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all
in the space of one night.
    ‘You
need to chill out a bit, Nicole. Dylan isn’t your problem and if he’s shagging
his way around this hotel then why shouldn’t you have some fun too? He doesn’t
deserve a Tommy Tank the way he’s behaved.’
    ‘What
did you say?’ I ask, a little bulb lighting up in my head.
    ‘Tommy
Tank? It’s Cockney rhyming slang, it means –‘
    ‘I
know what it means,’ I interrupt. ‘I’m northern, not an alien.’
    ‘Have
I offended you?’ Troy asks me, clearly baffled.
    ‘Nope.
You may have saved the day.’

Chapter Nine: Hugh G Rection
     
    Finally
clothed, Troy and I are hurriedly making our way to the hotel reception desk.
    ‘I
told you Dylan likes to use the names of important people,’ I explain
breathlessly as we rush across the lobby.
    ‘Yeah,
and military titles and the Cyrus family,’ Troy adds.
    ‘Well
before he got really famous, he’d rather pun than claim to be a member of the
Cyrus family. The problem was people were either offended or too embarrassed to
say the names he came up with so he had to stop, but last night he was trashed
and most likely showing off. It’s going to be a funny one, I just know it.’
    ‘Rather
you than me,’ Troy says with a chuckle as we approach the reception desk.
Working this afternoon is a woman who I’d guess was in her sixties. She’s
wearing a lilac twin set and a neat little pearl necklace, and is already
looking down her nose at my outfit before I’ve even open my mouth.
    ‘Good
morning,’ I say brightly. ‘I’m looking for a friend, he checked in last night.’
    ‘Good
afternoon,’ she corrects me. ‘I am Mrs. Williamson, the owner of the hotel. I
imagine you’re with the festival people?’
    ‘We
are, and what a lovely hotel you have,’ Troy says, offering a hand for Mrs.
Williamson to shake.
    She
looks at his hand with distaste before turning back to me.
    ‘The
name of the friend you are looking for, what is it?’
    It’s
bad enough this woman thinks she clearly has better things to do than deal with
the “festival people” who are overrunning her hotel, but what I’m about to do…
    ‘Mike
Oxlong,’ I reply.
    Mrs.
Williamson taps a few buttons on the computer.
    ‘I’m
sorry, we have no one staying at the hotel under that name.’
    ‘Do
you have a Master Bates?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Ben
Dover?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Hugh
Rection, middle initial G?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Come
on, Nicole,’ Troy says, taking me by the arm and leading me away from the desk.
‘It was worth a try, we’ll find him some other way.’
    ‘Excuse
me,’ Mrs. Williamson calls after us. ‘Could your friend’s name be Juan? Juan
King?’
    I
spin around to face her, my jaw practically on the floor.
    ‘Did
you say –‘
    ‘I
did,’ she interrupts me. ‘You think I don’t see what is going on here? Room
239’
    Mrs.
Williams smiles at us briefly, before waving us away from her desk as some
non-festival people arrive to check in.
    As
we head up in the lift, Troy finally breaks his straight-faced silence.
    ‘I
can’t believe what just happened,’ he says.
    ‘What,
exchanging masturbation puns with a little old woman? Happens all the time.’
    We
both burst out laughing. I’m not sure how this day could get any weirder. Don’t
get me wrong, it is still absolutely vital that I find Dylan and get him on
that bus for 6pm, but even if I don’t find him, it’s been a fun night. Troy’s
right, it’s been an adventure – and it’s not over yet.
    I
knock on the door of room 239. A girl answers who looks like she’s just time
travelled from the crowd at Woodstock, circa 1969. She’s a proper hippy chick,
not Dylan’s usual type but then again neither was Misty. Oh, and her nose is
bright red, so she’s definitely the girl we’re looking for.
    ‘Hello,
I’m looking for my friend,’ I say hopefully. ‘His name is Dylan.’
    ‘Oh,
I know Dylan. We shared a beautiful night together.’
    ‘So
he’s here?’ Troy asks,