1 DEAD AND BREAKFAST By Dan Alvin
2 Chapter One Scared of an Old Man 1 Cramped Close was poorly named. It was a wide, tree-lined road culminating in the dead-end of a cul-de-sac. It was an Edwardian dead-end, a middle-class area gone to seed. Lined with terraced houses on either side, there was one, isolated Bed and Breakfast at the road s end. It was a larger, more Victorian abode - cold-shouldered by the surrounding properties. During the early hours of the morning, the abandonment of the house was all the more pronounced because of the lack of street lighting about it. The illumination seemed to increase the further up the Close you travelled, until the small set of dated and faded (yet still trading) shops were reached: a butcher, a post office and a bakery. The Close was a very old-fashioned arrangement. There was a poster up outside the Post Office: BITTEN-ON-SEA PLAYERS PRESENT: A STRANGER CALLS. A stranger stepped in front of it and looked down the Close to the Bed and Breakfast. He could not see it but there was a sign on the
3 door reading No Vacancies. Even had he seen it, it wouldn t have mattered to him. Pete Lord was not inclined to take no for an answer. 2 The tom-cat snarled and hacked up something on the window sill. Jesus. The Tea Room at the Haven s Haven Bed and Breakfast was a large room. The bay window flooded the space with light and there was little therein that did not reflect it, from silver trays to mirrors, from tea pots to bright white doilies. Jasper Connor sat at the table by the window, eating a full English breakfast and staring at cat sick. He was a quiet watcher by nature and his outburst was unusual. Still, thought James Weed as he watched from his table in the corner of the room, he is paying for the privilege. Mrs Haven entered from the adjoining kitchen with tea on a tray. Old and short, she seemed chiefly concerned with anything happening within three feet of her and nothing else. Your cat just threw up, said Jasper. Mrs Haven moved to her required parameter and saw Jasper s T-shirt, which read: Communication is the key. Jasper had a weakness for slogans on T-shirts and very little interest in communicating. I m not sure I can eat my breakfast now, he said limply.
4 Oh my goodness, said Mrs Haven, unsure of what to say. You should eat. Food is fuel, of course. In fact, they even eat cats in some countries. Jasper raised an eyebrow as his host set the tea down at his table. There are claw marks all over your house. It's a wonder you can tolerate it. Mr Haven loped into the room, tall and balancing an unwieldy pile of white hair on his head. To James Weed, he seemed more agile and aware of the undercurrents of conversation than his wife. Animals can t help their nature, Mr Haven told Jasper, not unfriendly. Perhaps you can train them to change it, replied Jasper. Mr Haven fiddled with the curtains. No. It would be cruel to try. What's the point in life if you can't be true to your nature? Jasper shrugged. What country is that? Where they eat cats? asked Mrs Haven airily. Mr Haven pulled again at the curtains and then pointed at the cat vomit, an indication that Mrs Haven should clean up. But where is it, where they eat cats? Mrs Haven asked no-one in particular. Nobody cares, said Mr Haven drily. Mrs Haven took some tissue from her apron and wiped up the vomit as Mr Haven wandered back to the kitchen door. Somewhere in the Orient? asked Mrs Haven.
5 Everyone is disgusted, Mrs Haven. Mr Connor, Mr Weed - we ll try to keep the cats out. He left then, without enthusiasm, as if there was something only slightly more interesting in the kitchen. Mrs Haven looked down at the tissue in her hand as though someone else had left it there and she hurried off to the kitchen herself. From the kitchen came the couple s disembodied voices, carrying clearly into the tea room. Where is that cat eating place? Nobody cares, Mrs Haven..