Friends Will Be Friends

"Miss Heywood?" the receptionist said. "Can you come to the lobby? There are two men here asking for you."

Charlotte sighed. "Do they have a name? A room number? What do they want?" The receptionist was probably a cousin of the Beaufort sisters. Even over the phone, she could see him shrug his shoulders and wonder why she might be interested in such details.

"Don't know. They just asked for you. They are in the lobby now."

"Alright. I'll be there in a moment." Charlotte put down the phone and breathed through. For months, she had known this feeling. Whenever there was "a someone", "a man", " a Mr I-did-not-catch-the-name, Miss Heywood" asking for her at reception. The quick surge of hope that went high for a moment, only to be deflated a few seconds later when "someone", "a man" or "Mr I-did-not-catch-the-name" turned out to be the hygiene inspector, a salesman promoting indoor fountains or an angry guest reporting his iPhone missing, blaming it all on the staff, only to find the phone in the depths of his laptop bag two minutes after the theft had been reported to the police.

As it was Boxing Day, there was little chance that the two men would turn out to be hygiene inspectors or salesmen for indoor fountains. Or Sidney Parker, come to tell her that a Christmas miracle had occurred and a wealthy investor had offered to buy out mrscampion under the condition that he shot her and her handbags to the moon, without a return ticket. And even if there was no wealthy investor: maybe he would tell her that the Yeti had abducted Mrs Influencer during a promotion tour in the Himalaya. Or – this one was a favourite – that in an attempt to endear herself with the Parker children, she had taken them on a day out to the London Zoo and stumbled over her own silly high-heels in the reptile house, ending up face to face with a bunch of hungry crocodiles.

Charlotte sighed. Presumably, even the crocodiles would display a sense of taste and honour and refrain from nibbling on something as scrawny and screechy as mrscampion.

Two men: more likely a new case of a missing iPhone. With another sigh, Charlotte locked the office door behind her and walked over to the reception, making a mental note of discussing the choice of background music for the public areas with the manager. Freddie Mercury singing "Friends will be friends … When you're in need of love they give you care and attention… When you're through with life, and all hope is lost …" was fine for teambuilding and the next staff karaoke contest, but for a hotel claiming four and a half stars, she thought some relaxing lounge music would be more appropriate.

"Where are they?" she asked the receptionist when she could not make out a potential case of a lost iPhone in the lobby area.

"They have moved over to the bar."

"Did they say what they want?"

"No. They just looked at the sign…" – he pointed at the panel saying Manager on Duty: Charlotte Heywood – "… and asked for you." So it had to be something unpleasant.

Charlotte made her way around the hotel's Christmas tree, and a flight crew coming in, and entered the Runway bar. This being an airport hotel, the bar was always busy, and it took her some moments to make out the two men that had asked for her. In fact, they found her first.

"Little Charlotte Heywood!" someone from a table in the back called. "Now that's a sight for sore eyes."

Charlotte stopped dead. There was no way to pretend that she had not heard. Actually, most of the guests at the bar had heard the call and were turning their heads at her now. She swallowed hard on whatever was building up inside her throat.

So. The moment to face Sanditon had come. And of course, it was very different from what she had expected it to be like in the wild journeys of her imagination. She took a deep breath and walked over to the corner where the waiter was serving coffee to the absolutely extraordinary pair of Crowe and Fred Robinson.

"Charlotte!" Beaming with pleasure, Fred jumped up, nearly knocked out the waiter and gave her a hug. "Great to see you! Merry Christmas to you!"

Crowe saluted her with his coffee cup. "Merry Christmas, Admiral Heywood. – In fact, it has just become indefinitely merrier."

"But…," she gasped as Fred released her. "What… what are you doing here?"

"Anything for you, Miss Heywood?" the waiter asked.

"No, thank you…" Her voice trailed off as she kept staring at the two men at the table: Fred with his shining green eyes and lanky Crowe with his head full of curls, both smiling at her as if she was baby Jesus. "What are you doing here?" she asked once more, feeling completely out of depth.

"I believe the question is: What are you doing here, Charlotte?" Crowe said. "I don't wish to sound overcritical, but compared to the pleasures of the Sanditon Grand Hotel, this place is rather… mundane."

"It's a good workplace."

"She has a fine point there," Fred said. "I suppose the pay is on time and the manager does not try to set the house on fire."

And it was close enough to Willingden to go home for a weekend and get some family time and a warm hug if she needed them. But Charlotte did not comment. Her heart was beating quite heavily now, and she had the distinct feeling that something was spiralling back into her life that she had been dreading and hoping for in the same degree. Spiralling back with lightning speed.

"Take a seat with us," Crowe invited her. Both he and Fred were taking out their phones. "There are some more people here wishing to say merry Christmas to you." As she sat down between them, they set up their devices on the table, and within moments, first James appeared on Fred's screen and then Babington on Crowe's. Charlotte gasped again, and for some very stupid reason, her vision was suddenly blurred.

"Hello, Charlotte," Babington beamed, and "Are you alright, Charlotte?" James asked, leaning forward on-screen and looking slightly concerned.

"But… but…" She had no idea what to say. This was utterly unreal.

"I believe that's her way of expressing that she's happy to see you too," Crowe said. "You are happy to see us, aren't you, Charlotte?"

"I don't understand what this is about," she finally managed to say, even though she did have a vague inkling.

"It's about Christmas," Babington explained. "You know, Charlotte, we have been… oh. – Are you alright, my darling?" he called to someone in the background. "Sorry… I'll be back in a second…" He vanished from the screen. Crowe sighed deeply.

"That's Babington's lady. Morning sickness. Though in her case, it's also noon sickness, evening sickness, and night sickness."

"That's… very good news," Charlotte said. Not the all-around-the-clock-sickness, of course, but the reason for it. It was indeed: she was glad for Babington and Esther. Yet it took her a few seconds to accept that for some people, life had simply gone on and become even happier when hers had essentially turned into an empty waiting room.

"At least we know for sure that the baby will be neither a boy nor a girl but a bird." Crowe stretched with a yawn. He turned to Fred. "Which reminds me… do you have it?"

Fred grinned, ducked under the table and returned with a paper bag. "Had to pinch it from the office and sneak away from under Mr Parker's eyes, but here we are," he smiled, putting Esther, the wooden seagull on the table.

"Merry Christmas, Charlotte," Crowe said, and "Merry Christmas," James and Fred added in unison.

Charlotte was staring from Esther to Crowe and Fred and from Crowe and Fred to the phone displaying James's friendly face. "You have come here to give me the seagull for Christmas?" she finally asked, still unable to process anything of this. Ten minutes ago, she had not expected to see either of the men ever again – just not to mention the seagull. And yet, here they were, all four of them, plus the wooden Esther.

"Technically, it's Babington's wife who wanted you to have the bird," Crowe said. "It's hers. But as you can see, she's indisposed right now, so Mr Robinson and I volunteered to act as Fathers Christmas. It's been a bit of a ride, but all things considered, definitely more entertaining than another day of fake festivities in the purple hell."

"But… but…" Charlotte shook her head. "How did you find me?"

"It's Christmas." Crowe gave her wink. "We had a little angel on our side." She wondered whether he was actually inebriated again. He seemed quite sober, though, just drinking coffee. On-screen, James rolled his eyes at him.

"Your sister has been a bit of a help, Charlotte."

"Alison?" Now, this was…

"Don't get mad at her. She is just as concerned about you as everyone else. So, after calling your family once, I called… again… now and then… and we started talking a little." Alison. Chatting quietly behind her back with James Stringer. Asking her half an hour ago in her text whether she was looking forward to her Christmas surprise. Alison Heywood, nineteen years old, farmer's daughter, conspiracy mastermind from Willingden, Herefordshire.

Charlotte leaned forward, trying to make out the background on Fred's phone screen. "Where are you?"

"In Vancouver. I started the internship three weeks ago. – Best decision ever." Just another case of life going on. But she was glad for James. He truly deserved a bright future.

On Crowe's phone, Babington returned to the screen. "Sorry. That one took a little longer. – I see you have been given your present, Charlotte."

"Yes. Thank you." She did not know what else to say. This was the weirdest Boxing Day ever.

Babington cleared his throat. "When I gave Esther the seagull, I told her that love only ever sees the beauty in the beloved, never the ugly. And that the wooden Esther was a reminder of my constant affection." Charlotte nodded. She remembered that exchange very well. It had been followed by Esther dumping the bird into the bin. And by Charlotte saving it. "And now," Babington went on, searching her gaze, "we believe it's time to let you know that there is someone in Sanditon whose affection for you is as constant as ever."

She gasped, and her world fell apart. The walls and watchtowers she had carefully erected around herself during the past months crumbled down, her inner army surrendered without so much as firing a shot, and what was left of her gave a monumental sob and broke down into tears.

"Bravo," Crowe nodded as Fred handed out paper napkins. "Well done, Babbers. Thank you." On Fred's phone, James looked as if he was going to cry as well.

"Oh, dear," Babington said. "My dear Charlotte, I didn't mean to be intrusive…" Crowe rolled his eyes.

"Certainly. You are the least intrusive person in the world, Babbers. Everyone will confirm that, especially your wife, who kept telling you to shove off while you were declaring your love again and again and again. – Now, look Charlotte, I have no idea whom you might be thinking of, but the romantic online-fool was talking about young Henry's affection, of course. Seems the young lad is a staunch admirer of yours."

Charlotte blew her nose. Thinking of darling little Henry with his sticky fingers, his wet kisses and his cute smile only made her tears roll again, but not as violently as before. Fred kindly patted her back. "Don't you worry, we'll make sure you'll see him again," he said. "Young Henry, that is."

"And only if you want," Babington added. "In fact, it's the Sanditon Christmas Ball tonight, and we were wondering whether you might like to attend."

Charlotte stared from Babington and James on the phone screens to Fred and Crowe sitting next to her, all four of them smiling benevolently like the three holy kings handing out their gifts. Which was wrong, because there were four of them, not three. And they had all gone mad, no doubt about that.

"I'm sure Tom Parker will be happy to provide a service uniform and a tray if that would make you feel more at home," Crowe added.

"But essentially, we had hoped you would join us as our guest," Babington said. "We believe you truly deserve a bit of fun."

"I… I don't believe I would have any fun at a Sanditon ball," Charlotte admitted after a moment. On a more practical level, she added: "And we're in Birmingham right now."

"It's less than three hours," James said. "You could be there by nine."

"Babbers has lent us his car," Crowe explained.

"You might miss Tom Parker's opening speech," Fred added. "But I don't think that's a huge loss."

Charlotte shook her head. They had to be drunk, all four of them. Yet, they appeared completely sober, even Crowe. "I have obligations here," she said. "I can't just go to the other side of the country."

"You're off duty now," Fred pointed out, and James added: "Alison says they were expecting you at Willingden tomorrow, but given the circumstances, they are happy to wait a few more days."

"Are they," Charlotte said wryly. "Is this a conspiracy or something?"

"No," Crowe said with a grin. "It's a carefully laid out plan to lure you back to the shores of Sanditon."

"And if I say no?"

"That's not part of the plan."

Charlotte got up, nearly knocking the seagull over. "I think this is a very cruel joke. I can't go back to Sanditon. Not…" Not as long as that… that… that woman was there, smiling her false smiles, holding on to Sidney as if he was her lifeboat on the Titanic (that smug look on her face in the ad for her stupid Eliza show!), poisoning everyone and everything around her with her ego.

"Charlotte!" Babington called out on-screen. "Don't go. This is not only about little Henry missing his favourite babysitter. It's about the soul of Sanditon."

Crowe was rolling his eyes. "Truly, Babbers… sometimes you sound like the wrong result of a Google search."

"But he's right," James agreed, and even Fred nodded gravely and repeated in a somewhat solemn way: "The soul of Sanditon."

"I'm really sorry, but I can't listen to this any longer," Charlotte said, and indeed, she could not. At least not without dissolving into tears once more. Crowe leaned back, watching her.

"Another first. Admiral Heywood shying away from a battle."

"I'm not shying away. I don't believe in lost causes."

"Sanditon's soul is not a lost cause," Babington urged her. "Even though it's in grave danger, with EMIL putting everyone on edge."

"EMIL?" Charlotte asked, momentarily confused.

"Eliza – Madly in Love." Fred grinned. "The film thing they are doing at the hotel."

"And it's so bad, they don't even get the title right," Crowe added. "Truth be told, it should not be EMIL but EMAIL. Eliza – mad and in love. With herself, not anyone else, of course."

"Crowe is not a fan," Babington explained.

"Neither are you!"

"No, but I didn't run into the Christmas tree, making it topple over, while they were filming the kids merrily opening their presents."

"It was actually the fourth time they had to open those silly presents. And they did not like them any better than during the first take. – So the run-in with the tree," Crowe added with some dignity, turning to Charlotte, "was a well-planned stunt to sabotage the filming process."

"I don't understand," she said, and she really did not. The whole hotel seemed to have turned into a madhouse.

"Of course you don't, because you haven't seen it. How would you describe it, Babbers?"

"Purple," Babington said. "We're having a purple Christmas at Sanditon."

"Used to be mad Eliza's face colour whenever someone mentioned your name, Charlotte," Crowe added. "Now it's all over the hotel."

"But what is it you want from me?" she asked, sitting down with them again. Did they really expect her to go to that stupid ball, smile and say hello to everyone, including Sidney Parker as if nothing had ever happened? With the cameras zooming in on mrscampion preparing her next blow?

If she ever were to see Sidney again, it would have to be in a quiet moment, just the two of them, speaking honestly and openly with each other. And certainly not anywhere nearby a camera.

"Now look, Charlotte," Babington said with a furrowed brow. James, Fred and Crowe were staring at her with rather sorrowful expressions as well. "We don't know exactly what has transpired. All we know is that on the evening before the fire, Sidney never took his eyes off you. Next thing we hear is that you have vanished from the surface of the earth, and Eliza Campion walks into the hotel lobby and takes the measurements for her handbag display." Charlotte cast her eyes down. She could see it, very clearly: mrscampion, taking possession of her new domain.

On-screen, Babington sighed. "You know Sidney, Charlotte. Doesn't say a word, just keeps soldiering on… clenched up like an oyster. Takes the whole world on his shoulders, and if the whole world turns out to be a bit too heavy for him, he'll just twitch his mouth, have a Chivas Regal or two and go for a swim and a meeting with the punching ball."

Charlotte could not help but smile at this accurate description of Sidney Parker. A Chivas Regal or two: it nearly seemed as if her worst fear had not come true and Sidney was not drinking his way down Dissolution Row. Was it conceivable that-

"Something has changed him," Babington went on. "Or shall I say: someone? – For who, my dear Charlotte, would know better than I what love can do with a man?"

"Babbers," Crowe sighed. "If that lordship-thing doesn't work out for you, you might consider a career in texting greeting cards." He moved the wooden Esther a little closer to Charlotte. "Here's the thing, Admiral Heywood: Babbers and I have been draining most of the hotel's champagne supply over the summer while listening to Sidney not talking about you. I can't believe you want such a sacrifice to be in vain."

"I really… I can't," Charlotte mumbled, torn between reason and longing. Reason told her that Sidney Parker was very welcome to clear up this and any future mess on his own. Longing told her that there would be forever this room in her mind, this particular room dedicated to him and that she would visit this room very often to cherish their memories – whether they were happy, painful or bittersweet.

"Come on," Fred said. "Whatever he's done, his silly big brother has done worse."

Charlotte dabbed her eyes with a napkin. "I… I can't."

On-screen, Babington leaned forward. "In the end, it all comes down to one question, Charlotte. Are you strong enough to face a life without him? Or are you strong enough to forgive?"

"That's two questions," Crowe said. "But the general idea is correct."

Charlotte shook her head. "You don't understand." Clearly, they had no idea about the details of Sidney's shabby TV deal. And of course, they knew nothing about special moments and distant countries and secret London affairs. And yet, they deserved some honesty, simply for the effort they had taken to deliver Esther to her. "I can't go back to the hotel. Not as long as… as…" Just to think of that woman seemed to curl her tongue. She tried once more. "Not as long as Eliza Campion is there."

Babington and Crowe exchanged glances. Or did they have an idea about the deal?

"You don't have to go to the hotel, you know," Fred finally said. "You can meet at my place. Neutral ground. Off the hotel premises. Just to have a little chat. Talk things through. Find a way ahead." Just to see my hopes rising again, then to be crushed once more, Charlotte thought. And judging by her experience so far: see them crushed even more brutally.

Crowe leaned forward. "Might turn out you see him again and think: ah, what a pretty bore, the memory's so much better than the man – I'll just tell old Crowe that he may take me out for an ice cream on the promenade after all."

Charlotte smiled against her will but was unable to say anything as the tears were coming back. The last time she had been in such an emotional mess was on the 7.16 from Sanditon to London Victoria. Sidney, tumbling back into her life, so unexpectedly – in fact, nothing but a nod and a three hours' drive away. Or are you strong enough to forgive? She knew the answer to that question.

"Charlotte," James said. He had been rather quiet during the conversation, but she felt that he had been watching her very closely. Dear James, who was only proving once more what a good soul he was.

"Do you remember the tale of the giant sea serpent?" he asked.

"Of course I do." Charlotte had to dab her eyes again.

"And do you remember how the sea serpent was vanquished?"

"I believe… one year when it demanded the sacrifice of an innocent girl, a gallant boy from the village confronted the monster and fought it down."

"Exactly," James said. "But that was in ancient times. Times have changed now, Charlotte. Maybe these days it's the boy who is being drowned by the monster. Maybe these days it's the boy who has to be saved by a brave and determined girl."

Charlotte opened her mouth but closed it again. James kept looking at her from the phone screen, his kind eyes a little sad, but also full of affection. "Please, Charlotte. Go to Sidney. Save him from drowning."

"Ahem," Fred said after a while, handing out paper napkins again. "That's a yes then, right? Just asking. It's still a three hours' drive."

Charlotte blew her nose. "Yes."