He punched some keys on an ancient computer keyboard. ‘Name?’
‘Nathan Jones.’
Punch, punch. ‘Yeah, I’ve got you here. Now, you’ve booked one of our newest models, a Swift Exit 39.’
I thought I’d like to make a swift exit right now, especially as the confined space only served to enhance his strange body odour.
‘Do you know much about motorhomes?’ He didn’t let us answer. ‘I assume not, as you referred to it as a “camper van”. Let me make it very clear: we do not stock, nor have we ever stocked, nor will we ever stock camper vans. In fact, in my opinion the camper van ceased to exist in 1967 when Volkswagen ended the manufacture of the split-screen version.’ I had no idea what he was on about but sensed, somehow, we’d made a mobile home faux pas.
Mr Sweaty smiled (I wished he hadn’t) and said, ‘Motorhomes are the most luxurious and comfortable fun you can have outside your bedroom.’
He directed his smile towards me at that point and I felt my sex organs shrivel in response. I’d seen more attractive decomposed corpses, but I nodded in the hope that by humouring him we’d get out of there faster. ‘I’ve got it – motorhome, not camper van.’
Mr Sweaty scowled and wiped his face with the grimy sleeve of his black pullover. ‘Fine. Now, before I complete the paperwork and get copies of your ID and driving licences I need to ask a few questions. Firstly, are you going to take this to some weird music festival and get it all muddy? We don’t like our deluxe models all muddy.’
As his questions seemed to be directed at me for some reason, I answered, ‘No, we definitely won’t be going to any music festivals.’
Sweaty nodded and ticked a box on his form. ‘Who will be travelling? Is it just the two of you?’
‘Well, no, we will have some children with us.’
Mr Sweaty didn’t appear to like this answer. ‘We, at Motorhome World, don’t like children – they tend to have sticky, dirty fingers and be prone to bouts of vomiting. Bouts of vomiting and motorhomes don’t go well together. Are your children subject to frequent bouts of vomiting?’
Nathan answered quickly, ‘No, they’re good travellers.’
Sweaty didn’t look convinced. ‘Well, if on returning the vehicle there is any evidence of vomit we will withhold your deposit pending a full valet.’
Obviously unhappy at renting a motorhome to someone so vulgar as to want to transport children in it, Mr Sweaty completed the formalities with little further conversation, apart from relieving Nathan of an extra £150 for insurance. He then took us around the back of the Portakabin onto a tarmacked area where, lo and behold, sat a single solitary motorhome.
Despite a reluctance to engage in any kind of chit-chat with Sweaty, I had to ask, ‘Why is this called Motorhome World if you’ve only got one?’
Sweaty peered at me and a bead of perspiration dripped down his forehead. I watched it until it reached the end of his nose and dripped to the ground.
‘We have lots of motorhomes for hire, but we don’t keep them here.’
‘Where do you keep them?’
‘In Cumbria.’
‘Cumbria?’
‘Yes, it’s a large English county in the north near—’
‘I know where Cumbria is,’ I said. ‘So, when we’re finished with it we could drop it off in Cumbria rather than drive back here?’
Sweaty considered the question for a moment then nodded. ‘Yeah, probably.’
He handed me a set of keys and used another set to open the door of the white and blue vehicle. There was then a brief explanation of both the mechanical and practical aspects of a Swift Exit 39. I wasn’t sure what the 39 referred to and I immediately called it the SE39, much less of a mouthful. Then Sweaty said we were allowed twenty minutes to familiarise ourselves with it before we had to leave. He’d be at the gate in exactly that time to let us out.
Nathan said he’d driven a few Transit vans before when moving stuff from flats, but this represented a much bigger proposition. It had an automatic gearbox, which helped, and after a few minutes fiddling about he seemed reasonably happy with the controls. I hadn’t planned on doing any driving unless I absolutely had to, so I didn’t want a turn. We decided to use some of the quieter roads around the industrial estate to practise before venturing onto any busy A roads and motorways.
We made it to the gate in time to be let out and drove the large vehicle around the wide but quiet roads of the industrial estate. Once I’d grown confident in Nathan’s ability to manoeuvre the thing, I said we should head off or it’d be too late to get the girls before Laura took them home. We eventually found our way onto the A40 and headed south towards London.
I sat beside him and watched the built-in satnav as it mapped out our progress.
Nathan sighed. I put my hand on his arm. ‘What?’
‘I wish we didn’t have to do this. It all seems a little extreme. We used to be so happy.’
‘When? I thought your marriage had been buggered for years.’
Nathan laughed. ‘Well, yeah, it was, but once upon a time we were happy.’
‘Cheryl and Ashley Cole were probably happy for a while too, and Cheryl Fernandez-Versini and Mr Fernandez-Versini and Cheryl Tweedy and Liam Payne but look what happened there.’
‘They’re all one person, aren’t they?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, that’s not very representative, is it? She’s maybe just been unlucky.’
‘Probably, but sometimes it works out, a lot of the time it doesn’t. I think expectations are too high. Also, most people are too busy to notice whether they are happy or not. Personally I think people like being busy as it stops them from having to think about the big questions in life. Maybe that’s why the world is so manic now, too many people in denial, putting off making the big decisions until it’s too late to make them. Life moves fast. “If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”’
‘Is that another of your Chinese sayings?’
‘No, Ferris Bueller. Wise man.’
I could feel Nathan’s eyes on me for a moment, but I didn’t meet his gaze. Eventually he said, ‘So tell me again about what your friend said about what we’re about to do.’
‘Okay, Hayley has confirmed what you’re doing is definitely not kidnapping. They are your children and as such they only need one responsible parent to be with them at any one time. As long as they are not being subjected to any physical or moral danger—’
‘What’s moral danger?’
‘I don’t really know; letting them watch porn, maybe.’
‘Have we got any porn with us?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Is there none in your suitcase? It’s certainly big enough to have just about everything in it.’
‘I’ve definitely not brought any porn.’
‘Is there anything else in it that could subject them to moral danger?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘That’s a shame.’
*
As we edged closer to London we came across a problem we should have foreseen. Driving a seven-foot-wide and twenty-one-foot-long vehicle in London streets turned out to be nigh on impossible and after about fifteen minutes we pulled into a Tesco car park near Wembley and reconsidered our approach. In my head I had a vision of us screeching up in a camper van, bundling the girls inside and screeching off again. In reality, we’d have to slowly edge along the road, letting every car and van past before trying to find a gap in the traffic to make our escape, and the only screeching would probably have come from Nathan’s wife, who would easily have been able to follow us on foot and retrieve her children.
We noted that we could park up to two hours for free and set off for the nearest Tube station.
‘Where’s this place Laura sends them during the day?’
‘It’s near Fulham football ground.’
‘That’s a bit vague.’
‘How many places full of
kids can there be?’
‘Well, given its term time there’s those pesky things called schools to consider.’
‘Oh, yeah.’
We got off at Putney Bridge Tube station and walked for about fifteen minutes before arriving outside Fulham Football Club. ‘Hugh Grant used to work here,’ I said, gazing up at the hulking structure.
‘I didn’t know he played football.’
‘I don’t think he did.’
‘What did he do, then?’
‘I don’t know, swept up or something after matches. I just read it in a magazine. Right, well, now what? I don’t see or hear any kids.’
‘I don’t know; maybe ask someone.’
‘What’s the name of the place?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘So you want to ask someone if there’s somewhere near here that we can go and watch young children playing?’
‘Well, yeah, when you put it like that we might get a better outcome if you ask.’
‘Nathan, the only outcome we’ll get if either of us ask is a night in the local nick. Wait until I check my phone.’
‘Are you going to call Hayley?’
I glared at him for a moment before saying sharply, ‘Hayley? Why would I call Hayley?’
‘You always seem to call Hayley when you need help with anything.’
I thought about that for a minute. He was probably right, but not on this occasion. ‘I don’t think Hayley will know where your kids are being looked after, Nathan, but Mr Google might.’ I tapped in ‘children’s activity centres near Fulham Football Club’ and got loads of suggestions but only one fitted the bill. I opened the map helpfully listed on the website of Grange Children’s Activity Centre and started walking. Being a paedophile must be a doddle these days.
A few minutes later we stopped at a large concrete structure surrounded by green fences with razor wire along the top. I had to say it looked more like a concentration camp than a place of fun and relaxation.
The sign on the gate said ‘Grange CAC for all ages’. One day I may have children, and if I do, I’m not sure that I’d want them going to a place that was quite happy to include CAC in its title, but perhaps I’m just being a little picky. It also listed some of the activities: football, cricket, tennis, hockey, climbing wall, archery and javelin. Again, I might be off the mark, but I’m not sure that allowing kids access to pointy, spiky things like arrows and javelins would necessarily be a good thing but I assumed it would be strictly controlled. We now needed to extract the girls from this Gulag without bringing the authorities down upon our heads.
Nathan walked a little further down the fence line and spotted a small number of younger kids having lunch outside on picnic tables.
He stuck his head against the mesh and beckoned me over. Sitting together at an old picnic table away from the other children were the girls. They appeared to be picking at some dry-looking food.
There didn’t seem to be any adults supervising the kids but, given the nature of the security, they’d be there somewhere, probably wearing dark uniforms with fascist insignia on the lapels.
‘Pssst,’ said Nathan ineffectively.
‘Millie,’ I hollered. She looked up at the mention of her name and came running over, closely followed by her sisters.
‘Dad, Kat,’ she yelped. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘We’re here to get you out,’ Nathan explained, grinning.
She smiled then the smile faded. ‘Mum says we’re staying in London forever.’
‘Well, maybe not forever, but she did say she wants you to go to school here for a while. Anyway, we can talk about that later. Now, how do we get you out of here?’
Millie peered back over her shoulder. ‘Security is pretty tight inside the building. There’s no way to pass the lady on the door without signing in or out. The back is well guarded too, the main gates in and out are electric and covered by CCTV. There’s a side door down by the kitchen but that’s always kept locked. There’s CCTV everywhere but only one camera out here and that faces the eating area.’ She pointed to a large wooden pole with a camera mounted on top.
‘The staff do regular patrols out here, every five minutes or so. They’ve just been so
we’ve got maybe four minutes tops before they do the next pass.’ I wasn’t surprised that Millie had already considered escape routes.
I walked up to the fence and pulled the wire. ‘It’s pretty thick but not reinforced. Wait a minute.’ I fished about in my handbag and pulled out a small pair of pliers. The bottom of the plier head had two pincer blades that should be more than enough to cut the wire. I handed them to Nathan, who gawked at me.
‘What?’
‘Why have you got pliers in your handbag?’
‘I’ve always got pliers in my handbag, also an emergency loo roll, a set of mini screwdrivers, a spare tampon, a clean pair of knickers, nail scissors and a scalpel, just in case.’
‘Just in case of what?’
‘Just in case. Anyway, are you going to cut the wire before we get caught or question me about my handbag all day?’
He blinked a few times, smiled in admiration (I hope) and started snipping the wire at the bottom of the fence. It took a few minutes and I anxiously kept watch in case any of the staff appeared. A few of the kids looked over but as they couldn’t see exactly what we were up to they didn’t seem to be too bothered, though I’m pretty sure they’d raise the alarm as soon as we pulled the girls out of the wire and legged it.
Twenty minutes later we were on a Tube train heading north. We had to change at Edgware Road and again at Baker Street but eventually we made it out into daylight at Wembley Park and headed for the motorhome.
The girls hadn’t said much during the journey except when we’d explained we’d be going on a trip in a motorhome, which had brought squeals of excitement. Millie, ever the practical one, had said, ‘Dad, but we’ve not got any clothes.’
‘It’s okay, I’ve brought a suitcase full. It’s in the van.’
‘What about Laura?’ I asked as we walked towards the Tesco car park.
‘What about her?’
‘Well, I’m sure by now she’s called the police, or the centre staff have. Shouldn’t you tell her that the girls are with you?’
‘Maybe I should let her suffer for a while.’
‘Maybe not, as it means the police are looking for us. Once they know they’re with their dad they maybe won’t bother.’
‘I’m not phoning her, though. I’ll send her a text then switch my phone off as I don’t want to listen to her going berserk..’
I watched as he quickly sent her a text and turned his phone off.
‘How will she react, do you think?’ I asked, already knowing the answer.
Nathan stopped and smiled into my eyes. ‘This family is now at war. First blood to us.’
Chapter 22
We headed north then west to pick up the M6 and stopped at a service station near Birmingham for some food.
As we were coming out a police car screeched to a halt near the entrance and two officers rushed into the building.
I jumped, then remembered that technically, taking your own children wasn’t wrong, even though it felt wrong. I glanced over to Nathan, whose expression told me he shared my feelings.
‘They’re not looking for us,’ I said.
‘No, I know,’ Nathan replied.
Chloe smiled at us before asking brightly, ‘Are we all going to prison?’
‘No, we haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘Mummy won’t be happy,’ stated Millie.
I agreed. ‘No, she won’t, but hopefully she can’t do anything except kick up a fuss.’
‘Mummy’s good at that,’ said Millie.
‘I’m sure she is,’ I replied as we opened the motorhome. Nathan got the girls in their seats while I sat in the passenger seat and buckled up. As we drove off I had the curious feeling that my idea to rent the motorhome had perhaps not be
en one of my best. For the money we’d forked out we could have driven in Nathan’s car to a Euro-camp in the South of France or somewhere equally warm and further away from Laura Jones.
That evening we parked up at the back of a lorry park in a service station in Westmorland. We used the showers in the services and ate a surprisingly tasty meal from the restaurant.
The motorhome felt a little cramped despite the fact it had been advertised as a six berth. I slept in the little raised platform on my own. I really wanted to snuggle in with Nathan in the double bed at the back, but Daisy had wangled her way in there, having got upset and angry just before bedtime. I’d bide my time; trying to have a shag with Nathan whilst his daughters were next door, separated by a paper-thin wall, probably wouldn’t be a licence for a night of unbridled passion anyway.
You haven’t got your bodice either.
‘How do you know?’
I know everything you know, and quite a lot that you don’t.
‘That’s scary.’
I know.
As I drifted off to sleep I wondered if Nathan’s wife would give up. Somehow, I doubted it.
*
The next morning, we ate breakfast in the motorhome watching some kids’ cartoons on the TV that neatly folded into the wooden unit in the lounge/kitchen area. My phone vibrated on the table, signifying a text. It was from Hayley and simply said, ‘Channel 5 NOW!!!’
I picked up the remote and flipped over to Channel 5 despite protests from the girls. As I took in the picture on the screen the remote fell from my hand and Nathan dropped his spoon. There, sitting on the couch in a plush TV studio, was Laura. Lance (silver spoon) Donaldson appeared to be a little flustered this morning as he couldn’t get Nathan’s wife to say anything; she just sat and sobbed into the camera.
I gazed around at Nathan and the girls; they were all watching the screen intently. I could see Chloe’s eyes filling up at the sight of her mother crying. Even Nathan looked close to tears and I must admit she’d affected me too. Thankfully the camera moved away from her and focused on Lance, who spoke intently and seriously into the camera. ‘Well, unfortunately Mrs Jones is too upset to answer any further questions at this point. We might return to her later, but, just to recap, she has appealed to the better side of her husband’s nature and asked him to bring her children home safe and sound. As we now know, yesterday he took them without telling anyone from the Grange Activity Centre in south-west London, severely damaging the perimeter fencing and endangering the safety of other children in the process.’
The Second Life of Nathan Jones Page 16
