“It’s the best fish and chip shop in town,” I tell Violet, leading her towards the light. “Well, it’s the only fish and chip shop in town. But it’s still really good.”

“Isn’t this a funny place for it?” says Violet. “On the pier?”

“It is a bit far from everyone, I suppose. Especially if you have to fight a Force 9 gale to get here. But people come anyway. And if they want to see Seegol, they have to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Seegol never leaves the pier. Ever. He’s lived here, alone, for years.”

SEEGOL’S DINER

I DIG MY HAND INTO MY POCKET and scatter its treasures across the table.

Seegol gives me one of his sideways-eyebrow looks, and scratches his stubbly head. Then he turns to Violet. “It’s always the same with this one.” He waves his hand at me. “Now he’ll tell me these things are valuable.”

“But they are valuable.” I poke about in the pile of curios and trinkets. “This coin here is solid silver.”

“Ah, but my fried fish is golden,” says Seegol.

“So is this earring,” I say back, and I slide it over so he can get a better look. “These things are old, Seegol. Some of them really old. They were lost in the hotel over a hundred years ago.”

Seegol picks up the earring, holds it to the light and scrutinizes it closely. Then he lets a grin spread across his face and slides it back across the table.

“He always tells me that, too,” he says to Violet. “And he always convinces me.”

He scoops up the silver coin and pushes the rest back to me. “Fish and chips for two, coming right up.”

It’s hot in Seegol’s Diner, but after the cold outside, that’s welcome. We’ve shuffled off our coats and settled down by a window. In fact, the whole place is windows, with the kitchen an island of scrubbed metal in the middle. There are a few locals here, chatting over steaming plates and drinking tea or coffee. You can tell they are locals because they don’t flinch like Violet does every time the diner shudders.

“What’s doing that?” she says, clutching the table as another rumble of motion passes through the building, making the plates and cups rattle.

“Waves,” I explain. “We’re on a pier, remember.”

“Aren’t you worried it’ll collapse or something?”

I shrug. “It’s never done that before. And Seegol lives here, in a flat above the diner. He must think it’s safe.”

“What’s the story with him?” Violet hunches forward so her words won’t carry. “Seegol. Where’s he from?”