face him. "First time?"
"Forgive me, I'm not sure what you mean."
Her husband squirmed around to stare at him. "We've not seen you before," he said in a Lancashire accent at least the equal of his wife's, "she's saying."
"Just here for the night," Fairman said.
The man gave a grunt that might have been doubling as some kind of laugh. "There's not many do that in Gulshaw."
Fairman was wondering if this deserved an answer when Mrs Berry bustled into the room, though not at much speed. "Good morning," she cried. "Any dreams?"
As the boy and girl opened their mouths in unison Fairman said "Nothing I'd call one."
"What would you call it, then?"
The question seemed all the more unwelcome for coming from the stocky man. "Just night thoughts," Fairman resented having to explain.
Apparently it was the mother's turn to speak. "It can bring them, right enough."
"We'll leave them there for now, shall we?" Janine Berry said. "Are you having our big breakfast, Leonard?"
"That'd set anyone up for the day," the stocky man declared.
"Thank you, Mrs Berry," Fairman said. "I'll indulge myself this once."
The parents turned their back to him as Mrs Berry left the room, but the children continued to gaze at him as if he were some kind of specimen until they were told to eat up. As soon as they'd both wiped their glistening mouths the family took leave of Fairman. "Make the most of your stay," the man advised him, and his wife added "So much more to see."
Was everybody in on that joke, supposing it could be called one, or was nobody capable of reading the slogan? The family plodded away before Fairman could find a response. He watched people tramp down to the beach, vanishing into the haze that the sunlight had turned more opaque, until Mrs Berry brought his plateful. "There's a Gulshaw breakfast for you," she said.
It certainly seemed regional. The yolks of the pair of fried eggs were unusually large and pale, and oddly irregular. Both sausages were almost the colour of the slices of white pudding, and all these were tinged patchily purple, like the mushrooms and the bacon. Fairman mightn't have been ready to sample his breakfast if Mrs Berry hadn't lingered to watch. In fact it tasted as it should, so that he was able to reward her with an enthusiastic smile, and then he thought to say "I need to see your Dr Stoddart."
"Already?" Mrs Berry said and rubbed her mouth as if to erase the word—rubbed so hard that the skin around her lips looked bruised. "Oh, you mean—"
"He has something for me."
"Of course. I'm going to say it's a book."
"I hadn't realised I was so predictable."
"Nobody's laughing at you, Mr Fairman. You mustn't think you're anything but welcome."
She seemed close to offended. As she turned away he said "I was going to ask if you have a directory I could find him in.
"I can tell you where he is, of course. Eat up," she said not unlike a mother, "and I'll show you where you have to go.
Fairman was surprised to find how hungry the mouthfuls he'd taken had made him for more. People stared towards him as they lagged along the promenade, possibly looking for vacancy signs. He'd just laid down his knife and fork when Mrs Berry returned. "Here's what you need," she said.
It was a map of Gulshaw with the slogan from the town sign along the upper margin. On the back were advertisements for local attractions: the Shaw, the Bywood Zoo, the Promenade Ballroom, the Woody Ramble forest trail, the Ridem amusement park. "That's his surgery," Mrs Berry said, flattening a fingertip close to the sketch of the woods. "Past all the fun and up Bywood Road."
"I should think he might be keeping what he has for me at home."
"That's where he lives as well, Leonard," Mrs Berry said with an indulgent smile. "He's always there. We have to go to him. Dennis will do all he can for you, never fret."
"I'd better see him before I overstay my welcome with you.
"Don't you bother giving that a thought," Mrs Berry said.
Bywood Road was at
"Forgive me, I'm not sure what you mean."
Her husband squirmed around to stare at him. "We've not seen you before," he said in a Lancashire accent at least the equal of his wife's, "she's saying."
"Just here for the night," Fairman said.
The man gave a grunt that might have been doubling as some kind of laugh. "There's not many do that in Gulshaw."
Fairman was wondering if this deserved an answer when Mrs Berry bustled into the room, though not at much speed. "Good morning," she cried. "Any dreams?"
As the boy and girl opened their mouths in unison Fairman said "Nothing I'd call one."
"What would you call it, then?"
The question seemed all the more unwelcome for coming from the stocky man. "Just night thoughts," Fairman resented having to explain.
Apparently it was the mother's turn to speak. "It can bring them, right enough."
"We'll leave them there for now, shall we?" Janine Berry said. "Are you having our big breakfast, Leonard?"
"That'd set anyone up for the day," the stocky man declared.
"Thank you, Mrs Berry," Fairman said. "I'll indulge myself this once."
The parents turned their back to him as Mrs Berry left the room, but the children continued to gaze at him as if he were some kind of specimen until they were told to eat up. As soon as they'd both wiped their glistening mouths the family took leave of Fairman. "Make the most of your stay," the man advised him, and his wife added "So much more to see."
Was everybody in on that joke, supposing it could be called one, or was nobody capable of reading the slogan? The family plodded away before Fairman could find a response. He watched people tramp down to the beach, vanishing into the haze that the sunlight had turned more opaque, until Mrs Berry brought his plateful. "There's a Gulshaw breakfast for you," she said.
It certainly seemed regional. The yolks of the pair of fried eggs were unusually large and pale, and oddly irregular. Both sausages were almost the colour of the slices of white pudding, and all these were tinged patchily purple, like the mushrooms and the bacon. Fairman mightn't have been ready to sample his breakfast if Mrs Berry hadn't lingered to watch. In fact it tasted as it should, so that he was able to reward her with an enthusiastic smile, and then he thought to say "I need to see your Dr Stoddart."
"Already?" Mrs Berry said and rubbed her mouth as if to erase the word—rubbed so hard that the skin around her lips looked bruised. "Oh, you mean—"
"He has something for me."
"Of course. I'm going to say it's a book."
"I hadn't realised I was so predictable."
"Nobody's laughing at you, Mr Fairman. You mustn't think you're anything but welcome."
She seemed close to offended. As she turned away he said "I was going to ask if you have a directory I could find him in.
"I can tell you where he is, of course. Eat up," she said not unlike a mother, "and I'll show you where you have to go.
Fairman was surprised to find how hungry the mouthfuls he'd taken had made him for more. People stared towards him as they lagged along the promenade, possibly looking for vacancy signs. He'd just laid down his knife and fork when Mrs Berry returned. "Here's what you need," she said.
It was a map of Gulshaw with the slogan from the town sign along the upper margin. On the back were advertisements for local attractions: the Shaw, the Bywood Zoo, the Promenade Ballroom, the Woody Ramble forest trail, the Ridem amusement park. "That's his surgery," Mrs Berry said, flattening a fingertip close to the sketch of the woods. "Past all the fun and up Bywood Road."
"I should think he might be keeping what he has for me at home."
"That's where he lives as well, Leonard," Mrs Berry said with an indulgent smile. "He's always there. We have to go to him. Dennis will do all he can for you, never fret."
"I'd better see him before I overstay my welcome with you.
"Don't you bother giving that a thought," Mrs Berry said.
Bywood Road was at
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