‘Very much so,’ I reply, still rattled by that brief sighting of the soil trough picture. Am I up for doing this – flaunting my muddied feet – as long as my face isn’t pictured? What if someone (Cora and Zack, for example) found out? I’d be banished not merely from their home, but their postcode.
Shane’s mouth flickers with amusement. ‘In among making raised beds,’ he says.
‘Raised beds?’
‘Yeah.’ He nods, expression neutral. ‘The one in the picture. You said he’s into gardening too?—’
‘That’s right! Blood, gore and gardening.’ I look at him, wanting very much to change the subject now. And as we sip our builder’s tea, I wonder in fact if he knows. Whether he’s figured it out somehow – the trough thing, and what it’s really for. Did he hear me talking to Lloyd that evening, back in – where was it again? Bridlington, I think. It’s all blurred into one, all of the tiny incidents bringing us to where we are now.
‘Shane?’ I start.
‘Yeah?’
‘I… I just wanted to say, I’m glad we’re doing this,’ I tell him.
He blinks in surprise. ‘You are?’
‘Yes, I really am.’
The smile reaches his beautiful eyes, and I yearn to lean over the table, in this steamy little buttercup-yellow café, and kiss him. ‘Well, I am too,’ he says.
‘I’m glad about that.’ As a warm feeling seems to fill my heart, it feels as if that’s all we need to say on the subject as we leave the café. It’s true; I really am happy to be here, with Shane. However, by the time we reach the car park, where Doris awaits us, I’m starting to think that perhaps we could up our accommodation standards, just a little. My broken-zipped sleeping bag might have served me perfectly well twenty years ago, but our relationship is flagging a little. Shane has mentioned Boris rhapsodising about freedom and life on the road but – controversially, and perhaps I’m being terribly feeble – wouldn’t an actual bed be nice?
‘Shane?’ I say. ‘I know this is a bit nuts, and I really do need to do this trip on the cheap. But I was thinking…’ I catch his expression flicking from quizzical to bemused, as if he knows exactly what I’m going to say. ‘But sod it,’ I add. ‘That mattress is doing my back in a bit and every morning I’ve woken up hardly able to turn my head.’
‘Have you?’ he exclaims. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘There was nothing you could do about it, was there?’ I smile. ‘And I’m sure it’s not been great for you either.’
He shrugs. ‘It’s been… okay!’ Obviously, it hasn’t.
‘Even so, would it be terrible to cheat a bit, and stay in a hotel?’
Shane frowns, appearing to be giving the matter serious consideration – but I know he’s faking. ‘Well, I guess Ravi didn’t stipulate the van part,’ he remarks.
‘No, she didn’t.’
‘So we wouldn’t be breaking any rules,’ he adds.
‘Shall we do it then and book a twin room? We could stretch to that, couldn’t we? In some ramshackle little hovel…’
He laughs, already stepping away from the van. ‘You make it sound so tempting.’ Then, suddenly serious, ‘But wouldn’t you miss the freedom?’
I chuckle, thinking how far we’ve come. Not merely in miles but the way we are together, doing this bonkers thing. ‘I think we’d cope, wouldn’t we?’ I reply. ‘Just for one night.’
26
SHANE
Shane had been thinking the same. He just hadn’t wanted to wimp out. Now, though, he is immensely happy at the prospect of a little respite from the miserly mattress and chilly nights. So, having abandoned Doris in a car park, and with their rucksacks on their backs containing just overnight essentials, they roam the streets of Pontefract in search of a hotel.
‘A hovel will do’, Josie had said, but surely they can do a bit better? Shane is aware that she’ll rail against him offering to pay – not that he’s Rich Tony, but he knows she’s on a tight budget. They stop at a somewhat bleak-looking B & B, jammed between an upmarket antiques shop and an artisanal pizza place. A jug of plastic roses, bleached of all colour, sits on the windowsill in front of a less-than-sparkling net curtain. They look at each other, shake their heads and stroll on.
Josie’s phone rings, and he hangs back a little, anticipating the boyfriend nagging her about this thing they’re doing (Shane still doesn’t understand what it is and doesn’t feel it’s his place to pry). As he feigns interest in the window display of yet another sweet shop – Pontefract seems to be powered by confectionery – he hears her say, ‘I’m good, Mum. I’m actually in Yorkshire! No, Pontefract. Yeah, I know. Just a little road trip with a friend…’
Of course, Josie’s parents knew Shane, back in the day. She probably doesn’t want to go into it all, he decides. While Josie chatters on, Shane studies the window of another shop, this time displaying professional cooking equipment, as if he’s in the market for something called a cast-iron steak press, £47. ‘We’re in a campervan,’ she continues. ‘No, Mum, I haven’t bought one! Don’t you think I’d have told you?’ She has a wonderful warm laugh, Shane thinks. After their horribly awkward meeting that day, at the Kapoors’ celebration for Ravi, he’d forgotten about that. ‘We’ve borrowed it,’ Josie explains. ‘Yes, it’s lovely. So cosy and it has everything we need… Yeah, okay. Put Dad on…’
In the pause that follows, Josie glances at Shane with a fond, Parents, eh? eye-roll. ‘Hi, Dad. Yeah, of course we’re driving carefully. Yep, we’re properly insured…’ There’s more chatter as, endearingly, she seems keen to impress her dad by detailing their cultural and historical highlights: the castle, museum and art gallery. Shane picks up on the affection in her voice, and it stirs a sense of guilt in him.
