Once I was a good mile clear of the cottage, I had my second go at hitch-hiking. It took a lot longer to get a lift this time – I think I probably looked a bit scary, with make-up all down my face and a big rip in my dress. But eventually a kind elderly couple, who obviously thought I was some sort of eccentric debutante who’d fallen on hard times, picked me up. They were heading to Keswick in northern Lakeland, a reasonable distance away, and offered to drop me off.
‘Where do you want to be, my dear?’ the old lady asked gently when we were nearly there. She said everything gently, so as not to get the lunatic in the ballgown too excited.
‘Um… is there a pub near here? One that does cheap meals?’ After throwing up my sandwiches I was starving again, and I needed somewhere warm to hole up while I worked out where I was going to sleep. Hopefully the bar staff would know if there was a hostel nearby.
‘The Shepherd’s Rest,’ her husband said promptly. ‘Main meal and a pint for £8 on Thursdays. Great ale selection too.’
‘Trust you to know that.’ The woman rolled her eyes at me. ‘No drunk like an old drunk, I always say.’
I forced a smile.
Ten minutes later, they dropped me off outside and I waved them goodbye.
The Shepherd’s Rest was a sweet country pub, all whitewash and mock-Tudor. The sign over the half-timbered front showed a cloth-capped old gent slumbering near a flock of Herdwicks, and a chalkboard by the entrance declared ‘Well Behaved Dog’s & Badly Behaved Women Welcome!!!’
Through the door, I could see an unseasonal but welcoming log fire and a wealth of brass and mahogany. On the mantelpiece were the obligatory pair of china spaniels, beloved of nanas and country pub landlords the world over, with an old shotgun and a moth-eaten fox’s head mounted overhead. A brass plaque above the doorframe said, ‘Duck or grouse – mind your head!!’, while a mock specials board on the wall announced, ‘Soup of the Day: Beer!!!’ The landlord was clearly a man who liked his gags old-school and heavy on the exclamation marks.
There’s something about the pub after a day on the move, isn’t there? The way it glows with warmth and welcome, the door propped open invitingly. I think it calls out to the traveller in all of us, the one who longs to lay down his pack and rest away from the elements a while.
I ventured in, too cold and hungry to care what impression my bedraggled appearance was likely to make on the other customers. To his credit though, the young barman didn’t say a word when I approached him.
‘What can I get you, love?’ he asked politely.
‘Just a tap water.’ I didn’t want to waste the only cash I had in the world on alcohol, much as I could’ve murdered a glass of wine. ‘And a menu, please.’
‘Sorry. We stopped serving food half an hour ago.’
It was only a little thing. But it was the last little thing in a long day of pretty big things, and something inside me just broke.
I burst into tears.
‘Er, hey,’ the lad said, his eyes widening. Hysterical customers in ballgowns clearly hadn’t been part of barman basic training. ‘No need to take it so hard.’ He grabbed a packet of dry-roasted peanuts from behind him and slapped them down on the bar. ‘Here. On the house.’
‘Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just… I’ve had a rough day.’
There was something cold and wet pressing against the sore palm dangling at my side. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and glanced down to find a chubby yellow mongrel with its nose against me, tail wagging like we were old friends.
I frowned. ‘Whose dog is this?’
‘Still mine,’ a voice behind me said. ‘And we really must stop meeting like this.’
The surge of relief at hearing Jack’s voice was so strong I could’ve hugged him. Yes, I’d only met him a few hours ago, but in that whole long day of betrayals and heartbreak, it felt like he was the one person who’d been unequivocally on my side.
‘Oh God, I’m glad to see you,’ I said with a shaky smile.
‘Me too. You owe me fifty quid.’ He nodded to the barman. ‘Another pint, Ryan, and whatever the lady’s having.’
‘I already ordered a tap water.’
‘Well now I’m buying. What do you really want?’
‘I’d commit mass murder for a glass of white wine,’ I admitted.
‘Then it’s yours. Can’t have you turning to crime.’ He glanced at the packet of peanuts on the bar. ‘That’s not your dinner, is it?’
‘It’ll have to be. They’ve stopped serving food.’
‘You can manage a little something, can’t you, Ry?’ Jack asked with a winning smile.
Ryan looked unsure. ‘Dunno, Jack. Dad’ll go spare if I start taking special orders after hours.’
‘He won’t, not if you tell him it’s for me. Go on, I’ll explain to your dad.’
‘Well… okay. Just this once then.’
‘Good lad. Cumberland sausage in a giant Yorkshire for Kitty then, please.’ He nodded to me. ‘If that’s okay by you. Best thing on the menu, I swear.’
‘Um, yeah,’ I said, blinking dazedly. ‘Anything.’
Jack tapped the lad’s arm as he turned to go to the kitchen. ‘And can you ask the chef to serve the gravy properly, not in one of those daft pipette things? She wants to eat, not perform animal husbandry.’
‘All right, no need to be a diva about it,’ Ryan muttered as he headed off to break the bad news to the chef.
‘Gentrification. You can’t get away from it,’ Jack said with a smile when Ryan had gone. ‘So you want to join me?’
‘Are you alone?’
‘Yep. Just me and Sandy.’
‘Oh. Okay.’
I followed him to a little table, a newspaper spread over it, and took a seat opposite. Jack folded up the paper and pushed it to one side.
‘Never thought I’d see you again,’ I said. ‘What’re you doing here?’
‘I could ask you the same question.’ He nodded at young Ryan behind the bar. ‘Ryan’s dad Matty is an old friend. Another Irishman from my neck of the woods. I always stop by when I’m in the area.’ He scanned me with a concerned gaze. ‘You look a bit more dishevelled than the last time I saw you.’
‘Mmm. Slid down a drainpipe. It wasn’t nearly as cool as it looks in Ghostbusters.’ I held up my hands to show him the red, tender skin, spots of blood standing out against it where the jagged old pipe had torn into the flesh.
‘Shit! What happened?’
‘My aunty, she… she bloody Landoed me, Jack. Called my mum to take me home when I’d told her I wouldn’t go back.’ I gave my head an angry shake. ‘I can’t believe she did that to me. Out of everyone, she was… God.’ I held back a sob. ‘I’m a total mess.’
Aunty Julia’s betrayal probably would’ve stung a lot harder if it wasn’t for everything else that’d happened that day. Still, it gnawed, with a dull but steady intensity. Since Dad had passed away, she’d been the one person I’d always believed I could rely on in a crisis.
‘So you ran away again then.’ Jack’s tone was concerned, but it was calm too. No nonsense, it said. I liked it.
‘Yeah. I’m getting pretty expert at it.’
‘Quite the adventure you’re having today.’ He took my hands in his to examine the palms. ‘These are really sore, Kitty. You should get something on them.’
‘Haven’t had time to think about that,’ I said, gingerly lifting my wine glass to my lips with my fingertips. On an empty stomach, the alcohol was going straight to my head, making my brain fluffy. Good.
‘They could use some antiseptic. You don’t want the cuts to get infected.’
‘Well, hopefully they’ll have something at the youth hostel.’
‘What youth hostel?’
‘There’s one near here, isn’t there?’
‘About ten miles away, but I doubt you’ll get a bed if you haven’t booked in. They fill up fast in the Lakes.’
‘Of course they do,’ I muttered to myself. ‘Why wouldn’t they? Perfect end to a perfect day.’
‘So was that your plan? Youth hostelling?’
‘Haven’t really got a plan. I just wanted a bed for a couple of days, till I could get something sorted.’
‘Such as?’
I sighed. ‘God knows. There’s a few old friends I could ring round. One of them must have a sofa I can kip on for a bit.’
‘And then what will you do?’
‘Start again.’ I tried to focus on the open fire, which had gone a bit blurry. ‘Suppose I’d need a job first. And then… well, one day at a time.’
‘Hmm.’
He looked concerned, but before we could discuss it any further, Ryan came over with a steaming plate of food.
The Cumberland sausage smelled amazing, the rich fragrance of red wine gravy and roast onions taunting my poor growling tummy. The pain in my palms forced me to eat slowly this time, and I savoured every mouthful. By the time I’d half-demolished an enormous, fluffy Yorkshire and nearly finished my wine, my emotional state felt ever so slightly more stable. Or it would’ve done, if it wasn’t for the nagging worry that in just a few hours I was going to officially join the ranks of Britain’s rough sleepers.
‘Thanks for this, Jack,’ I said through a mouthful of Yorkshire pud. ‘Don’t know what I would’ve done without you today.’
‘So where will you sleep?’
‘No idea,’ I admitted. ‘Can’t afford a B&B. Bus shelter, probably.’
‘Now come on.’ He glanced at my bare arms and shoulders. ‘You’d be a popsicle by morning.’
It was unseasonably chilly for May. I shuffled my chair ever so slightly closer to the open fire.
‘I’ll live,’ I muttered.
‘And what about tomorrow night? And the one after that?’
‘I’ll… something’ll turn up. Like I said, I’ve got a few friends I can try.’ I didn’t have a mobile, but there was bound to be a phone box somewhere in town.
‘You’re really positive you can’t go home?’ Jack asked.
‘I’m never going home.’ I glared at the Yorkshire pud, the symbol of my people, and ripped into it with my fork. ‘I’d rather sleep rough.’
‘I couldn’t let you do that.’
I glanced up at him. Concern was etched all over his features. It was reassuring, feeling there was someone looking out for me. Instinctively I started eating more slowly, fearing the inevitable moment when our impromptu dinner date would be over and the kind stranger who’d twice come to my rescue now would disappear out of my life for good.
‘Why’re you being so nice to me, Jack?’ I asked. ‘You only met me a few hours ago.’
He shrugged. ‘Always been a sucker for a damsel in distress.’ He jerked his head towards Sandy, spread-eagled at his feet like a dogskin rug – the best she could probably manage with a tummy full of puppies. ‘That’s how I ended up with her ladyship here. Isn’t it, eh, old girl?’ He leaned down to tickle her between the ears.
‘What, she was a damsel in distress?’
‘In her little doggy way. I picked her up as a stray pup, living rough on the streets of Leeds. Been mistreated, I’d guess from the state of her. Abandoned, or run away from home.’ He quirked an eyebrow. ‘Sound familiar?’
‘Heh. A bit.’
‘That’s more like it,’ Jack said as I mopped up my remaining gravy with the last mouthful of Yorkshire pud. ‘You look a bit more human now.’
‘Yeah, I feel a lot better. Thanks, Jack.’
‘Dessert?’
‘Kitchen’s closed, isn’t it?’
‘Ryan’ll sort it, long as I ask nicely. Sticky toffee pudding? Local delicacy, you know.’
‘I’m fine, honestly.’
‘Ice cream on the side?’
‘No, Jack. It’s too naughty.’
‘Right so.’ He beckoned to Ryan. ‘I’ll just ask for my usual two portions then, at the risk of ruining my girlish figure. And if you change your mind, I’m sure I can spare one.’
He bloody did as well, he got two portions. Ten minutes later, he’d twisted my arm with no great effort and we were both tucking into a plateful of moist sponge bathed in caramel sauce.
‘My mum’d go spare if she saw me eating this,’ I told him, chasing a spoonful round my plate.
‘Aren’t you a bit big to have your mam telling you you’re not allowed afters?’
‘Mmm,’ I said, fork hovering halfway to my mouth. ‘She’s obsessed with calorie-counting. Always watching her figure.’
‘What, and yours?’
‘Yeah. She’s… well, you’d really have to meet her to get it.’ I swallowed a mouthful of pudding with a liberating feeling of defiance. ‘But let’s not talk about her.’
‘Okay, you pick a conversation topic.’
‘Tell me about you then, dark and mysterious man,’ I said, smiling. ‘Are you allowed to just drive around the country drawing? Thought you had to have a visa or something.’
‘Not for Ireland. Anyway, I’ve got British and Irish passports.’
‘Really? How come?’
‘My mam’s English.’ He glanced warily around the pub. ‘Although I like to keep it quiet, obviously.’
‘Cheekiness. Where’s she from?’
‘Hackney. She moved to Ireland when she was tiny though. Lives up in Scotland now.’
‘Ha!’
‘What do you mean, ha?’
‘You’re a cockney.’
He drew himself up. ‘How dare you. I am as full-blooded an Irishman as you’ll meet today.’
‘I knew it was all an act. I knew I’d seen you earlier at the bar.’
‘Seen me what?’
‘Doing the Lambeth walk.’
‘I don’t even know what the Lambeth walk is.’
‘I bet soon as you’re back in the camper, you’ll be guzzling jellied eels and having a knees-up round the old Joanna.’
‘The old what?’
‘And I spotted those Chas and Dave albums hidden in the sofa earlier, by the way.’
Jack grinned. ‘Okay, you’ve got me there. I do love Chas and Dave.’
‘Who doesn’t?’
‘See, I knew sticky toffee would do the trick,’ he said, laughing. ‘If you’re teasing me about East End folk duos, you must be feeling better.’
‘I am.’ I smiled at him. ‘You’re good at this, aren’t you? Cheering people up. After the day I’ve had, I never thought I’d be able to laugh again.’
‘When the stormclouds gather, pudding. Ancient Irish proverb.’
‘Ancient cockney proverb.’
‘Oi. Less of the backchat, my girl, or I might rethink my offer of a sleepover.’
I frowned. ‘Sleepover?’
‘Well, yeah. I’m not going to let you walk the streets, am I? You might get eaten by a feral Herdwick. Vicious feckers, the sheep round here.’
I hesitated. When he said sleepover, did he mean sleepover or did he mean, you know… sleepover? I mean, I did trust him, but… well, he was still a stranger. And a man.
He smiled, reading my expression. ‘No ulterior motive, I promise. I’ll put a camp bed up in the awning for me. And if you want to stay a few days while you make a plan, you can. I’ll look after you.’
‘Why though?’
‘Because you’ve got no money and nowhere to go and I’m not a complete bastard.’ He glanced at my sore palms. ‘And not to be personal, but I’m not sure your mental state’s any too stable right now either. I don’t want to leave you alone.’
‘I’m not your problem.’
‘I’m making you my problem. Just until you get back on your feet.’
The sense of relief that there was someone in my corner, someone who wanted to help, was palpable. The feeling that it wasn’t just me against the world any more surged through me like warm caramel.
‘Thank you,’ I said in a small voice. ‘I’ll pay you back for all this. Just as soon as… as something happens. I don’t know what, but something.’
‘Nothing happens but what we make happen.’ He pushed his plate away and stood up. ‘And tomorrow is the first day of making the rest of your life happen, superhero Kitty Clayton. Come on.’