‘I’m fine, thanks.’ In the kitchen I make two mugs of tea, aware of low muttering in the living room. I haven’t told Cora about my forthcoming trip with Shane. I’d looked forward to a chat – and even if I hadn’t got around to that, I wouldn’t have cared. I just wanted some time with my daughter. Time without him, I realise now. Have I turned into one of those awful mothers-in-law who seems to cause an atmosphere just by being there? I didn’t want it to be like this. I really tried, when they started dating – inviting them over for dinner occasionally, buying him Christmas and birthday presents, all that. Not to ingratiate myself – just to show that I was happy that… well, Cora was happy. But is she? I can’t help wondering as I return with our teas.
Immediately, Cora springs towards the coffee table drawer and extracts two coasters. Poppy has been transferred to her bouncy seat and is watching us all with rapt interest. I place Cora’s tea on one of the coasters and perch beside her, lifting mine to my lips. ‘Careful with hot drinks around Poppy,’ Zack says.
‘Yes, of course.’ I force a smile. Because I was thinking of sloshing hot liquid around like a manic.
‘Zack, it’s fine,’ Cora says, throwing him a look.
‘Right!’ He nods. ‘I’ll leave you to it then. Gotta jump on a call.’
I’m relieved, of course, but the atmosphere he leaves in his wake is tense and stilted, and none of my attempts to lighten things, to chat about inconsequential matters, really takes flight. And even when my tea is finished and I’m no longer in possession of a scalding beverage, I daren’t ask to hold Poppy again. She is sleeping anyway, and I realise that, for all her groomed appearance – blonde hair gleaming, light make-up immaculate – Cora looks exhausted. I stand up, and she does too, anticipating me leaving. ‘I’d better get going,’ I say.
‘Okay, Mum.’ She musters a smile and hugs me in the hallway.
I pull back and study her finely boned face. ‘Please let me know if I can come over and help anytime. I’d love to take Poppy out. Or if you two want a night out, or even a day together, I could look after her here…’ You can X-ray my bag on arrival. I’ll fill out the official paperwork.
‘Oh, Mum,’ she says, shooting a hand to her mouth. ‘We haven’t even talked about you losing your job. I’m sorry, my head’s all over the place at the moment.’
‘Honestly, love, don’t worry about that,’ I say firmly.
She frowns as Zack’s work voice – a deeper timbre than his panicky support-the-head! voice – booms from a bedroom.
‘You’re okay, though, aren’t you?’ she asks.
‘What, me?’ The woman who’s about to embark on some crazy road trip with a man she knows nothing about, really? At least, nothing about the adult man he’s become? ‘I’m fine, hon,’ I say, and then, seeing her face relax a little – perhaps because I’m leaving – I step out into the sunny afternoon.
It’s true – I am fine. And Zack is just a nervous dad, I tell myself. Uptight and worried and that’s perfectly natural, with a new baby. Maybe I was the uptight one today, with this trip looming tomorrow?
I really should take a leaf out of my boyfriend’s book, I decide. Because nothing seems to bother Lloyd: not world events or health or money issues. He has the occasional ciggie without guilt, smokes weed daily and drinks as much as he likes (possibly less than I do, to be fair) and never seems to have a shortage of work. He can always make the mortgage on his little two-bed flat. Somehow, he breezes through life, as I will once this trip is over. Then I’ll be throwing myself into job hunting; surely someone will employ me? I’m hard-working and versatile and will do pretty much anything.
I’ll also plan a visit to see Mum and Dad up in Northumberland. Have a new, decisive haircut and sort my colour out – a total reinvention for this new, thrilling phase as an unemployed person. I have plenty of friends, scattered all over London, from when Cora was a baby and various jobs and the old school gate gang.
My life is full, I tell myself. I’m a lucky woman and I can handle this.
Next morning I’m up at dawn, lashing my ancient, bagless sleeping bag to my rucksack with an old pair of tights. It’s a faded peach colour and decidedly musty, as if it’s been trapped for a decade in a cupboard – which it actually has. What will Shane think of it? I don’t care! We’re not going to be in a competitive sleeping bag situation, I tell myself as I haul my rucksack onto my back.
It’ll be fine. I have absolutely nothing to be worried or ashamed about. And so, with the tethered sleeping bag flopping about like a giant blancmange, I set off across town to a little musical instrument shop in south London.
13
SHANE
Shane hadn’t expected a top-of-the-range motorhome. He hadn’t envisaged one of those vast, gleaming vehicles with solar panels and a fully fitted kitchen and impeccable sound system. However, when he follows Boris out of the shop, he is alarmed to discover that it’s not actually a campervan after all. ‘It’s… an old ambulance?’ he blurts out.
‘Hey, less of the old! The term is retired, I’ll have you know.’ Boris slaps its rear doors affectionately. ‘Enjoying new adventures and freedom after many years of loyal service. Plenty of life left in the old girl yet.’ He extracts a premade roll-up from the top pocket of his frayed denim jacket and lights it.
‘An ambulance,’ Shane mutters. Appropriate, considering how his heart is jolting alarmingly now.
Boris nods. ‘Best vehicles ever built.’ With some effort he wrangles the back door open, and Shane peers inside. ‘See, there’s plenty of headroom for a tall lad like you,’ Boris continues as they clamber into it. ‘And tons of space for moving around in your living quarters. Ambulances are big buggers when you strip all the stuff out. Obviously,’ he adds, ‘when you think about what’s gone on in here. Medical emergencies and stuff.’
People have bled copiously in here, Shane realises. Countless medical procedures will have taken place in here. What’s the worst thing that can happen in an ambulance? Death, he realises. Death has happened in here.
‘Real bargain, she was,’ Boris continues cheerfully, taking a puff of his roll-up. ‘There are loads of these on the market if you’re ever tempted.’
‘Um, yeah! Maybe!’ Deciding not to mention the dent in the side, Shane flits his gaze around the van’s interior. It is entirely without permanent fittings. He doesn’t quite know what Boris had led him to expect, or if Shane had merely imagined that this would be a fully functional camper to facilitate a life of luxury on the road.
Whichever it was, he didn’t expect this.
‘Don’t look so worried. Old Doris is still roadworthy,’ Boris announces. Yes, Shane thinks, but am I? ‘And she’s got so much potential,’ his friend enthuses, more animated than Shane has ever seen him. His dark eyes are twinkling, his cheeks highly flushed. ‘I’m gonna build fitted units along here and have a sofa bed that pulls out here.’ He flails his skinny arms about to indicate their intended locations. ‘And here’s where the log burner’s gonna be. It’ll be so cosy. Can you imagine, getting all snuggled up in here with a nice glass of red in front of the crackling flames?’
