Thimblenouth has changed and whatever it is I was hoping to find here, it sounds like it’s long gone, but on the other hand, I’mexhausted, and the thought of going back out on the road makes a cold sweat prickle all over me. I look into his eyes and feel that sense of warmth in my chest again. I have a responsibility to make sure he’s okay, don’t I?
‘No.Iwill seeyouin the morning and have another look at that leg, and if it looks even slightly worse, Iamtaking you to the nearest hospital. Understood?’
He laughs at my bossiness, turning himself around so he can climb out of the van onto his good leg, and I can’t help wincing as he hobbles on the gravel.
He takes a couple of steps towards his semi-destroyed campground, but he waves a hand towards it. ‘I’ll deal with that in the morning. I’ve had all the excitement I can take for one night.’
‘Do you have somewhere to sleep?’
‘Got a room in the house I’ve been using when the weather’s rough.’ He lifts a hand and gives me a goodbye salute. ‘And thank you. For the first aid and the tea, I mean. Not for the whole driving-into-me thing. That, I could’ve done without.’
Even in the darkness, I can see the twinkle in his eyes. ‘It was nice to meet you, Miss Cloned Sheep.’
I burst out laughing so hard that I nearly fall out of the van where I was still standing in the doorway. ‘Nice to meet you too, R-double e-c-e.’
His laugh echoes through the car park as he heads for the steps that lead up to the pub, and I watch his limping figure until the darkness swallows him up.
I close the van doors and sink onto the bench seat he’s just vacated, looking around at my temporary home. I still have the keys to the café in my pocket and I get them out and hold them until the metal is warm in my hands.
This is so far away from how I imagined today would go, but the strange thing is, despite everything, I feel lighter than I have in months.
Maybe it’s the Yorkshire air. Or maybe it’s the strange relief that comes with doing something completely, utterly, irreversibly reckless. Tomorrow, I’ll figure out what to do next. Tonight, I’m going to climb the ladder to the bed beneath the van’s roof, sleep like I’ve driven three hundred miles today, and dream of a blue-eyed, messy-haired camper who made me laugh when it was the last thing I felt like doing.
6
A knock on the door wakes me up with such a jump that I sit bolt upright and clonk my head on the campervan’s ceiling because the bed is so close to the roof.
I panic as I untangle the bedding from around my legs and scramble for the ladder. First thought – police. Second thought – dogwalker asking me my business here. Third thought – random local who saw this van on the news last night. Fourth thought – Reece has died of his injuries and the coroner wants to know if I saw anything. Fifth thoug?—
Before I have a chance to form a fifth thought, I hear Reece’s voice outside. ‘It’s just me. I come bearing breakfast.’
The ladder only comprises of two steps but my foot slips on one of them, and I grab wildly for something to stop my fall, but I land in an undignified heap on a pile of binbags.
‘You all right in there?’ Reece’s Yorkshire accent comes from outside.
‘All good,’ I call back, like this was exactly the way I intended to get out of the cabin bed. I disentangle myself from the binbags and slide the door open to find him lookingridiculouslyawake and alert for what feels like the crack of dawn, holding a mug of steaming coffee and a plate piled high with hot toast with butter slowly melting into it.
‘Goooooooodmorning,’ he says cheerfully. ‘It sounds like you just fell out of bed.’
I glance back at the chaos inside the van. The binbags are in disarray and the bedding has artfully arranged itself halfway down the ladder. ‘Not an inaccurate description.’
‘Sleep well?’
I go to grunt a response, but I realise something. ‘I did, actually. Better than I have in months.’
‘It’s the Yorkshire air. Good for the soul.’
Well, I don’t think it’s the whole stealing a campervan and running someone over thing. I doubt that’s good for much, especially the soul.
‘What time is it?’ I squint at him like he’s personally responsible for turning the sun up to maximum brightness. There’s no clock in the van, I don’t have a watch and no longer have my phone. It could be anywhere between 6a.m. and 3p.m. at this rate.
‘Nearly eight.’
It’s not even 8a.m. Of course it isn’t. I should have known he’d be a morning person. Everything about him screams morning person, from the bright pyjamas he was wearing last night to the cheery optimism and the fact he’s coherent at this time of day when most people are still trying to batter their alarm clocks into silence.
He holds up the coffee and plate of toast as if silently apologising for being a morning person. ‘I guessed you might not have much in the way of breakfast options. And no, a Pot Noodle isnotbreakfast.’
‘Oh, trust me,anythingis breakfast if you don’t have a friendly local builder to bring you food. You seriously made me coffee and toast?’
