Strangeways to Oldham by Andrea Frazer

Daddy’s old crash helmet, we should be prepared, in the event of a mishap.’
    Hugo didn’t like the sound of this last bit, but he was game to try it out, and nodded in agreement before his hostess went on, not waiting for a spoken answer from him.
    â€˜Six o’clock, and time for a bit of a belter, I think, don’t you, Hugo?’ This was another rhetorical question, and Hugo wisely recognised it and remained silent. He’d have to get used to those rhetorical doo-dahs again. ‘Where’s that Beau … Oh, there you are! I didn’t hear you come in. Quelle surprise ! Now, pass the tray to Hugo first as he’s a guest, then I’ll have mine. Thank you very much, Beauchamp.’
    As the manservant left the room, he was heard to mutter, ‘And my name’s pronounced Beecham!’

Chapter Seven
    Hugo was delighted, on waking on Tuesday morning, to find that the weather had taken a turn for the worse, and rain was falling relentlessly from a leaden sky. ‘Hoorah!’ he thought. Now he wouldn’t have to have a go on that three-wheeled machine from hell. Manda would have to let him off, because of the weather. There was nothing even she could do about that.
    Lady Amanda did try to persuade Hugo that they could manage perfectly well if she attached an umbrella to the back of the thing, but Hugo was having none of it. ‘The wind’s getting up,’ he pointed out to her, ‘and if the brolly gets caught by a gust, I’m going to look like ET, flying on that thing, or Mary Poppins in the Tour de France, heaven forbid.’
    â€˜You win, Chummy. We’ll have to postpone it till after the funeral now,’ she conceded with bad grace, ‘But there’s nothing stopping us having a few games of cards, and then we can have a quiet read until lunchtime.’
    This suited Hugo’s ambitions perfectly, and they played a few rounds of gin rummy, before putting away the playing cards. Hugo then settled down with his newspaper, while Lady Amanda sat at a small table, her hands occasionally darting forward to write something on a piece of paper resting on the table in front of her.
    Hugo was quite happily absorbed in his reading, but was disturbed, every minute or so, by a cry of ‘Aha’, or ‘Of course, how stupid of me’.
    â€˜What on earth are you up to, old girl?’ he asked a trifle querulously.
    â€˜Crossword, old stick,’ she replied, without looking up.
    â€˜But you haven’t got a paper?’ he observed, logically.
    â€˜People put them through the door for me. Cut from their newspapers. They know how addicted I am, and this way I get crosswords from a good cross-section of the papers. Good, eh? Did you know that the French word for a paperclip is “trombone”? Super clue!’
    â€˜Perhaps you could moderate your ejaculations, Manda, old girl,’ he suggested. ‘Keep losing my thread, with you yelling all over the place.’
    â€˜Sorry, I’ll try to keep it down, but it’s just so exciting when I solve a particularly tricky cryptic clue. I’ll try just to wave my fist in the air, in future, so as not to disturb your reading.’
    Which she did, but Hugo could see it out of the corner of his eye, and found it just as distracting as her yells of triumph had been. Finally, he gave up, placed the open newspaper over his face, and dozed off to sleep. If he was sleeping, at least her raised fists of triumph couldn’t disturb his dreams.
    After a very satisfying half-hour’s nap, Hugo woke up refreshed, and asked, apropos of nothing in particular, ‘So you never married either, old girl?’
    Lady Amanda looked up from her crossword, and prepared her answer. ‘No, Hugo. Of course, I danced with all and sundry during my coming-out year, but, after one disastrous incident, I only ever took one walk in the garden, during a ball.’
    â€˜What happened to