by Paige Toon
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 s
andwich 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.
Chapter 8
Honestly, the weather is up and down like a frigging yo-yo. On Friday it’s sunny again. Not that I’m complaining.
This time I manage to nab Charlie at eleven forty-five as he attempts to back out of the house with April in her pram.
‘What time will you be back?’ I ask him, distractedly smiling at April as she gazes up at me. She’s too intent on finishing whatever indeterminate white and gooey round thing she’s eating to smile back.
‘I’m not sure.’ He frowns. ‘Why?’
‘I might nip into Padstow for some groceries. I don’t want to get locked out.’
‘Oh.’ He looks surprised. Has the thought not even occurred to him that I can’t leave his house and get back in if he’s out? ‘I was going to try to put April down in her cot at two today,’ he says.
‘Okay, great. I’ll tie my walk in with you, then.’
‘Okay,’ he says.
‘Okay,’ I say.
He goes out of the door and pulls it shut behind him.
I decide to take a break and eat my Pot Noodle early, turning my music right up and singing along to ‘Unbelievable’ by EMF while I’m waiting for the kettle to boil. It’s not even noon, but I won’t leave the house before one if I’m taking an hour’s lunch break. I’m over by the French doors punching the air when Charlie calls my name.
‘Holyfuckingshit!’ I gasp, clutching my hand to my chest as I spin around to face him.
‘Sorry,’ he replies with a smirk. He’s standing in the kitchen doorway. ‘Forgot nappies.’
He looks – dare I say it? – amused as he roots around in the cupboard, pulling out what he’s after. ‘See you later,’ he calls over his shoulder, a blindingly gorgeous grin on his face.
I reel backwards. That’s the first time I’ve seen him smile properly when it wasn’t at his daughter.
Or at the memory of his wife.
‘Freedom’ by the lovely, late George Michael is playing at top volume on the stereo inside my head when I finally make it out of the house. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, and Padstow is absolutely rammed. I can barely make my way along the footpaths because they’re so packed with locals and tourists, so I walk on the road instead, hoping I’ll be able to avoid death by motor vehicle. The water in the small harbour is dotted with sailing boats, and a flock of seagulls are going berserk over something a small, gleeful boy has thrown to them. I can see two ice cream vans from where I’m standing, and I passed a crêperie van on the way here, too. Grey-stone, light-blue and cream-painted shops, restaurants and cafés follow the curved line of the road to my left, and, across the other side of the harbour, a hill stretches away from the town, creating a pretty green backdrop to the buildings.
The sweet smell of fudge wafts out of a confectionary shop as I pass, mingling with the aroma coming from the Padstow Pasty down the road. I think there’s a Co-op around the corner. If this is anything like the other posh seaside towns I’ve visited, there’ll be a White Stuff, Joules, Fat Face or Seasalt here, as well.
I find all four. If Marty were around, we could’ve made that a drinking game.
I miss her. In truth, I’ve been missing her for a long time. I’m glad that she’s happy, but, when I dicked off to Australia for a year, I didn’t expect to come back and find her living with a guy I hadn’t even met. I like Ted – he’s a good ’un – but seeing my friends so loved up and popping out babies makes me pine all the more for Elliot.
Not that I want a baby.
After I’ve picked up a few bits and pieces from the supermarket, I nip into Joules and try on a couple of things. I get a bit of a shock when I discover the size 12 is a little on the tight side – damn my Rick Stein’s addiction! – so, on my way back to Charlie’s, I take a detour via one of the bicycle-hire places. The Camel Trail is excellent for cycling, apparently, so I reckon I’ll go on a few bike rides this weekend and try to burn off some excess calories.
I arrive at the house to find that Charlie hasn’t yet returned, so I sit on the wall in the front garden and wait for him, twiddling stalks of lavender and absent-mindedly sniffing my fingers.
A girl with a red T-shirt and matching headscarf pushes a pram along the footpath towards me.
Bandana Central.
‘Are you the author?’ she asks, smiling brightly as she comes to a stop in front of me. She has warm, brown eyes set within a round face, and her legs are surprisingly stick-thin. With her red T-shirt, she reminds me a little of a kindly robin.
‘Yes, Bridget,’ I introduce myself, liking the ring of author way more than ghostwriter.
‘I’m Jocelyn,’ she replies. ‘And this is Thomas.’ She nods at her son. ‘We live across the road.’
‘Hello,’ I say, smiling at her baby. He looks to be about April’s age.
‘Is Charlie out?’ she asks.
‘Yeah, he went into town. I’m just waiting for him to get back.’
‘Don’t you have a key?’ she asks with surprise.
‘No.’
‘Oh.’
Awkward.
‘How’s he getting on with the school job?’ she asks, as though I’d know.
I’m a bit embarrassed that I don’t, so I pretend otherwise. ‘Okay, I think, although it’s a bit tough without childcare.’
She looks dismayed. ‘I can have April! I keep offering, but he never takes me up on it! Will you remind him? Thomas and I are free this afternoon for a couple of hours.’
‘I think he wants to put her down in her cot at two o’clock for a nap, but he might give you a shout later.’ Again, I bizarrely feign knowledge of the situation. I don’t know what’s got into me.
‘Urge him to,’ she says. ‘I’m a teacher at the school he’s making it for,’ she explains, whispering conspiratorially, ‘I put the job his way.’
Eek, I hope I haven’t just landed him in it.
‘Well, it’s all looking fantastic so far,’ I enthuse, overegging it a bit. ‘The kids will love it.’
She smiles. ‘I know they will. Charlie’s pieces are works of art.’
She and Thomas have gone into their house by the time Charlie appears.
I hop down from the wall. ‘I just saw Jacqueline, no, Evelyn, no—’
‘
Jocelyn,’ he helps me out as he pushes the pram up to the door.
‘That’s the one. Nice lady. She offered to babysit April for you if you need some help.’
‘That was nice of her,’ he murmurs, leaning over April to put his key in the lock.
‘She meant it. I could tell,’ I state, wheeling my bicycle up the path behind him, my shopping hung over the handle. ‘She’s around this afternoon,’ I add, looking around for something to lock the bike to.
‘Okay, thanks,’ he says as he pushes the pram over the threshold.
I can tell by the tone of his voice that he’s not going to accept her offer of help, but I don’t know why.
‘What is that?’ he asks, stopping so abruptly that I almost ram into him. He turns around to face me.
‘A bike.’
His face breaks into a sudden, surprising grin. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘Bicycle-hire place.’
He laughs, and I realise I should probably be annoyed that he finds the idea of me on a bike so funny, but the sight and sound of him laughing is so lovely that I find myself giggling in return.
‘What?’ I ask, mock-affronted. ‘Is it so strange that I want to get some exercise?’
‘Not at all.’ He shakes his head, trying to keep a straight face as his green – or hazel, still can’t decide – eyes sparkle. ‘But you’ll look like a right div on that thing. Bring it indoors,’ he urges. ‘There’s nowhere to lock it up out there.’
He moves the pram out of the way and holds the door back for me, so I wheel the bike into the hall.
‘You know what? Return it,’ he says suddenly. ‘You can borrow Nicki’s bike while you’re here.’
I freeze, my smile locked in place as my eyes grow rounder. He immediately sobers up.
‘No, I couldn’t.’ I shake my head.
‘Yes, you can,’ he mutters quietly, shutting the door behind me. ‘It’s in the shed. I’ll get it ready for you this weekend.’
‘Honestly, I—’
‘It’s a good bike,’ he interrupts. ‘Practically new. She bought it with the money from her book.’
I continue to protest.
‘I want it to get some use,’ he says, cutting me off again, and I know he’s had enough of my arguing.
‘Okay, thanks,’ I say edgily.
