Chapter 7
I’m a bit over it now.
And, yes, I know this does not bode well for the coming weeks.
I had to make a midnight loo stop thanks to my old pal Prosecco, and my stomach muscles were at it all night long because I kept rolling off to one side – obviously the ground is not as level as I thought. I slept terribly, so I’m knackered and I woke up this morning with crusty eyes and clumpy lashes.
I look like hell. And I don’t even care. I’m not even sure I can be bothered to go to the shower block.
I lie there in bed until eight forty before pulling myself together.
Sort it out, Bridget. Charlie is expecting you.
Grabbing my washbag, I climb out of the van. I really do need to wash my hair today. Grease is the word.
The showers work with tokens – it costs 50p for a good five minutes. I got a stack of them when I arrived, but can I find any of the little gold fuckers in my washbag when the shower cuts out halfway through rinsing my hair? No, I cannot.
I wrap my towel around my body and unlock the shower cubicle, hoping to find a sympathetic passer-by. Luckily I see Justin heading away from the toilets, so I call after him.
He comes over, grinning like a loon, his dreadlocks happily piled up under his cheerfully coloured hat.
‘Run out of tokens?’ he asks.
‘Yes. Can I owe you one?’ I beg.
‘Course you can,’ he replies with a wink. ‘Back in a tick.’
The skies are back to being overcast and, on the return to my pitch, it starts to spit with rain.
‘Oi, Bridget?’ a little voice calls out, stopping me in my tracks.
‘Morning, Roy,’ I reply, trying to inject some enthusiasm into my voice as my next-door-pitch neighbour emerges from his campervan. He and his wife Shirley introduced themselves to me on my first day here. They seem like a sweet enough couple, if a little chatty and overeager.
‘Er, Bridget,’ he says, shuffling to the edge of his awning in his slip-ons. ‘I hate to be a killjoy, but. . .’
Oh dear, what have I done?
‘Your music kept Shirley awake last night, and she’s recovering from an op, you see.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry!’ I say, genuinely mortified. ‘Is she okay?’ I only put it on to cheer myself up.
‘She’s fine. She has dicky knees, but she’s on the mend now.’
‘That’s good to hear.’
He shifts from foot to foot. ‘You do know that the rules of the campsite say no music?’
‘I’m sorry, I won’t play it that loud again, I promise.’
He laughs uneasily. ‘You really shouldn’t play it at all.’ He taps his finger on the side of his nose. ‘But I won’t tell anyone as long as you keep it right down.’
‘Okay, thanks, Roy.’
He nods at me graciously and a little bit patronisingly. ‘No problem at all, Bridget.’ He peers up at the sky. ‘Looks like rain today.’
‘It’s already started.’ I hold my palms up. ‘I’d better get back under cover.’
‘Right you are. Have a good day.’
‘You too,’ I call over my shoulder as I head back to Hermie.
Now, where did I put my raincoat?
It’s just as well I find it, because the heavens throw everything at me on my way to Charlie’s.
By the time I get there, my jeans are soaked and I am late.
Charlie doesn’t look too impressed when he answers the door.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ I mumble, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl as I remove my dripping raincoat.
‘There are towels in the bathroom,’ he says as I take off my Vans.
‘Can I put these on the radiator?’ I ask, indicating the one under the coat rack.
‘Yeah, I’m just on the phone.’ He heads back down the corridor.
Phone? I didn’t see him with a phone.
The voice of a young woman on speakerphone rings out as I follow him into the kitchen. She’s talking in a cutesy voice to April, who is standing in her playpen, bouncing up and down on her feet as she stares fixatedly at the phone lying flat on the sofa opposite.
‘I’m back,’ Charlie says loudly.
‘Hi,’ the voice in the phone says. ‘Was that the ghostwriter arriving?’
‘Bridget, yeah,’ he replies. ‘She’s here.’ He glances at me and jerks his head towards the phone. ‘I’m talking to Kate, Nicki’s sister,’ he explains quietly.
‘Oh,’ I whisper. I did notice the Essex accent.
‘You want to make yourself a cuppa?’ he asks.
I nod and get on with it.
‘Charlie?’ Kate says as he wipes down the table.
‘I’m here. What were you saying?’
‘Do not put her to sleep in the pram today, all right?’
‘I don’t have time to do it any other way,’ he replies, sounding agitated. ‘I’m so behind on this job.’
‘When do they want it?’
‘Next week.’
‘Next week?’ she scoffs. ‘School’s not back until September.’
‘The caretaker’s going away. He wants to get it installed before he leaves.’
‘Oh. Fair enough. But listen, she’ll sleep better in her cot, and, if you slip out of your routine, it will come back to bite you. Believe me, I know.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ he mutters, rinsing out the sponge at the sink. ‘How are the kids?’
‘Driving me insane,’ she replies. ‘School holidays.’ She pauses. ‘Do you want me to come and help out next week?’ Her tone is tentative. ‘Mum could have the kids.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ Charlie brushes her off. ‘I’ll get it done. My mum reckons she’ll be able to spare some time in any case.’
‘Do not let her use the pram for naps,’ Kate states firmly.
‘Have you tried stopping her?’ he asks drily, picking up the phone and slumping onto the sofa. He presses the button to turn off speakerphone and puts the phone to his ear, rolling his eyes at something Kate says.
‘Exactly,’ he states.
I pick up my mug and go upstairs, grabbing a towel from the bathroom to sit on until my jeans dry out.
I’ve been working in silence so far this week, but today I need a pick-me-up, and nothing does that for me like music. I switch on my prized Bang & Olufsen Bluetooth speaker – I brought it with me from the campsite – and then search through my iPod Touch for the perfect song, pressing PLAY and turning the sound up. If I have to wear headphones in Hermie, I may as well use my speaker here – I think it’s my favourite possession.
I don’t hear Charlie knock because the next thing I know he and April are in my office. Nicki’s office. Our office.
I turn the sound down and swivel to face him. ‘Is it too loud?’
‘No. I’m putting April down for a sleep now. You might hear some crying.’ He glances at my speaker. ‘Or maybe not.’
‘Do you want me to turn it down? I can turn it down.’
‘Honestly, it’s fine with the door closed.’
‘Okay, cool.’ I smile at him. I am much happier. That’s what ‘Tainted Love’ by Marilyn Manson, ‘U Can’t Touch This’ by MC Hammer and ‘The Sun Always Shines on TV’ by A-ha does to me.
‘Are you going out today?’ I ask as he starts to leave the room.
‘Sorry?’ He pauses with his hand on the doorknob. He’s wearing a light-blue bandana today – another one of Nicki’s, I’m guessing.
‘Are you going out today?’ I repeat my question.
‘Er, probably.’
‘Do you know roughly when?’
He furrows his brow. ‘When April wakes up. Eleven, eleven thirty. I usually take her into town for lunch.’
Must be nice to get out of the house. . .
‘Why?’
I shrug. ‘I was thinking about going into town for some lunch myself,’ I say casually. His eyes widen. ‘I didn’t mean with you,’ I say quickly, sensing his alarm at the thought of me inviting myself to join them. ‘I meant for a wander. But it’s raining today so I probably won’t bother.’
‘Okay.’ He looks awkward. April starts to whinge and he jigs her up and down. ‘I’d better put her down,’ he says, kissing her forehead. She lays her head back against his chest, her blue eyes staring at me sleepily.
‘Sure. See you later,’ I whisper after him.
That went well. I didn’t even ask him what time he’d be back.
At lunchtime, I take my speaker with me downstairs to the deserted kitchen and dance along to Billy Joel’s ‘It’s Still Rock and Roll to Me’ while I’m tidying up, clicking my fingers, having a bit of a jive and bashing out the big drum roll on an invisible kit. Vanilla Ice comes on after that and I’m well away. There’s no point attempting to eat my sandwich while ‘Ice Ice Baby’ is on. It’s impossible to rap with your mouth full.
Every evening since I’ve got here, I’ve picked up fish and chips, scampi and chips or something else fried and fishy on my way back to the campsite. Then I’ve sat on a bench over-looking the estuary and watched the tide roll back in while tucking into the very best Padstow has to offer.
But this evening I make a decision: I can’t live on Rick Stein’s forever.
I mean, I really can’t live on Rick Stein’s forever. The cholesterol will kill me.
I will cook at some point, just not tonight. Because Thursday is Pizza Night at the campsite.
Get in.
At six o’clock, two guys rock up with a converted horse trailer that’s been painted green and contains a wood-fired oven. I place my order for a cured-meats pizza and wander back in the rain to the bombsite that is my home for the next seven and a half weeks. I’m counting down.
I turned Hermie upside down in my search for my raincoat this morning and now there are clothes strewn everywhere. I really have no idea what I’m going to do with them all. I gather everything together and cram it into the footwells belonging to the driver and passenger seats. I’ll deal with that mess later. Right now, I just need to make sure I’ve got a table to eat at.
I didn’t have time to make up the bench seat earlier and there doesn’t seem to be much point now as I’ll be going to sleep in a couple of hours. I wonder if the table will still click into place with the bed down. I decide to give it a whirl and discover that it does. And that’s how I roll with it: my legs dangling over the edge of my bed, stuffing my face with pizza at Hermie’s bright-yellow table while the rain pelts down over my head.
Could be worse.