‘I felt the same, the first time I came back here as an adult.’ He meets my eyes and I feel that sense of understanding between us, like he really gets it. He looks away again. ‘Mrs Patchett continued running it after her husband died, but it got too much for her. It’s been empty for years now, until it was sold to a private buyer – my boss.’
‘It wouldn’t happen to be Kingfisher House now, would it?’ I say as I realise that explains the sign I drove past in the village, and his suggestion that I’d been hired by a local to take him out.
He nods as he takes another sip of tea, and I’m glad to see his hands look a bit steadier than they were. ‘You must have spotted the gigantic, impossible-to-miss banner that can be seen from space…’
I laugh at how upbeat his voice sounds, like angry locals are just another occupational hazard.
‘I’m just doing the work, but the owner isn’t here and I am, and people love shooting the messenger. I did take their banners down a couple of times, but they just come back with bigger ones, so I gave up. Let them have their fun. It’s too late to do anything about it now.’ I’m intrigued by the hint of regret in his voice and the way he’s choosing words carefully, because he makes it sound like there’s something more to this.
‘If you’re working up there’ – I point in the direction of the pub up the hill – ‘why are you camping down here?’
He shrugs. ‘I’m staying in the empty building while I renovate it, but… I don’t know, I like being outdoors. When the weather’s nice, there’s nothing better than sleeping under the stars. Appreciating nature. Listening to the river burbling past, hearing hedgehogs snuffling around, the gentle breeze, the fresh air. It soothes something inside me. Usually. On the nights I’mnotimpaled by my own camping equipment, it can be quite pleasant.’
His grin lets me know he’s joking, but I can’t shake the feeling of guilt. ‘I’ll buy you a new tent.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly, I wouldn’t hear of it. That wasn’t a tent, it was just tarpaulin strung up on a couple of poles. Don’t give it another thought, honestly. You’ve done more than enough.’
I look at this strange, optimistic man with his cartoon pyjamas and his inexplicable good humour in the face of being run over by a stolen campervan. ‘Why are you being so laidback? I’ve just driven into you, destroyed your tent and caused you a horrible injury. Most people would be raging.’
He shifts slightly on the bench as he considers it, wincing as his leg protests. ‘Well, let’s see. I’m alive. I’ve got a cup of tea. You’ve patched me up and been very kind, and you’re not local, so this is my first conversation in weeks with someone whoisn’tplotting to rip out my intestines and feed them to the ducks. Overall, I’ve had worse nights.’
His mention of feeding the ducks makes something twitch inside me, like a sign from the great beyond or something, and I can’t help the feeling you get when you meet someone andknowthey’re a good person. Even if there is something unsettling about his cheerfulness, like he’s genuinely enjoying this bizarre situation and now the panic is starting to abate, I’m genuinely enjoying it too.
Eventually, he sighs and shifts to put his empty cup on the table. ‘I should let you get some rest. You’ve had a long day by the sounds of things.’
‘Long?’ It’s such an understatement that it makes me laugh in a slightly unhinged way. This morning feels like it was months ago and I’ve surely been driving for at least three weeks. Long is the understatement ofallunderstatements.
‘London to Yorkshire, that’s quite a drive, especially if you’re not used to driving a van…’ He sounds kind, even though he can clearly see right through my front. If the inability to park without running someone over didn’t give it away, then the frantic hunt for the first aid kit and the mugs definitely has, and the binbags donotlook like a pre-planned packing job.
‘It’s not that that I’m not used to driving it, I just needed… to get away,’ I say eventually. ‘This is the only place I could think of that felt like home. Sometimes you just need to go somewhere that remembers who you used to be.’
An understanding flickers across his face and comes out in a gentle smile, and I know this is a man whogetsit. ‘Who did you used to be?’
‘Happy,’ I say, surprising myself with my acceptance of what I’ve realised throughout today. I haven’t been happy for a very long time. ‘I used to be happy.’
‘Then I hope you find your way back to that, even if it takes a few detours along the way. And you’ve probably come to the right place. I think half the people up here are running away from something. The other half are just lost.’
My chuckle is both relieved and intrigued. ‘Which are you?’
He shrugs. ‘Honestly? Bit of both.’
That makes me feel so much better and we sit in comfortable silence for a moment, listening to the sounds of the night outside. It’s strange – I’ve known this man for less than an hour, and half of that time was spent trying to stop him bleeding, but there’s something easy about talking to him. Something uncomplicated and straightforward.
Eventually he lets out a reluctant sigh and pushes a hand through his hair, which only makes it stick up in even more directions, and then carefully lifts his injured leg onto the floor and stretches it out to move his ankle around. ‘It’s late, I should go.’
‘Are you sure you should be walking around? That leg…’
‘I’m fine.’ He can’t quite hide the groan as he pushes himself upright and remembers to duck his head before it collides with the roof again. He makes his way gingerly towards the door, holding on to the wall to steady himself and moving with such a cautious gait that he’s clearly in more pain than he’s letting on.
I dodge past him and drag binbags out of the way so he’s got a clear path, and the sound of broken china clattering fills the van as the vintage teapot makes its presence known, reminding me that finding it on the lawn this morning really wasjustthis morning.
Reece stops. ‘That binbag doesn’t sound like it should be making that noise. Did I break something when I fell over it?’
‘No, it was already broken. I went round some sharp bends on the way here,’ I say, because I don’t want to get into why it was really broken and what it represented.
He pauses at the door and the look he gives me suggests he knows there’s more to the story than I’m letting on. Instead of pushing it, he ducks his head towards me. ‘I guess I’ll see you in the morning?’
I think about it. On the one hand, maybe I should do a runner. Drive on like I was never here. I could go to Scotland. Jared would never think to look for me in the Outer Hebrides…
