He frowns. ‘Rules?’
‘Yeah.’ I nod firmly. ‘For one thing, we’re going to be driving an awful lot. So I think we should share it.’
‘Of course! No problem. Drive the next leg if you like?—’
‘Maybe not this bit,’ I say quickly. ‘Maybe later.’
‘Fine. Just say, whenever you want to.’
‘And if one of us wants to stop somewhere, or go off and do our own thing, we should say so. Shouldn’t we?’
His eyes widen in surprise. ‘Well, er… yeah. Of course. Absolutely.’
I take a breath, wondering why this doesn’t seem to be coming out quite right. All I mean is, we should have the option to please ourselves – to take time out from each other if we need to. I push a hand through my dishevelled hair, wondering if I actually brushed it this morning. ‘All I mean,’ I blunder on, ‘is that we should both feel we can say what we want, and what we need, because I don’t think this trip is going to be easy.’ It’s all tumbled out in a rush, and something flickers in his eyes. He looks hurt, I realise, and a little confused.
‘No,’ Shane says quietly. ‘I don’t suppose it is.’
And with that, as we leave the service station café and hurry through the rain, I wish I could stuff my stupid words back into my mouth.
16
SHANE
Shane lied to Josie when he said he didn’t remember anything about Grimsby. He remembers everything about that first stop of their tour. Every tiny detail is inked on the inside of his brain.
They’d been nervous, yes – but Grimsby wasn’t that far away from home. Just a two-hour drive in the lumbering estate car, which Ravi – the sole driver among them – had borrowed from her uncle in Leeds. Devoid of style or class, by some miracle the tank-like vehicle contained all their gear (although the boot wouldn’t shut properly).
They thought it was fantastic. Shane especially as, mixed in with nervy anticipation, was sheer relief to be getting out of his cabbage-smelling house for a week. In the lead-up to the tour, rehearsals had ramped up, and he’d been spending every available minute in the Kapoors’ garage, where his drum kit was set up permanently (he’d never have been allowed to play at home). Pam was so good about that. ‘You’ll be great,’ she assured them. And she’d given Shane that look – the look which said we know, and we care – when she’d noticed the bruising around his cheekbone and eye.
He was fine, he always insisted – even to Josie, who questioned him openly from time to time: You all right, Shane? Want to stay over at ours? You can sleep on the sofa. Mum says it’s okay.
‘Me and Pete had a bit of an argument,’ he’d tell her. ‘It was nothing, really. Looks a lot worse than it is.’ What Josie and Ravi did know was to never phone his house, but to yell for him from the street instead. Because the wall-mounted phone in the hall was for emergencies only. Pete was very strict about its usage. The girls didn’t know that after Pete had whacked Shane that last time, his mum had used the forbidden telephone to call the GP. Which meant, Shane realised, that she was actually worried.
Doctor Draper? Our Shane fell over and was unconscious for a bit. Will he be all right? Should I bring him in? Then, after presumably being reassured by the perpetually inebriated GP: Right, okay. No, he’s awake now. I’ll keep an eye on him then.
There would be none of that in Grimsby. And as the wide, flat Humber Estuary came into view, Shane realised that something monumental had switched in him. Something so big, he couldn’t put it into words.
He felt happy and free – and more than that, he felt safe.
This time is different. Now he has nothing to run away from. But still, a little respite from Elaine is welcome, and from the rattly ambulance he takes in the undulating countryside on what’s turned out to be a mild and pleasant afternoon. Despite his love of London, being surrounded by fields lifts something in him. He grew up roaming around in the scrubby woods and rolling farmland beyond the estate, and nature has left its traces on him.
They have turned off the main road, and Shane slows down as the narrow lane snakes back and forth, bordered on both sides by dense woodland. Josie has booked a night at a campsite called Paradise Vale, on the outskirts of town. He hopes it lives up to its name. ‘How much further?’ he asks.
‘About a mile,’ Josie replies, checking her phone. As directions follow – ‘Next left, then the sign should be coming up’ – it strikes him that this could almost be a normal scenario. Two friends after a lengthy drive, one consulting the map as they near their destination. A shared sense of relief that finally they are here for the night.
‘D’you think it matters that we’re not actually staying in town?’ Josie asks.
‘You mean, we’re not strictly following Ravi’s schedule?’ He turns briefly and smiles.
‘Yeah.’ She nods. ‘It does say Grimsby, not a campsite out in the countryside.’
‘But this was the nearest one, wasn’t it?’ he reminds her. ‘I don’t think she’ll be splitting hairs.’ He catches a flash of her smile, and it warms something in him.
‘No, that’s true.’ This is going to be okay, he thinks as he turns into the lane leading to the campsite.
‘This looks all right, doesn’t it?’ Josie says as he pulls up beside the site office.
Shane takes in the rows of spotless motorhomes, a camping area dotted with a few tents and a lake gleaming in the distance. ‘Yeah, it does,’ he says. And it is, he thinks. They have survived being snared up in traffic, and five hours on the road, without anything difficult having come up. They are here for the night and, before that, they have many hours to fill – it’s not even six o’clock. Following the rain shower, the air feels clean and fresh, and he breathes it in gratefully as they climb out of the van.
