of those places?”

“There’s a lot to do to the place, but the food is no problem. Ramsay Sandilands will sort that out. He’ll cook to save them all!”

“The rat collector as the cook?” spluttered Bonnie. “Now that is a marketing challenge. Come and eat at our café … we’re giving away free diseases as a special offer!”

“You’ll have to trust me on this one. It will work,” said Rory calmly, picturing Ramsay Sandilands’ scrupulously clean kitchen.

“One problem you have is that you’re going to need some pretty fit customers if you want them to climb a hill like that to get a cup of coffee and a bun,” said Grandad. “Surely that’s the project dead in the water before you’ve even begun. I’ll not be likely to pop in for a wee cuppa.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Grandad,” replied Rory with a knowing smile. “I expect to see you up there. You’re forgetting something. We’ve got a cable car that stops just up from the ledge. It’s primed and ready to go, with an operator who has been waiting for years for some passengers.”

Grandad nodded slowly. “Aye, right enough, Stobo would have kept that in good order. But will anyone dare go near him?”

“Your Grandad’s right,” said Bonnie. “It’s all very well having a
new place to go to and transport to take you there. But if the name Grimm has anything to do with it, then it’s doomed to failure from the start.” Rory shook his head.

“Oh come on, Rory,” said Bonnie. “You’ve counted the posters in the houses around here. You don’t think they are suddenly going to be ripped down just because you offer people the chance of a ride to get a scone and a cappuccino?”

“Trust me. This is the answer,” said Rory.

“That’s what you said the last time you got enthusiastic,” said Bonnie. Rory didn’t reply, and tried not to let Bonnie’s comment unsettle him. He knew he couldn’t afford to be wrong twice, for his sake or the Grimms.

“I’d go up there,” said Momo who had been listening quietly until now. She was in a state of shock that her exhibition plans had already caused so much discussion. “I might get even more inspiration from a new vantage point.”

Grandad’s forehead crinkled up in concern. “I’m not sure we can cope with too many life-changing movements. Maybe you’d better stay down here in the town!”

A short time later as they left Grandad’s house, and before they had even reached the end of his front path, Rory noticed a “
NO IFS NO BUTS
” poster in the window of the next-door house. Although he thought that his latest idea was a strong one, he couldn’t help but think that someone or something else was going to be needed to push it through. With a week to go to the demonstration, he hadn’t even told Granville Grimm of this latest proposal, while the pavilion at the heart of the solution he proposed was a complete wreck.

But his biggest problem remained the small matter of the typical Aberfintry resident’s refusal to go up Scrab Hill. What were the chances of their opinions being changed by the combined voices of a falsely-lauded marketing expert, his bookish friend, housebound grandfather and a wacky artist?

“It’s fizzy, it’s light, Zizz has got it right”

Winner of the Most Memorable Advertising
Slogan of the Year