No. Right now, Shane cannot imagine that.
‘And jumping out of bed in the morning,’ Boris raves on, ‘cracking eggs into the pan, lightly scrambled, or maybe poached? Picture that! Pot of coffee brewing, toast on the go…’
Shane stares at him, waiting for him to stop. Already, he has had enough of being told what to ‘picture.’ He’s not about to start rhapsodising about how he likes his eggs in the morning because there will categorically be no eggs.
‘I made those curtains myself!’ Boris indicates the mottled brown linen flaps stuck over the two small rear windows with masking tape. They look as if they have been roughly hacked from the shirt of a dead man. ‘And look – here’s your interior lighting,’ Boris adds, grabbing a portable plastic lamp from a corner and clicking the switch. Nothing happens. ‘Ah, you’ll need to pick up batteries on your way.’ He clonks the lamp back down and beams at Shane. ‘It’s gonna be amazing in here, mate, once I’ve kitted her out. I’ve got so many plans.’
Shane blinks at him. He doesn’t need plans. He needs facilities now – a loo at least! What are they going to do about that? Shane has Josie down as a chilled-out and possibly spiritual type, but he can’t imagine that she’d be terribly spiritual about having to poo in the woods. And what about washing and other basic human needs?
‘Shower’s gonna be up against there,’ Boris continues happily, rapping the partition that divides the ‘living quarters’ from the cabin. ‘But in the meantime, just enjoy old Doris as she is. Enjoy the space.’
Shane bites his lip and pushes his hands into his jeans pockets. No, he thinks, I can’t enjoy the space. Because apart from everything else, there is another aspect that is concerning him. It’s the unmentionable object that’s lying on the van’s floor, which the two men have been carefully stepping around, and which Shane has been trying to pretend isn’t there. The thing that renders this trip impossible because, obviously, he and Josie cannot possibly share a mattress.
Shane clears his throat. ‘So… there’s just this?’ he asks, feigning casualness as Boris pauses for breath. Or is there a secret second sleeping facility cunningly hidden in one of the walls?
‘Yeah,’ Boris replies. ‘Don’t look so worried. It’s really comfortable.’ Admittedly, it’s a double, and it looks clean, at least – if a little thin. ‘You can get all snuggly and cosy on that,’ he adds with a grin.
Seemingly unaware of Shane’s rising panic, Boris jumps out of the back of the van and flicks his damp-ended roll-up into the road. ‘C’mere a minute. I’d better show you what’s what, hadn’t I?’ He beckons Shane around to the cab, which he clambers into in order to demonstrate how to handle the vehicle. ‘Driven one of these before?’
‘Can’t say I have,’ Shane replies, gazing at Boris through the open driver’s door.
‘Vans, though?’ He turns the ignition key. The engine coughs and splutters as if clearing out a dollop of phlegm and finally kicks into life.
‘Yeah, loads of times,’ Shane shouts over its roar. Not that this is relevant as he and Josie are categorically not going anywhere. He’ll have to cancel the trip. What will he tell her? He’s ill – that’s the simplest option. He’s been throwing up all night.
Quickly, he checks the time on his phone. Christ, she’ll be on her way already.
Boris demonstrates the van’s various functions – to which Shane is paying zero attention – and turns off the engine. ‘So, what d’you reckon then?’ As if he’s just introduced Shane to his new girlfriend and is keen to hear his verdict.
‘Really great!’ Despite everything, Shane is fond of Boris and appreciates the £9.25 he’s spent on plectrums over the past three years. And he doesn’t have it in him to crush his enthusiasm.
‘Been all over the country with me,’ Boris adds as he climbs out of the cab. ‘Tell you what, mate, you can’t beat that feeling of freedom.’
No, you can, Shane thinks, as his gaze alights upon a sticker on the back door. If this van’s a-rockin’ don’t come a-knockin’, it reads, with a crude illustration of a quivering VW camper. Catching him staring at it, Boris chortles. ‘Historic artefact, that!’
‘Ha! Yeah.’
‘So, whereabouts are you planning to go again?’
Right now? Shane muses. A psychiatric facility might be appropriate because clearly, anyone who thought this might be a good idea needs professional help. ‘Just a little tour up north,’ he replies.
‘Lovely. Do you good, I reckon. You’re looking a bit strained, if you don’t mind me saying. Putting in too many hours in that shop.’ Shane shrugs, and then, because he can’t think of anything else he can possibly do, he thanks Boris profusely as he accepts the van’s keys and offers to book him an Uber home. ‘Nah, mate. You don’t need to do that. The walk’ll do me good.’
‘Okay, if you’re sure?’ Shane asks.
Boris nods and grins and pulls another roll-up from his jacket pocket. Giving Doris a final slap on her haunches, he lights his cigarette and saunters off down the street.
14
JOSIE
A scruffy white van with a dent in its side is parked at the end of the quiet side street. No, that can’t be it. It looks more like an ambulance. The campervan mustn’t be here yet.
Of more immediate concern is the fact that the moisture in my body seems to have gone to the wrong places. My mouth is so parched I can’t swallow, yet my hands are soaked in sweat. Last night I was full of bravado, having had several boosting messages from friends: It’s an adventure! Have fun! What’s the worst that can happen? But this morning I woke up with The Fear, glad that at least I’d turned down Shane’s offer to pick me up in the campervan. The prospect of him bowling up at my flat was a bridge too far. I’d have felt obliged to make him coffee, and have him check out my place and maybe judge me on it. To me it’s home, and I love all my clutter and trinkets – but I’m not sure what Shane would make of it. And what if Lloyd had still been swaggering around in his extremely thigh-revealing shorts? It’s not that I’m ashamed of my boyfriend – far from it – but I could imagine Shane thinking, well… something at least.
I breathe in deeply, trying to quell my rising sense of panic. Hang on – did I take my pill this morning? I don’t think so. It hits me that, in my haphazard approach to packing, and shuddering as I stuffed in Ravi’s Polaroid camera, I’ve forgotten one crucial item.
My antidepressants aren’t in my rucksack.
