“What the fuck?” It was my turn to screech, as something ripped at my hair and scratched the side of my face.“I told you,” that voice came fro... much closer now, accompanied by the welcome relief of my hair being freed from whatever yanked it, “to hold still, potty mouth.” There was some more rustling, and then I was unceremoniously flipped onto my back, and a hand laid in the centre of my chest. “Maybe this time you’ll listen: don’t. sit. up. I mean it.”The sudden movement had my head swirling. The B&B was a three-story Victorian building that had once been two houses just around a corner from the seafront. The name of the street amused me as it was Coronation Street which reminded me of the TV soap that we had been forced to watch with my mother.My host, John, ran the place with his partner, Mick. It had eight bedrooms over the top two floors and a shared bathroom on each floor. I guess that in those days, ensuite rooms were at a premium. Downstairs, there was a large dining room and. More

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