‘Sun… Daylight.’
‘Right. And where have you parked? Because from here, it looks like it’s under a ruddy great tree.’
‘Under a ruddy great tree,’ I echo in resignation as I follow his gaze down to the car park. In trying to make the van as inconspicuous as possible, I’ve parked so far under the trees that all natural light is blocked out by the branches, stopping the solar panel from charging the battery that powers everything inside the van.
Reece pushes himself off the doorframe and steps outside, and I wince on his behalf at the limp and the intake of breath as he tries to disguise how painful it is. ‘If you turn it around and scooch it over just a bit, you’ll have full sun and no branches to stop you putting the pop-top roof up for the extra headspace. You can stay there as long as you want with nothing obscuring the solar panel.’
I stand next to him at the top of the steps and look down the grassy bank dubiously. ‘But that would mean moving it.’
‘That would be the general consensus, yes.’ He’s much taller than me and he looks down with that curious look again, the one that says he can clearly tell that, until yesterday, I’d never driven anything bigger than a very small car. ‘If you tuck it in alongside the bank, it’ll be out of the?—’
‘Tuck? You think I cantuckthis thing in anywhere? It’s got the turning radius of theTitanic! And you appear to think I can reverse it without ending up in the river.’
‘Nah. River’s over there. If you were going to end up in it, it would be frontwards.’
‘Very comforting, thanks.’
He laughs at my sarcasm. ‘So when you bought this thing yesterday, it didn’t come with any form of instruction book? No manual for how to ensure the power stays functioning?’
‘I didn’t buy it yesterday.’ I give him a suitably scathing look. It’s not exactly an untruth. ‘But my driving skills are a little rusty, and last time I attempted to move it, I nearly killed you!’
‘Ah, I’m fine.’
‘You’re not fine, Reece! You’re hurting and trying so hard to pretend you’re not, but that leg must be making every moment of your day harder, and it’s okay to be annoyed or angry or upset.’
‘I’m not. And you seem like someone who needs a bit of kindness, so I’d rather choose that.’
The sob that escapes is unexpected, but suddenly tears spring to my eyes and my throat tightens, leaving me frantically swiping at my face. I’ve embarrassed myself enough in front of Reece for one day, I don’t need to cry as well.
He reaches over and squeezes my shoulder, hesitantly, like he’s well aware that we’re complete strangers, and yet, after his openness last night, I feel like I’ve known him for a lot longer, and his gentle touch makes me want to slip my hand over his and hold it there. How much lovelier would the world be if more people were like him?
‘Sorry. It hasn’t been the best twenty-four hours.’ I sniffle and try to pull myself together. In the space of five minutes, I’ve gone from laughing hysterically to howling. He’s going to think I’m the strangest person who’s ever run him over.
‘Not all of it bad, I hope?’
I look up at him and hold his gaze, those twinkling blue eyes challenging me to focus on the positive parts. ‘Not all of it at all.’
‘Good.’ He does a decisive nod. ‘If even one hour out of twenty-four is a good one then no day is a complete loss.’
‘Some people would say that’s a pretty bad ratio.’
‘Eh, I’m an optimist, I’ll take what I can get. Sometimes one good hour is the best you can hope for.’
I’m intrigued by what’s gone on in his life to lead him here. The ‘bit of both’ comment he made last night replays in my head, about being lost or running away from something, and it makes me even more certain that his bright attitude is covering a sadness that he’s trying to keep hidden.
* * *
Half an hour later, after the world’s most chaotic parking manoeuvre, I’ve finally managed to get the van into the sunny spot andtuckedneatly alongside the hill and the steps that lead up to the pub, facing forwards so I can make a quick getaway if need be.
I turn off the engine and sit there for a moment, my hands trembling.
Reece appears at my window, looking shell-shocked but still managing to smile. ‘That was… educational.’
Letting him stand on the steps and try to direct me was not one of my better ideas. ‘I nearly ran you over. Twice.’
‘Only twice? It wasmanymore times than twice.’
I look at him through the open window – this remarkably optimistic man who’s just risked life and limb to help me park a campervan – and wonder how I ended up in this ridiculous situation. ‘Thank you for not laughing too hard.’
