I try to do an idiot check immediately after each guest leaves – hurriedly looking through the wardrobe and under the bed, and scanning the bathroom for forgotten items. As I waved goodbye to nervous travellers Nell and Aart from Holland, I spotted both their passports lying casually on top of the bed. I grabbed them and hotfooted it along the street, catching up with them as they were about to get into a taxi to the airport. My guess is that they had repacked so often in a flurry of anxiety that they simply forgot them.
Posh Mary left behind a gorgeous cashmere cardigan. Yes, I did try it on, and stroked it several times before I begrudgingly called her. My conscience was rewarded with a glorious bunch of flowers.
Of course, there’s the usual stray sock, or book, or pair of pants, but nothing worse. That was until David and Alex.
They would have been totally unmemorable if it hadn’t been for the item that they left behind. He was tall and gangly, she was peppy and chatty. Perfectly nice, but fairly dull. They had gone out on the Saturday night for a quick dinner at the local Italian and then gone to bed as they wanted an early start to catch a big antiques market the following day. I sleepily waved them off, made tea and settled down with the papers. After walking the dog, I came home to strip their bed and clean their room. As I pulled back the duvet and dragged the pillowcases off, I stared in disbelief.
Under one of the pillows was a large, pristine hunting knife in a leather sheath. I say hunting knife – I’ve never been hunting, so I don’t really know – but it was large and lethal-looking. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at it. The fact that they had a knife was one thing, but under their pillow? Perhaps it was to ward me off in the middle of the night? Perhaps they were guarding themselves against bandits? Perhaps it was (oh God!) part of some S&M ritual? Whatever it was, it unnerved me greatly. Then I had the problem of what to do with it. I was embarrassed to call them, embarrassed for them. Was it even legal? I gingerly picked it up and popped it in a cardbard box along with a porkpie hat left behind in the summer by Josh. I grabbed a felt pen, wrote “lost property” shakily on the side and went to make tea.
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