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The Game

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Chapter 2

I’m beginning to like Abe, but he can’t help creating embarrassing interludes. This time he refused the table offered by the waitress and took another at the end of the breakfast room. That manoeuvre cost him a healthy tip. The waitress was about to pop. She was a hands-on person and wasn’t yet with the Christmas spirit. She considered losing her job and throwing us out. I can’t blame her. The hotel public areas have a non-stop gadoodle of sentimentally-sung carols. As the noise retreats from one speaker, the next comes into range, so there is no escape. Half an hour over breakfast is tolerable. A whole shift of Silent Night, Holy Night, sung at half speed with vibrato and the occasional falsetto, and I’d leave teeth-marks in the table-tops.

The breakfast room was vast, and only a few guests were present. Serving us at a far-flung

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