That’s because they’re still sitting in the bathroom cabinet at home.
Five days in a van with Shane and no head pills! Briefly, I consider rushing back home to fetch them. What does it matter if I’m late? We’re not on a strict time schedule. I weigh up the hassle involved with the blessed relief of being in possession of my meds and decide I can’t face it. I’ll just have to self-medicate through this. As white wine is my preference, I hope the campervan has a fridge. But actually, I’m quite prepared to drink it lukewarm. This an emergency, after all.
My rucksack is weighing heavily on my back, my ancient sleeping bag billowing about like a badly tethered windsock. I cross the road, passing a low-rise maisonette block with small, scrubby gardens at the front. The street is filled with haphazardly parked cars bumped up on kerbs and jutting out into the road. Hopefully one of them will move before the campervan arrives.
Calm down, I tell myself. Whatever happens, I’m getting out of town, having a little break away from everything: being shunned by Cora, nagged about commodifying my feet and worrying myself senseless about finding a new job. And what was it that my friend Nisha said last night? If it’s really awful, you can duck out early, can’t you? Catch a train home. I hate to say it, but Ravi will never know.
And now, farther down the street – next to the ambulance, in fact – I spot one of those A-frame signs sitting on the pavement. Back Alley Music, it says, with an arrow pointing to the left. To an alley, in fact. So this is it. This is Shane’s shop and any minute now the van will be here, and we’ll be off.
A man emerges from the alley. It’s Shane, in a black T-shirt and jeans, looking extremely preoccupied. I watch, hanging back a little, as he makes for the closed back door of the ambulance, bends slightly, and starts to scrub at something. Whatever it is, he’s going at it furiously with some kind of scourer or cloth. Why is he doing that? Surely the ambulance can’t be anything to do with him.
I take another fortifying deep breath and stop a short distance away. ‘Hi!’ I say.
He spins around and his face brightens. ‘Josie. Hi! I was just, um—’ He brandishes a Brillo pad at me. ‘Just, er…’
‘Doing a spot of cleaning?’
‘Yeah!’ He laughs awkwardly and rakes at the back of his head. ‘Just thought I’d spruce it up a bit.’
My gaze falls to the spot he’s been scrubbing at. Looks like the remains of a sticker, still clinging on. ‘This… isn’t it, is it?’ I ask. ‘This isn’t the van?’
His jaw seems to tighten and he emits a small groan. ‘It is, I’m afraid.’ The wet Brillo pad drips onto the ground. ‘Josie, I’m really sorry,’ he says quickly. ‘I feel like such an idiot. Honestly, I had no idea it’d be like this…’ He looks away briefly and his cheeks redden. ‘I realise I should’ve checked. Or at least found out what kind of van it was. I thought it might be a bit basic, but the way he talked about it, all the trips he’s done?—’
‘And he definitely said it was a campervan?’ I cut in.
‘Well, yes. Yes, of course!’ he says forcefully, then seems to catch himself. ‘I’m sorry. I’m making this sound like Boris misled me, but he didn’t. I just imagined?—’
‘A cute campervan?’ I suggest. ‘Like a classic VW in pale blue or pea green, with curtains?’
A smile flickers over his lips. ‘There are curtains, actually. Of a sort.’
‘Well, that’s okay then.’ I laugh dryly. ‘Look, this isn’t your fault. If someone offers to lend you their campervan, then that’s what you’d expect, isn’t it?’
Shane looks at me and nods resignedly. ‘Okay, so we can just forget about it. Forget the trip, I mean. Explain to Pam and Kamal?—’
‘Is that what you want?’ I ask. Because now I’m here – with no job to go to and having lugged my rucksack halfway across London – I’m not sure I want to duck out.
‘I want to do what’s right for Ravi,’ Shane says with a shrug. ‘But the thing is?—’
‘People convert all kinds of vehicles into campervans, don’t they?’ I interrupt. ‘Who cares what it looks like on the outside? As long as it’s fitted out, and we have the basics…’
‘Well, that’s the thing…’
‘What’s the thing?’
‘Let me show you.’ He sighs heavily and, with a firm wrench, hauls open the back door.
I stare in and my heart seems to plummet. ‘Oh,’ is all I can say. Because the vehicle hasn’t been ‘converted’ at all – it’s just an ambulance with all of its fittings and medical stuff stripped out, leaving nothing. There is a bed – a bed singular. Or rather, a mattress on the floor.
I stare at it wordlessly. It’s not that I expected luxury; that’s not the point. It’s the fact that this arrangement would mean Shane and I lying together at night – sleeping together – which of course is unthinkable?—
‘Oh, hey!’ A tall, rangy man with fine sandy hair and a small, neat beard has joined us.
‘Josie, this is Fletch,’ Shane says distractedly. ‘My partner in the shop. Fletch, this is Josie.’
‘Nice to meet you.’ He grins, his eyes glinting with amusement behind chunky, black-framed specs. ‘So, what d’you think of your accommodation?’
I choke out a feeble laugh. ‘It’s not quite what I expected.’
