As they stood waiting for the bus to take them to the car rental agency, she complained about the noise of the planes, the noise of the taxis’ brakes and the smell of the gasoline fumes. To make matters worse, it started to rain. Despite being in a shelter, she found yet another factor to make his life more miserable than it already was.
With a handful of other travellers, the small bus took them to the Avis agency on the north side of the airport. Leaving her sitting massaging her swollen feet, he took care of the paperwork and received a set of keys for a Nissan Micra. Needless to say, Miriam was disparaging about this sub-compact Japanese car, complaining about the seats and the fact the steering wheel was on the wrong side.
“Honey, they all are over here, they drive on the other side of the road to us,” he told her.
“What kinda chicken shit country does that? I mean, why should we Americans go to the trouble of inventing the automobile if ungrateful foreigners just screw around with our good ideas?”
Allun simply shook his head, unwilling to get involved in an argument over who first invented an automobile. He knew she thought Henry Ford had, and no amount of concrete evidence to the contrary would convince her otherwise. Wisely, he simply shut up and concentrated on getting out of Heathrow alive and onto the M4 Motorway, heading west.
To his utter relief, Miriam worked out how to recline her seat and went to sleep. He tuned into BBC Radio 2 on the car radio, and enjoyed the drive. He’d spent a lot of time planning the route, having printed out a route off the computer. Every turn was clearly marked and so he was able to relax.
They were booked into The Travellers' Rest in Falmouth. The Travellers' Rest was a small guest-house that was close to the town centre and the maritime museum. It was also near the Pendennis Castle, which was on a spit of land to the seaward side of the docks. He knew what he was going to do once they were there, while he didn’t care whether Miriam came with him or stayed in the guest-house. Actually, he did care, as he sincerely hoped she’d stay behind.
He had never been to Europe before, so he enjoyed driving through the June countryside. Allun half-expected England to be a vast, over-populated island with a few areas of countryside. He was surprised at the amount of greenery and the depth of the colours.
He found the British drivers faster than back home, with scant regard for the speed limits. He knew that the speed limit was supposed to be seventy, so kept to it for most of the time. However, he was aware that just about every other vehicle overtook him, so he increased his speed to eighty but felt guilty and looked for highway police cruisers. He managed to complete the whole journey without seeing one police car.
Cornwall was a beautiful county with a long and interesting history. However, with the demise of mining and heavy industry, tourism was the main generator of income for the region. With the availability of cheap flights, even this was not as healthy as it could be, as the British often preferred the warmer climates and guaranteed sun of the Mediterranean, Aegean or even further a field. Foreigners could hardly admit to coming to the U.K. for the weather, so it was fortunate that there was a lot to see and do that was not dependent upon the weather being fine.
As they crossed from Devon into Cornwall, Miriam woke up and the complaints continued all the way to Falmouth, as the roads became narrower and more crowded. Allun was used to her so managed to switch off. He’d found that by ignoring her constant whining, he was spared the arguments they experienced in the early days, when he had attempted to get her to see a more reasonable point of view.
Using his map, he found Falmouth, located the guest-house and parked the car in the small car park adjacent to the house. He carried their bags into the front hall to be met by a middle-aged woman with a friendly smile.
Mary Trevelyan was a cheerful lady of a similar age to Allun. Dan, her husband, ran boat trips from the harbour in the season; while Mary and her daughter, Jennifer, ran the guest-house. Jennifer was married with two pre-school age children. Jenny’s husband, Nicholas, was a fisherman who, in summer, helped his father-in-law by taking parties of tourists on ‘fishing’ trips.
Allun signed the register as Mary looked on.
“Allun Tanner, now there’s a good Cornish name for you,” she remarked.
“It sure is, ma’am. My great grand-dad came from near here, so I’ve come to trace his family and get some idea of the family he left behind.”
“Is that a fact? Now, I know a Carol Tanner. She and I went to school together, but I haven’t seen her in years. I'll see if I can find her phone number, and you never know, you might just be related.”
Instantly, Allun felt at home for the first time in his life. Miriam on the other hand was brewing for another whining session. Before she could open her mouth, Mary showed them up to their room.
It was a very well appointed room, with twin beds (as requested) and an en-suite bathroom. To Miriam’s relief, a TV set sat on a pedestal in the corner, with a remote unit by the bed.
“We have satellite TV as well as the regular channels. The children today seem completely unable to entertain themselves without the idiot box,” said Mary with some feeling.
That successfully shut Miriam up, as she resented the implication that because she liked TV she was therefore an idiot.
Allun, on the other hand, grinned enormously, deciding he liked Mary more than ever.
“We don’t do lunches, I’m afraid, just breakfasts and evening meals. Breakfast is served from seven thirty to nine thirty and the evening meal from seven to nine.
“We ask that you place your choice of menu for the evening meal by noon, that way we get less wastage and can keep our prices competitive. There’s a menu book in reception for you to do that. We have a list of local restaurants and places of interest, so please ask if you want to know anything.”
Mary left them alone. Miriam slumped onto the bed, switching on the TV. Allun unpacked his case as she flicked through the channels. She found Chicago Hope, and sat enthralled in an episode she had already seen. Such was her mentality that she had probably forgotten and wouldn’t have cared in any case.
Allun finished unpacking and looked out of the window. The clouds were clearing away, and the sun had come out. The sound of the seagulls and smell of the sea lifted Allun’s spirits.
“I’m going for a walk, are you coming?” he asked.
“Nah, just bring me something to eat,” she said, her eyes never leaving the screen.
“Okay.”
Allun escaped, going downstairs and leaving the guesthouse. He stood for a moment on the steps, looking down to the harbour. It was a picturesque sight, with the boats tied up and the harbour walls giving the bay some degree of protection. The ocean looked big and mean, as the waves rolled incessantly against the shore. The constant cries of the seagulls seemed to emphasise the atmosphere. Seeing the road to the right signposted to the old castle, he walked down to the coastal road, and on seeing the sign for a coastal footpath, he took it, mindful that it was noon, and he ought to return soon to supply Miriam with some food.
Falmouth was a deceptively busy place, with the docks full of large ships undergoing refit. The town nestled on the steep hills around the harbour, surprising Allun at the compact way all the homes fitted so close together. To an American used to large spaces and room to breathe, Falmouth could appear somewhat claustrophobic in comparison.
The craggy rocks and cliffs, with the green grass and small woodlands were like something in his RP games, except they were real! He tried to make himself see the place as Tamsyn, but as he wheezed up a small hill, the realities of a two hundred and twenty pound male were too great for the illusion.