Chapter One - Whatever Common People Do
The two men sat across the desk and surveyed each other thoughtfully.
Sitting opposite Mayor Meanswell, managing to dominate the room even though he was the visitor and technically the one under scrutiny, was a good-looking, heavy-set man in his early forties. His black hair was thick and slightly wavy, and his black eyes flashed. He was simply dressed in a conservative navy-blue suit and crisp white shirt, but Bessie had hissed in Milford's ear as they watched him step out of his car that his clothes were clearly made to measure, and fitted to his solid, muscular form as only a Saville Row tailor could fit them. Even though it was only two o'clock in the afternoon, he already had a heavy shadow of beard along his jaw, and when they shook hands Milford had noticed the dark, soft hair on his arms. He saw Milford surveying him and grinned engagingly, showing strong white teeth that appeared even whiter because of the contrast with his dark olive skin.
This could just be the most charming and charismatic man I've ever met in my life, thought Milford to himself, slightly awed. What on earth is he doing here?
James Thornton looked at the Mayor in fascination. He had been trying to get this appointment for nearly six months now, and had pulled every string he could find - which, he freely admitted to himself, amounted to almost no strings at all - in order to try and jump the queue. He had finally managed to persuade the three people ahead of him to temporarily withdraw their applications by paying them five hundred thousand dollars each, plus rental on three very nice beachside apartments in Florida, one per family, for a year. He had prepared meticulously for the meeting, acutely aware of how much was hanging on it, and had been expecting to meet a corporate clone, a smooth anonymous monster who had served his time on Wall Street and now retired to this most mysterious of roles, well-hidden, barely talked about, but within its limits a position of enormous power, simply because of the inexorable laws of supply and demand.
He has absolute power, the rumour mill had whispered. Money won't cut it. The prices are fixed, the same for everyone, you can't bludgeon your way in just by flashing your wad. These days, there's actually a waiting list. And if the Mayor doesn't like you…he can just decline your application.
And now he was looking at a sweet, balding buffoon in a jailhouse suit, and with a countenance so mild it bordered on the imbecilic. It just didn't add up.
This is either the best-disguised Master of the Universe I've ever seen…or somehow, Lazytown really is run by someone's incompetent Uncle, he thought to himself, baffled and intrigued. What on earth is he doing here?
"So," said James at last, since the Mayor seemed quite happy to simply sit and drink the steaming cup of tea (tea! He didn't even drink coffee! There didn't even seem to be a Starbucks here!) that the plump, blue-haired but nonetheless rather sexy woman had brought them. "How do we do this?"
"How do we do what?" asked the Mayor, taking a bite out of his biscuit.
"The interview," said James, patiently. "The prospective resident's interview? You do have my application, right?"
"Oh, yes, my goodness," said the Mayor, vaguely riffling through the stack of papers on his desk. "I have it here somewhere, let me see - ah, yes - oh no, that's something else - is this it? No, that's the paperwork for the new playground equipment…oh, here we are…the Thornton family." He peered at James, looking slightly bewildered. "That is right, isn't it? Mr Thornton?"
"That's right," said James, trying not to laugh. It should have been completely annoying to sit here and watch the clock tick slowly round while this buffoon wasted his time (once costed by The Economist at a thousand bucks a minute. A fluff PR piece and therefore exaggerated, but not too ridiculously wide of the mark); yet somehow, it was rather fun. There was, he thought to himself in amusement, something about the atmosphere here, something in the sunshine and the wild architecture and the clean air and the soft grass. The whispers he had heard here and there - a rumour at a party, a mutter in a boardroom - and diligently followed up, over long months that had finally stretched into a year and a half, had not exaggerated its strange and unique charm. A man could learn to relax here; could make his peace with his past; could maybe even learn to live the life of a good person. A young girl could grow up safe here…
"So, Mr Thornton," said the Mayor pensively, reading slowly through the notes in the file. "I see there's yourself…and your daughter Millie - oh, I'm sorry, Molly…and …oh, and that's all. Is that right?"
"That's right. Just me and my little girl. Not so little any more, of course. Just turned fifteen. Will she be safe outside, by the way? I left her sitting in the car…"
The Mayor's smile spread across his whole face like the sunrise spreading over the horizon. James had never seen anyone look so completely, contentedly confident.
"Mr Thornton, sir, I absolutely guarantee it," he said.
--
Molly sat in the car for a while, enjoying the feeling of the sun on her hair, and wondering whether to disobey her father. He had left her with stern instructions not to get out of the car. ("But I thought we were moving here because it was safe?" she objected, but he had replied firmly, "You're still my daughter and you're all I've got and I want you where I can see you're safe," kissed the top of her head, and left her.) But after the first ten minutes had slowly passed, the lure of exploring this intriguing little town became too much. She climbed out over the door and wandered aimlessly across the square, promising herself not to go out of sight of the car. Her father worried about her so much, he was so over-protective since her mother had died, but she was fifteen, for God's sake, it was time she started asserting herself a bit more. This town could be a new start for both of them.
On the green at the other side of the square, she could see some kids around her own age playing basketball, coached by a skinny, slightly manic-looking young man with blue eyes and blonde hair. It was a strangely old-fashioned sight. Back in New York, she and her friends all starved themselves to stay thin, made themselves sick after guilt-ridden trips to McDonalds or Pizza Hut, and occasionally went to the gym so they could show off their tiny, adolescent bodies in lycra, but hardly anyone actually played sports, and never just for the fun of it. It was all about the image; what was cool; what was new; what the latest fitness guru had decreed was the calorie-burning exercise of the moment.
She longed to go and join them, but hung back for a few minutes, feeling shy. Then, while they all took a break, one of the girls spotted her and, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, waved her over. She was so warmly welcoming that Molly glanced over her shoulder, convinced that she must be waving at someone she knew; but no, it definitely seemed to be her. The girl waved again, smiling and impatient, and Molly was annoyed to find herself feeling nervous. This is ridiculous, she thought to herself as she crossed the square. I'm the daughter of one of the richest men in the country. I'm wearing a Versace t-shirt and hoodie, MAC make-up and designer jeans that cost eight hundred and fifty bucks a pair. The guy who cuts my hair trained under Joseph Koniak. They're just a bunch of anonymous kids in a little town in the middle of nowhere.
She looked in the mirror, and rearranged the hood of her red top around her shoulders, fluffing her hair out so it hung flatteringly around her face. Swinging her hips a little in the way she knew would draw every boy's eye, she crossed the square to the little group waiting for her.
--
Gradually, without Milford realising it was happening, James Thornton was taking control of the interview, steering it in the direction he needed it to go, putting the Mayor on the back foot so that it began to seem to both of them as if the Mayor was the one being interviewed.
"So can you talk me through the financial structure?"
"Well, it's quite simple really, Mr Thornton…"
"James."
"Oh, my. Okay, then…well, James - oh, and do please call me Milford, by the way…it's quite simple really. You buy a lease on a property from the Lazytown foundation, which you continue to pay at the agreed rate, plus inflationary adjustment each year, for as long as you wish to live here. On your death, the lease can be passed to your descendants, including adoptive or step-children, but not to anyone who is not legally your child, your spouse or your sibling, and it absolutely cannot be sold. If you decide to leave, you simply give one month's notice and the lease is cancelled."
"Only passed down to immediate family members? Not sold?"
"The original founders of the project were extremely concerned with family values," said Milford peacefully. "It's written into the articles of association."
"And how about you? You're the Mayor, right? That means you're an elected official of the town?"
The Mayor looked uncomfortable.
"It's more of a courtesy title than anything else," he said. "I'm actually an employee of the company…and a…relation of the current owner."
"So it's still owned by the original founding family?" James smiled thoughtfully. "That's interesting. And I don't suppose the company is for sale, by any chance?"
"Oh, my…absolutely not," said Milford, looking shocked. James held up his hands.
"Just asking…the Wall Street shark in me just keeps on trying to get out. I'm sorry. So, how's the school?"
--
"Hi," said the girl, holding out her hand to Molly. "I'm Lizzie. Are you new here?"
Molly took the hand and shook it firmly, looking Lizzie straight in the eye, the way her father had half-jokingly taught her when she was six.
"I'm Molly Thornton," she said. "We might be moving here from New York. If my father doesn't screw up the resident's interview, that is."
Lizzie laughed.
"He'll be fine. Was that your dad I saw going into the Town Hall earlier? Wearing a suit, kinda cute for someone's dad? Don't worry, the Mayor's a really nice man. So, do you want to come and play a game of basketball with us and I'll introduce you to the gang?"
Molly looked at them cautiously. They were the first kids she'd met here. She had no way to evaluate where the power lay in the town, whether she was joining the right crowd or accidentally getting in with the geeks and writing herself into social oblivion. But on the other hand, it was dull sitting in the car by herself…she ran an expert eye over Lizzie's outfit. Nothing special, just chain-store jeans and a t-shirt; no make-up at all, and she was flushed from the basketball game. Then again, she was really pretty, with all that soft brown hair and huge brown eyes. Looks generally counted everywhere, they were the universal currency that transcended class and money…
Come on. You're moving away from New York to get away from all the crap. To make a new start…to get away from all of that bad stuff that - no. The forbidden memory was rising up in her mind like a monster from the centre of a calm lake, but she pushed it back down again, under the surface where it belonged. It was part of the deal not to dwell on the past.
"Yes please," she said, tossing her mane of blonde hair and smiling so that her dimples showed, and ran onto the grass. She was gratified to see that the boys were staring at her.
--
"So it's really true? This town does have a - a - " Even though he had patiently stalked this interview like a master hunter after the very rarest of kills, simply on the basis of this one incredible rumour, James could hardly say the word.
"A superhero," said Milford, without the slightest embarrassment. "Yes, Mr Thornton, that's quite right." He smiled at the look on James's face. "I understand it can seem a little strange at first. But people do seem to get used to it quite quickly."
"And how does it - how does it actually work?" James laughed. "Forgive me, Mayor Meanswell - "
"Oh, please, Mr Thornton, call me Milford," the Mayor interrupted.
"Of course, I'm sorry." (It was a point of policy for him never to use someone's first name at the first request. So many people confused gentleman with gentle; it had worked in his favour many times in the past.) "And really, do please call me James. I'm sorry if I seem a little sceptical, it's just - coming here from New York…what does he - what does he do?"
"He helps people in trouble," said Milford, smiling and shrugging.
"So, what, he catches the bad guys? Like a vigilante?"
"Oh, my, no, nothing like that. He looks out for the children, brings them home when they wander off, catches them if they fall out of trees, rescues them from the lake if they go in too deep, things like that…"
"My God, do the kids here still climb trees?" said James reminiscently. "I used to do that all the time when I was young. I thought the art had died out years ago. I'm sorry, Milford, do please carry on. This is just - it's absolutely fascinating." On his face was the look that Milford had seen many, many times before; amused, disbelieving, but also enchanted.
"Well now, Mr Thornton - James - let me see…he teaches them a lot, too…sports and games, that sort of thing, and he just generally…encourages them to be nice to each other. He looks out for the adults as well, of course; when my wife had a car accident last year, for example…"
"And how does he know?"
--
"Okay, guys, let's get back to it - oh, wow! Well…hi. I'm Ziggy," said the basketball coach, smiling and holding out his hand. "Are you joining the team?"
The casualness of it was both frightening and delightful. Didn't these guys even have the concept of the clique?
"I don't know," she said, shrugging. "I don't even know if I'm going to live here yet. My dad's got this interview - "
Ziggy laughed.
"I know, can you believe it, there's actually a waiting-list these days? But then it's so much fun living here, I can kind of understand it. I'm in med school, sort of, I'm going to be a dentist, but I still come home most weekends. You'll love it here. Oh - hang on - I forgot to ask - what's your name?" He was cute, Molly thought, but too daffy and hyperactive to merit serious consideration.
"Molly Thornton," she said. In New York, this was almost universally greeted with "The Molly Thornton?" but she had said it twice now, and it didn't seem to be ringing anyone's cherries. She wasn't sure if she felt liberated or vulnerable.
"I'm Ziggy," said Ziggy. "Oh, did I tell you that already? And this is the gang - "
"I'm Mike," said a boy with dark hair.
"Jacob."
"Jen."
"Hannah."
"Matthew."
"Christopher."
"Isabel."
"Dante."
"Lizzie," said Lizzie, smiling.
"Ethan."
"Everyone, this is Molly," said Ziggy.
"We know," they chorused.
"So, let's shoot some hoops! Don't look like that, it's good practice. And now we're an odd number, we can't play unless someone sits out."
"You could play," said Lizzie, slyly.
"No, that won't work, because I'm too good and it makes it unfair on the other team. Why are you all laughing - ? Look, come on, we're going to shoot hoops. Line up. I'll go first and show you how it's done…oh. Oh, no." The ball bounced off the top of the back-board and wedged itself effortlessly in the crook of the telegraph pole overhead. "Er…okay, you all just stay here, and…I'll go and find a ladder."
--
"So the crystal goes off whenever anyone from Lazytown is in trouble?"
"Actually it's anyone in Lazytown," said Milford. "His contract covers the area owned by the foundation."
"His what?"
"His contract."
"He's paid?"
"Oh, no." Milford laughed a little. "He does it because…because it's what he does, I suppose. He…protects…all of the town, and its immediate surroundings."
"For free?" James laughed in astonishment. "Are you sure he's a real live human being?"
"Well, he's certainly real and live," said the Mayor, in an uncharacteristic moment of dry humour. He looked at James, and smiled. "Would you like to meet him?"
--
"I bet I could get it down," said Dante, looking up at the pole appraisingly, and then glancing at Molly to see if she was impressed.
"Bet you can't," said Ethan crossly, aware of Dante's interest.
"Don't be stupid," said Lizzie. "It's dangerous, there's live wires up there."
Molly smiled at Dante, her green eyes wide, her raspberry-red lips soft and inviting. Do it, her gaze said, and I'll be totally impressed. You'll be a man in my eyes. She waited to see if he'd take the bait.
"Done," said Dante coolly, and began to shimmy slowly up the pole, his legs wrapped tightly around it for grip. They all gathered nervously around the bottom of the pole to watch.
"This is a really, really stupid idea," said Lizzie warningly. "Just wait a minute, Ziggy'll be back with a ladder and then we can get it down safely - "
"If we get it down before he comes back," said Dante, hanging off the pole to look at her from twenty feet in the air, "we can start playing, and then we won't have to get into a boring line-up and spend a boring hour shooting boring, boring hoops."
"Come down, please," begged Jen, hovering unhappily. "This looks really dangerous."
Keep going, thought Molly, smiling flirtatiously as Dante glanced at her. He smiled back, and inched slowly higher.
"It'll be fine," said Dante, "I'm nearly at the steps. Look, I can reach the ball - there you go - oh, hell - "
They all screamed as his legs slipped from around the pole. Desperately he caught hold of the lowest iron strut with one hand, dangling in space as the ball bounced to the ground and rolled across the grass.
"I'm all right," he said desperately. "It's just - oh, shit, my hand's slipping…"
Men, thought Molly in exasperation. They'll do any stupid thing, just because a woman looks at them in the right way…she wondered what would happen if he did fall, if he would be badly hurt, if she should feel guilty about it if he was. Idiots, all of them…so easy to push around…
…then out of nowhere, a blue-clad figure flipped through the air above their heads and landed lightly at the base of the telegraph pole. Without missing a beat, he held out his arms, caught Dante as he fell, and stood him on his feet again.
"Thanks, Sportacus," said Dante sheepishly, blushing a fiery red that showed even beneath his chocolate skin.
"No problem," said the man in blue. "But what were you doing up there? You do know that it's dangerous, right?"
"The ball got stuck," said Dante, even more embarrassed.
"Well…maybe next time you might just want to get a ladder," said the man gently, and patted Dante comfortingly on the back. "Hi, are you new in town? I'm Sportacus, by the way. It's very nice to meet you."
Molly realised she was staring. Hastily she took the hand that he held out to her and shook it firmly. The friendly touch of his hand against hers was warm and exciting, sending electric tingles coursing through her.
"Molly Thornton," she said, and cleared her throat to get rid of the dryness.
"It's good to meet you, Molly," he said, giving her a warm, guileless smile that she could feel all the way down to her toes. "Welcome to Lazytown…oh, excuse me, but I think that is for me…" He held up a hand and plucked a plastic tube out of what seemed like thin air, and unrolled a letter from inside it. "Kids, I have to go, the Mayor needs me. Enjoy the rest of the game, okay?" He gave them all another blinding thousand-watt smile, vaulted the wall, and was gone.
"Who was that?" asked Molly, a little breathlessly.
"Sportacus?" said Lizzie. "He's the town hero. You did know about him, right?"
"Well, sort of," said Molly slowly, "but I didn't think…"
"Didn't think it could be true?"
"Something like that…so, what's the hat all about? And the moustache?"
Lizzie laughed.
"I asked him about the moustache once when I was little. He told me he grew it for a bet when he was younger, and he kept it because it reminds him of home. But let's face it, he's still outrageously cute, isn't he?…Oh, you thought you were the only one to spot that?"
Molly felt herself blushing. Lizzie put her arm through Molly's companionably.
"You'll fit in around here just fine, Molly. Everyone here our age has had a crush on him at one time or another. It'll take some time, but eventually you'll come out the other side."
"So has anyone ever got anywhere with him?"
"Let me give you a tip, honey - total waste of time. He just…doesn't even notice. Besides…" Lizzie hesitated. "It would really be kind of icky, don't you think? If he was looking at us like that? If he did…well, he just wouldn't be who he is."
Nothing unusual about it where I'm from, thought Molly. In New York older men look at girls our age like that all the time. But she kept this thought to herself.
"And does he just…show up when people need rescuing?"
"Oh, he's around a lot. He's a great coach, soccer and basketball and gymnastics, you'll never be bored if you live here. He teaches dance too, sometimes, with his wife…she's amazing, really beautiful and sweet. I go to her tap and ballet classes. If you come to live here, we could go together?"
"He's married?"
"Married with a little girl," said Lizzie, shrugging. "You want to play?" They ran back onto the basketball court.
--
"So where do I sign?"
"Just here, please, Mr Thornton…"
"James. I insist."
"Of course…James…and here as well…and here. And that's it…welcome to Lazytown." They shook hands across the desk and smiled at each other.
"When can I get the keys?"
"I actually have them right here," said Milford, rummaging vaguely through his desk. "At least, I thought I did…Bessie, dear, do you have the keys to the house on Lime Street?"
The lady with the blue hair bustled back in again, sighing and smiling. James looked her up and down again appraisingly. She really was a little too heavy, and that hair colour was truly a strange choice, but there was something in the movement of her hips that said she had been a beauty in her time, and her eyes were still very blue…she saw him looking and blushed deeply, handed the keys to him and left the room without speaking.
"Is she your secretary?" he asked idly, twirling the keys around his fingers.
"Actually, she's my wife."
"I see…lovely lady." Scratch that idea, then.
"Why, thank you. I certainly think so."
There was a rustle at the window and then a man was standing there, dressed in some sort of blue tracksuit. He was lithe, well-muscled, a fraction shorter than James and considerably lighter, but with strength and power written across every line of his body. Since early childhood, James Thornton had had the habit of evaluating every man and boy he met to see if he thought he could beat him in a fight. It had been a long time since he had met someone who he thought he would most likely lose to.
"You wanted to see me, Mayor?" said the man, smiling at Milford. James noticed that his eyes were warm and a very bright blue.
"Yes, I hope it's not inconvenient…"
"Not at all. What can I do to help?"
"I just wanted to introduce you to our newest resident…this is Mr Thornton. Mr Thornton - "
"James, please," he said, holding up a hand.
"James, this is Sportacus."The two men shook hands gravely, eyeing each other up. The Mayor would be the first to admit that he was not known for his observation skills, but as he watched them, the vivid image flashed across his mind of two dogs stalking around each other, hackles raised, looking for the first opening, waiting to see who would back down first.
"Welcome to Lazytown, Mr Thornton," said Sportacus at last.
"Please, call me James!" James laughed. "You're all so goddamn polite around here, I'll never fit in…so, you're the - superhero?"
The other man shrugged and smiled.
"Well…maybe just slightly above average," he said, looking embarrassed.
"And it's really your job to keep everyone honest?"
"Actually, no," he replied without any self-consciousness, shaking his head. "My job is just to help people who are in trouble. I'm afraid honesty is something people have to figure out for themselves. I'm not the police, Mr Thornton."
"James, please…but you would know…if someone was committing a crime? If someone was hurting someone else?"
"Yes, of course."
"And you'd be able to stop it?"
"That's what I do, Mr Thornton." He hesitated. "Is there someone in particular you're worried about? Do you have family you are concerned for?"
James couldn't place his accent. Somewhere in Europe, he thought, but where?
"My daughter," he said. "Molly. She's sitting in the car outside…" he glanced out of the window, then was instantly leaning out of it, his entire body tense. "Where's she gone? Holy fuck, where is she - ?"
He felt a friendly hand on his shoulder.
"Don't worry. She is absolutely fine. I've just seen her. She's playing basketball with the kids over on the green…see?" James looked where Sportacus was pointing and sure enough, there she was, her bright red hood clearly visible.
"So she is," he said sheepishly. "I'm sorry. It's just - she's a kidnap risk - "
The other two men looked at him in gentle bafflement.
"May I ask why?" asked Sportacus at last, infinitely polite.
James held his hands up in frustration. They really had absolutely no idea who he was, either of them.
"I'm…kinda rich," he said at last. "And I've annoyed a lot of people over the years, getting that way. Oh, look, you might as well know, you're probably going to find out in the end…I'm…well, I'm kind of the eighteenth richest man in America. Sometimes the seventeenth, sometimes the nineteenth, depending on the way the market goes. Once I was sixth, but only for a month or so. So…" he shrugged.
Milford and Sportacus looked at each other for a quick moment.
"Well, I promise I will do my very best to make sure she stays safe while she's here," said Sportacus at last.
"I know you will, that's why I was so keen to move here…thank you." To break the mood, he looked questioningly at Sportacus's crystal. "And that's the magic crystal, is it? The one that lets you know - "
"Yes, that's right."
"How does it work? I'm always interested in new technologies, that must be a blinder…"
"I'm afraid I'm not allowed to talk about it," said Sportacus, gently but firmly.
"Not allowed? By who?"
"It's just really not allowed, I'm afraid."
"Fair enough….does it stop working if you do?"
"Mr Thornton, I'm really very sorry but I simply cannot discuss - "
"Okay, understood, and I'm sorry. It's just me, I can't help myself, I'm nosy by nature. I'm interested in anything and everything. Well…I'd better go, we've got a lot to do to get ready for the move, but - I'll be seeing you, okay? Both of you. Pleasure meeting you." He shook hands firmly in the way politicians do, taking their single hand between both of his own. Then he walked out of the office.
"Oh, my," said Milford at last.
Sportacus looked at him and raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.
"Do you think the town is going to be over-run with…with kidnappers?" asked Milford.
"No, I really don't think so," replied Sportacus, trying not to laugh.
"But he did say…"
Sportacus hesitated. There had been something in James Thornton's face when they had looked at each other for the first time that had puzzled him; relief, but also a strange resentment. So, you're the superhero, he had said, politely shaking hands, but nevertheless, straight away they had looked at each other and had known they were on opposing sides. What had it been about the man that had instantly raised his defences, made him wary and alert and ready for trouble? Was it simply his tremendous personal presence, which allowed him to dominate the room simply by being in it? Was it the aura of money that hovered about him like an invisible cloud? The look of cold panic on his face when his daughter had been out of his sight for just a few seconds? She's a kidnap risk, the man had said, but he was as sure has he had ever been in his life that this was not the truth.
But then, what demons had driven him to hide his daughter away here in Lazytown?
"Do you think I've made the right decision?" Milford asked him.
He hesitated for a fraction of a second.
"Has he signed the lease?"
"Yes."
"Then there's absolutely no point worrying," he said, smiling. "Did you need me for anything else?"
"No, that was everything, thank you so much for stopping by…send my love to Stephanie and Emma, won't you?"
"Of course…I'll see you later." He somersaulted out of the window, and was gone.
Bessie came back into the room with a plate of more biscuits.
"What did you think?" he asked her, putting his arm around her.
"He seemed…very nice," said Bessie, blushing a little as she remembered the frank way he had appraised her, the glint in his eyes when he looked at her and smiled.
"I think Sportacus hates him," said Milford, dunking a chocolate chip cookie into his cold tea.
"What? No, that can't be right. Sportacus never hates anybody," said Bessie, baffled. "Not even - " she stopped, and Milford patted her hand comfortingly.
"Well, maybe I'm wrong…it was just - something about the way they looked at each other."
"Did you ask him about it?"
"Well, I asked him if he thought I'd made the right decision. Come to think of it, he didn't exactly answer me." He sighed and rubbed his left shoulder, wincing.
"Are you still getting those pains?" asked Bessie sharply. "Milford, I've told you, Stephanie's told you, Sportacus has told you. You really need to see a doctor."
"I know, dear, I know…it's just so busy at the moment…maybe next week. The applications just keep piling up, it's extraordinary."
"Have another biscuit," she said, offering the plate.