So this was my wedding night. Walking by the banks of a star-spangled lake with an almost complete stranger who’d just offered to save me from a life of vagrancy. It wasn’t the one I’d dreamed of, but it was certainly interesting.
‘Is it far?’ I asked Jack.
‘Just a half-mile from here.’ He glanced down at my wellies. ‘How far have you walked in those things today?’
‘Dunno. Quite a way.’ I could feel blood pooling in one of the toes, but that was nothing compared to the pain in my poor burnt hands.
‘Can you make it?’
‘I’ll cope.’
But the series of physical and emotional shocks I’d suffered that day were starting to catch up with me. As was the glass of wine I’d had in the pub. I stumbled dizzily against a rock, and clutched at Jack for support.
‘Here.’ He put his arm around my shoulders, and I relaxed against it gratefully.
As we walked, Jack pulled my body towards him so our sides were touching. He smiled as we passed a pair of elderly walkers, and they smiled back with a simper that told me they thought we were what we must have appeared to everyone just at that moment: the picture of a happy young couple. Sandy bounded ahead of us, for all the world like a big fat puppy herself rather than the dignified matron you’d expect her to be at this stage in her pregnancy.
‘You always this touchy-feely with girls you’ve just met?’ I asked, glancing at the arm curled around my shoulders.
‘Not since I got that restraining order one time.’ He shrugged. ‘You were looking a bit like you needed the support. I can stop if it makes you uncomfortable.’
‘No, please don’t.’ I looked up at him. ‘Is it funny that I trust you? Twenty-four hours ago I wouldn’t have known you in the street.’
‘And yet today you’ve run into me twice within a forty-mile radius,’ he said. ‘Guess I must be written into your stars, eh?’
I held a hand to my head. I’d been cold earlier, but now I was sweltering. It was obviously one of those springs where the thermostat just couldn’t make up its mind. My brow was coated in beads of sweat.
‘You don’t really believe in all that stuff, do you?’ I asked Jack. ‘Stars and that? Sounds daft to me.’
He shrugged. ‘Not exactly. Still, sometimes things seem to happen that were too important not to happen. Call it coincidence or fate or whatever you like, but I’m a big believer in grabbing what life throws at you and wringing it dry.’
‘Interesting turn of phrase, wringing life dry. Kind of bleak for a carpe diem.’
‘Yeah, I’m a poetic son of a bitch,’ he said with a grin. ‘You know, in another life I could’ve been Bono.’
I shuddered. ‘Thank God we’re in this one then. I’m having a bad enough day as it is.’
We walked in silence for a while. I snuck a look at Jack. His mouth was haunted by a little smile, staring dreamily at Sandy trotting ahead of us with her engorged tum nearly scraping the ground. He was leaning his weight on me slightly, as if having me at his side was the most natural thing in the world rather than a novelty just a few hours old.
‘Okay, so if we’re going to be roomies for a couple of days I think we’ll need a few ground rules,’ he said after a bit.
‘Um, okay.’ He didn’t seem like a man to live by rules much, with that whole free spirit vibe he had going on, but if he was willing to spare me a kip in a bus shelter I’d agree to whatever he wanted.
Within reason, obviously.
‘Rule one: no questions,’ he said. ‘If you don’t want to tell me why you won’t go home, I promise not to ask. And vice versa for me. All right?’
‘Suits me.’
‘Rule two: no feeling sorry for yourself. First step to sorting your new life out is drawing a line under the old one.’
‘It’s not that easy though, is it?’
‘I know. But if you make yourself look forward and not back, it’ll get easier every day. Trust me.’
I smiled. ‘How’d you get so wise, Jack?’
‘I’m part wizard,’ he said. ‘Okay, rule three: don’t squeeze the toothpaste from the top of the tube.’
‘Why?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s just annoying.’
‘Toothpaste… I haven’t got a brush,’ I mumbled absently.
My head was throbbing, and the dizziness seemed to be getting worse too. I forced my eyes to focus on a fixed point, trying to keep steady, and leaned heavily against Jack for support. Surely we were nearly there by now.
‘I’ve got a spare, still in the packet. It’s all yours.’
‘Is that it then?’ I said. ‘No more rules?’
‘No.’ Jack’s voice was quieter now. ‘Just one more. Rule four: no running away. Not without telling me where you’re going.’
That seemed an odd one.
‘Any reason?’
‘Just want to know you’re safe.’ He flashed me what looked like a slightly forced smile. ‘And like you said, you are getting pretty expert at it.’ He nodded to a pair of stone gateposts. ‘Here’s the campsite.’
***
‘Home sweet home,’ Jack said when we reached his van. ‘Told you it wasn’t that small.’
It’d certainly expanded since the last time I’d seen it. The roof had popped up, accordion-like, to give it standing room, and a little green awning jutted out at the back like a Victorian bustle. Another awning against the side practically doubled the living space, adding a second room.
Jack unzipped the flap and I followed him in. There was a camping table and chair with a little LED lantern in the centre, and a Stephen King book he must’ve been in the middle of turned face down. When he opened the door of the camper, I noticed that what had earlier been a sofa had folded down into a bed, extending out into the back awning so it didn’t encroach too much on the kitchen area. A pair of curtains could be drawn across to give a bit of privacy.
‘Your room, Madame,’ he said, nodding to it. ‘Just let me sort out Sandy’s dinner then I’ll show you around the rest.’
Jack opened one of the kitchenette cupboards and took out a box of dog biscuits. He filled a double bowl with biscuits and cold water, then put it down for Sandy.
‘She’s got a good appetite, hasn’t she?’ I said, watching her wolf it down. ‘Still, I suppose the pups are in there having their tea too.’
‘Nah, she was always a pig.’ He gestured around the little space. ‘So, this is where the magic happens, as they say. There’s storage in the overhead compartments and sofa, plus the big cupboard and a rack outside for cases.’ He pointed up at the accordion roof. ‘So’s a big lad like me doesn’t give himself a hunchback.’ He knelt down to the bank of pine kitchenette cupboards. ‘Half-sized fridge, gas bottle under the hob, storage cupboards for cans. And that’s it really. Small but perfectly formed.’
‘How old is it?’
‘1967 T2 – classic of her era, this old lady.’ He looked around with obvious pride. ‘The shell’s probably all that’s left from the sixties now though. It wasn’t a camper then.’
‘Right.’ I frowned. ‘What was it, a giant roller skate?’
‘People carrier. Microbuses, collectors call them. Then in the ’80s some bright spark decided to gut it and turn it into this.’
‘Did you have to do much to it?’
‘I had the sofa moved back so the bed extends into the tailgate awning, gives me a bit more space. Modernised the decor, redid the electrics. It was a nice little project, took my mind off – well, other stuff I had going on.’
‘Why orange?’
‘Wasn’t my choice. Someone else picked the colour.’
He’d turned away and was frowning into the distance. It felt like it was time for Rule One to kick in, so I quickly changed the subject.
‘So, um, where will you sleep?’
‘Got a fold-up camp bed and a sleeping bag under the seats. I’ll put it up in the side awning.’
‘Won’t you be cold?’
He shrugged. ‘Couple of thick jumpers on and I’ll live.’
‘I’ll sleep in the awning. You have your bed.’
‘Won’t hear of it. Irish tradition of hospitality. Anyway, you need a decent bed after the day you’ve had.’
‘Thank you.’ I was too tired to argue. ‘So, er… bedtime?’
I felt suddenly bashful. My cheeks and forehead were on fire.
‘First things first.’ He rummaged in the tall cupboard until he found a little green first aid kit. ‘Your hands. Let me take a look at them.’
I sank dizzily onto the edge of the bed. Jack knelt in front of me to examine my inflamed palms.
‘The left isn’t so bad but the right’s looking nasty,’ he said. ‘Better get some antiseptic cream on them and bind them up.’
‘I’ll be okay,’ I mumbled. The world seemed a bit spinny suddenly.
‘Metal drainpipe, was it?’
‘Think so.’
‘Hmm. Have you had your tetanus jab?’
‘Yeah. Probably.’ A little giggle bubbled out of me. ‘Funny word, tetanus. Tet-anne-uz. Sounds like a… centurion. Brush on his head and all that.’
He frowned. ‘You okay, Kitty?’
‘Tetanus,’ I repeated. ‘Tett-an-nuss.’
He held one hand against my forehead. ‘Jesus, lass, you’re burning up.’
‘’M’okay. Sleepy.’
Suddenly, everything was black.
***
When I came to, a man’s silhouette was leaning over me, stroking my hair.
‘Ethan?’ I mumbled.
‘Morning, sleepyhead.’
I blinked to get the fog out of my eyes. ‘You…’
‘That’s right, me. Who am I then?’
‘You’re… Jack. Jack Duffy.’
I could see him clearly now, leaning over me as I lay in his bed in the camper. He smiled.
‘So you remember me. That’s a good sign.’
‘Did I fall asleep?’
‘Yeah. For two days.’
‘Two days!’
‘You passed out with a fever. You’ve been in out and of consciousness ever since, raging temperature. Don’t you remember?’
‘I remember… pub. And you. What happened?’
‘Oh, we’ve been having bags of fun together,’ he said. ‘Had to get you to A&E to start with, just in case it was tetanus. You had me worried sick.’
‘Was it tetanus?’
‘No, just a nasty dose of the flu. Not surprised, after what you’d been through. Your poor body must’ve been weakened past the point it could fight any more.’
I tried to sit up, but my head throbbed so hard I sank back down with a groan.
I put a palm to my forehead. It felt all fuzzy. When I glanced at my hand, I saw it was wrapped in a thick bandage.
‘That can come off soon,’ Jack said. ‘Your hands should be healed enough by now.’
‘You’ve been looking after me?’ I mumbled.
‘I have, yeah.’ He shook his head. ‘Good thing I found you. If you’d really tried sleeping rough in that flimsy dress, you could’ve killed yourself.’
Sandy was sleeping in her bed on the floor nearby. I leaned over to tickle her ears, reflecting woozily on the surreal fact I seemed to share the same backstory as my rescuer’s pet dog.
‘Do you feel like you could eat?’ Jack said, standing up.
The world was spinning so much, I knew I’d struggle to keep anything down. But my throat felt like it’d been sandblasted.
‘Drink,’ I managed. ‘Some water. Please.’
While Jack filled a glass for me, I ran my hands over my body.
‘What am I wearing?’ I asked when he came to sit on the bed by me.
‘Here.’ He put his hand behind my back and supported me while I drank. I gulped the water down greedily. ‘No, not too fast. It’ll only come back up.’
‘My dress. Where…’
‘With my laundry. I thought you’d be more comfortable in pyjamas.’
I squinted at him. ‘Did you see me with no clothes on?’
‘Yep. Very nice.’
‘Naughty,’ I said weakly, but I managed to smile. ‘Where’d you get ladies’ pyjamas?’
‘Just something I had lying around. Lucky they were your size.’
My brain was spinning, but I still remembered Rule One. The first rule of campervan is you do not talk about campervan.
‘’K,’ I mumbled. ‘What happens now?’
‘You get well again. It’ll take at least a few days till you’re back to full strength, I’d guess.’
‘You mean I can stay here?’
‘Unless you’d rather go home? Your family must be worried about you by now.’
I shuddered. The days of fever and delirium hadn’t weakened the image that’d been seared onto my brain the day of my wedding. That was as vivid as ever.
‘No. I want to stay with you. I don’t trust anyone else.’
He reached out to squeeze my hand. ‘Then you’ll stay. And when you’re feeling better, we’ll work out what comes next.’
***
It was nearly a week before I was feeling completely myself again. My body and my immune system really had taken quite a battering, and it took longer than it should have done to fight the infection.
Jack was great: cooking for me, sitting by me with his sketchbook while I dozed, reading to me, playing card games and chatting. It was just what I needed to stop me dwelling on Ethan and the wedding. I still couldn’t fathom why exactly Jack had taken me under his wing, except that I was another stray who needed his help and he was following a natural instinct to protect.
But I was grateful: so, so grateful. The more time I spent in his company, the more I thanked whatever guardian pixie looked out for Kitty Clayton and had made sure she’d fallen in the way of someone kind.
It was all so different from my old life, with Ethan. Jack was so different. Every ten minutes he’d ask if I needed anything, or offer to walk into Keswick for some little bit of food I’d expressed a taste for. When I’d been ill at home, Ethan had always made it quite clear he saw the whole thing as something I was putting on deliberately to inconvenience him, grudgingly making me the odd Lemsip until I was desperate to go back to work, just to escape the heavy air of resentment.
Because Ethan never got ill himself. That was why he had no patience with it in others, I’d told myself. And I’d excused him as best I could. Just like I always did.