When he holds up his hands it’s obvious where the pink paint on his jeans has come from. ‘You know I like to live dangerously.’ He lets a grin slide out.
I give a snort. ‘If this is your idea of banter, it’s not very funny.’
He stares over the top of the van for a second, then looks down at me again. ‘It was meant to be a surprise. I’m doing the rooftop makeover you were asking about in time for Sunday’s wedding fair.’
I’m blinking at the bright blue sky behind his head. ‘Excuse me?’
He’s pointing at my Brides Go West roof sign. ‘That West to Wild you mentioned, it’s not going to take long.’
‘B—b—but …’ When I mentioned the letters, I was thinking I’d build my courage up slowly.
‘It’s a brilliant idea – Brides Go Wild is so much more you.’ His lips twist into a smile as he looks along the roof. ‘Great van, by the way. Where did you pick it up?’
If he’s trying to distract me it’s worked. ‘It belonged to this lovely old guy called Sam-the-van who bought it new back in 1972. He lived two doors down from us in Rose Hill and always parked it on the patch of ground belonging to our cottage.’ I’m watching as Nic lines up the ‘L’. ‘If you haven’t got time, I don’t need to …’
‘No, I like hearing about your long-lost past.’ He grins at me again and fishes a screwdriver out of the pocket of his padded waistcoat. ‘Carry on, and I’ll fix this lot into place.’
I’m more likely to put him to sleep; I just hope he knows not to wobble when he does. ‘When we were kids, whenever my mum baked she’d always send me round to Sam’s with some for him. Poppy’s mum was good at cakes, mine was better at pastry, so mostly she made pies. Then when she was too ill to bake, and I was at home looking after her …’
He pulls a handful of screws out of his pocket. ‘Hang on, you didn’t say anything about this.’
And damn that it’s slipped out now. I don’t usually talk about this part of my mum’s life because that kind of illness is so far outside people’s experience, no one can ever relate. ‘You can’t have my entire life story; you said this wasn’t a big job.’ That’s the trouble. Once I start, it’s all too involved. But when I do talk about her it makes her feel more real. Less like I dreamed her.
‘Give me the shortened version then.’ He lines up his screwdriver but he’s still looking at me. ‘So you must have been young to be looking after your mum? How did that work?’
Somehow, standing here on the quayside, with the call of gulls overhead and the lap of the water against the harbour wall, surprising as it feels, I know I’m completely comfortable sharing this with Nic. Whenever he’s heard about my mum, he doesn’t judge; he just listens. And quietly understands.
‘She had motor neurone disease. In the end it took everything away from her except her mind. She knew exactly what was going on, but as it got worse she couldn’t be left alone. So as a teenager I mostly stayed home with her instead of going to school. That’s how I missed out on my exams. And why I have a good insight into negotiating the world in a wheelchair.’
There’s a pained expression on his face. ‘Poor Mills, it sounds awful.’
That’s not what I want him to think. ‘It wasn’t that bad. It went on for years, and only the very end bit was really hard. The rest was about making the most of everything we could do, not dwelling on everything we couldn’t.’ As I look up, there’s so much compassion in his eyes and it’s nothing to do with pity. And there’s no need for any words. I can just feel he cares. I swallow back the lump in my throat and carry on. ‘Sam had trouble with his sight, and my mum wasn’t great at going out, so Sam would come round and I’d read to them both. Sam had a subscription to National Geographic and an attic full of detective novels so there was always plenty to choose from. It seems like a lifetime ago now. We might have been trapped in one room, but my mum was determined to have fun and we were all great at living in our heads. But when it was all over, and I was moving to Bristol because that’s where my brothers were, Sam made me take the van.’
‘He gave you it?’ Nic’s eyes soften even more. ‘I like that he did that. It makes it very special.’
I shrug. ‘He couldn’t see to drive it anymore and when our cottage was sold he wouldn’t have had anywhere to park it. He didn’t have kids of his own, so he said to think of it as payment for all the Bakewell tarts and the crime novels and articles I’d read him.
‘At the time I didn’t know how much he was giving me. I was just glad to have wheels. I’d learned to drive so I could take Mum around, but her old car gave up not long after she did. And then a couple of years later Sam died too.’
Nic’s rubbing his thumb along his jaw. ‘The world has a way of making things right. After everything you gave up for your mum, you deserved something good for yourself.’
I can’t hold back my smile. ‘That’s a very “peace and love” attitude from a hard-headed businessman.’
He pulls a face. ‘Don’t be fooled. On the inside I’m squishy as baked Alaska. So I take it you were the one who did the van restoration?’
There’s an extra heartfelt sigh for that. ‘It was beaten up but I was happy running it round as it was, then Phoebe decided it would be great for our brand if it were shiny and new. But doing it up nearly broke me; I’m still paying back the money I borrowed.’ And that’s another heap of detail I never meant to give away and which I’m hoping Nic will instantly forget.
‘There you go, another example of Frisbee taking advantage. Poppy and Jess were talking about that too.’ He gives a cough. ‘For what it’s worth, they seem to dislike her as much as I do.’
‘You haven’t even met her.’
He lets out a splutter. ‘I don’t have to. She stole your fiancé, and from what I hear she doesn’t lift a finger. You’ve been here months doing all the work … where the hell is she?’
‘But that’s because she’s on mat leave.’ It’s out before I can think.
His forehead wrinkles. ‘Isn’t that when you have a baby?’
I sniff. ‘As an employer you should know that, Nic.’
