Leonard didn’t even look surprised. Like he knew they were in there all the time, just waiting for the day when he finally needed them, which was today. Then he opened the car door, gave me the bulldog clips and just went, there you are, sir, now budge over and let’s get these piles sorted before we head off.

21

Sadie

FROM WHAT I could remember about Dan McLachlan, Barnstaple didn’t seem like the kind of place I would have expected him to end up. But then again, I think we’ve established I really didn’t have much to base any real theories on. As we screeched into town on two wheels, or at least way too fast for my liking, I got out the printed and laminated itinerary that was exactly where it should have been in the green plastic document folder Leonard had prepared. I ran my finger down the accommodation column and cross-matched it with Barnstaple in the destination column. What a system.

“‘Toad Hall Bed and Breakfast, 108 Albert Walk,’” I read out. “Right, everyone, keep your eyes peeled.”

But of course, there was no way Leonard was going to leave any part of the plan to chance or human error. He fumbled around in his inside jacket pocket and pulled out his iPhone, which he passed over the back seat to Norman, without taking his eyes off the road.

“Norman, I’ve got the Google map already prepared for Albert Walk, if you’d be so kind as to set it off and direct me.” I was slightly offended he hadn’t asked me, but had to agree Norman was probably more suited to the job of navigating with an iPhone.

Away from the freedom of the open road, Leonard did at least seem willing to comply with the concept of traffic lights, which gave us some relief in between rally sprints. Compliments of Norman and Google, we found 108 Albert Walk with very little trouble at all and I immediately wished we hadn’t.

“Is this definitely it, Norman? Are you sure? A hundred and eight?”

The place looked like it was going to live down to its name, and I was a bit worried I’d booked us into an actual residence for retired toads.

“Yes, definitely, Mum. I don’t think Google’s allowed to lie. And look, there’s even a sign. Ta-da!”

The almost chirpy “ta-da” made my tummy do a little jump for joy, and he was right. The ramshackle maisonette we’d pulled up in front of sported an equally depressed sign.

Toad Hall: Bed, Breakfast and Good Devon Hospitality

Your hosts, Bill and Gloria

Attached to the bottom of the sign by a couple of rusty chains was a weather-beaten timber frame with a faded image of presumably Bill and Gloria, arm in arm and looking very Devonian and hospitable. If the sign had said Abandon hope all ye who enter, it would have been far more appropriate, if you ask me.

The front garden, if you’d be so bold, looked as though nobody had inflicted a lawn mower or a pair of secateurs on it in the last decade. There was a large, unkempt bush curiously positioned right in the middle of the pathway, with an air of someone who’d shown up one day to try their luck and had hit the jackpot. The path had been worn into a deviation around it on both sides and up to the front door. It looked like bush one, path nil.