Daisy’s Vintage Cornish Camper Van

by Ali McNamara

  I think about what it must have felt like for a woman in the sixties to suddenly have the freedom to make her own decisions and not to have to rely on a man to support her. It was clear from the messages that Lou had never married or had children, but she seemed to have had quite an interesting and fulfilling life without them – even if she did pine for Frankie through most of it.

  Lou never made mention of any relationships of the romantic kind, but then I guess she wouldn’t; the postcards had been written to her one true love and even if she hadn’t actually sent them to him, she was hardly going to tell him all about her love life, or lack of it, was she?

  I sigh. Was this really all I had to go on? There was no way I would be able to trace a woman called Lou who lived in Cornwall when she was young, went to Oxford University in the late forties and might have worked in a solicitor’s office in London in 1963 – it would be virtually impossible.

  I think again, and the postcard with the holey statues catches my eye. Could the artistic part of Lou’s life throw up something I hadn’t thought of before?

  I look at all the later cards I have once more. It seems that Lou had been quite the successful painter in the end. After her earlier excursions to other parts of the UK, and then her painting tours around the country with Rose, she seemed to have settled back in St Felix in the late eighties; partly, it seemed, to be near to her elderly mother, who when the cards start up again in 1987 appears to be in poor health, and partly because she seemed happy painting in and around her home town once more.

  Wait a minute! I suddenly think. Someone in St Felix must have lived here in the eighties and they would surely remember a woman called Lou who painted from a red camper van!

  Of course. I sigh. Why didn’t I think of this earlier? I’d been so transfixed on tracing Lou’s life, that I hadn’t considered the answer could be right here on my doorstep.

  I look at my watch – it was just past six o’clock.

  I think a quick drink at The Merry Mermaid might be in order tonight, I tell myself. And a little chat with my friend Rita.

  I head down to the Mermaid at 7 p.m. after I’ve showered and freshened up.

  The bar is already busy when I arrive but I manage to squeeze on to a free bar stool and wait for Rita or Richie, who are both running around behind the bar tonight, to spot me waiting.

  Rita catches my eye when she’s pouring a pint of beer.

  ‘Ana, love!’ she calls, smiling at me. ‘I’ll be right with you. Just give me a moment – it’s mad in here tonight!’

  ‘No worries!’ I call back. I’d rather wait until Rita has time for a quick chat anyway.

  I look around the bar while I’m waiting. There is the usual mix of holiday-makers and locals. They’re easy to tell apart as most of the holiday-makers look like they’ve had a bit too much sun today, and they’re generally a little bit pink and tend to be in shorts and T-shirts, or flowery dresses and sandals. The locals are also in casual dress, but instead of a touch of sunburn, they all have that healthy relaxed glow and gentle tan that comes from spending a lot of time outdoors in clean air and plenty of sunshine.

  I spot Ant and Dec from the bakery sitting at one of the window tables having a meal. Ant waves, and I shyly wave back, secretly pleased he’s remembered me amongst his many customers.

  ‘Now then, my love, what can I get for you tonight?’ Rita says from the other side of the bar. She looks very flushed and sounds slightly breathless.

  ‘Can I have an orange juice with some fizzy water and ice, please?’

  ‘You surely can, my love.’ Rita scoops a shovel of ice into a glass, then she reaches down under the bar and retrieves a bottle of orange juice, which she deftly opens with the bottle opener attached to the bar. ‘Would you like bottled water or soda?’

  ‘Soda is fine, thanks.’

  Rita moves a little way along the bar, lifts a nozzle attached to a pipe and squirts fizzy water into my glass.

  ‘There you go, my lovely,’ she says. ‘That’ll be two pounds eighty-five please.’

  I thrust a five-pound note towards her.

  Rita taps the till, then she produces my change.

  ‘Can I have a word when you’ve got a minute, Rita?’ I ask. ‘I know you’re really busy right now, but maybe later?’

  ‘Of course, just give me a few minutes to clear this lot. One of our bar staff has called in sick tonight so we’re rushed off our feet. What with the weather today, we’ve got the world, his wife and all his grandchildren in here tonight!’

  As Rita moves along the bar to take the next person’s order, I take a sip of my juice and look around the room hoping I might see someone I know, like Noah or Jess. Even Malachi would do, so long as I didn’t have to sit here on my own.

  Now that’s not fair, I tell myself, turning back towards the bar when I don’t see anyone. Malachi is a nice guy, a little bit eccentric perhaps, but his heart is in the right place.

  ‘Busy in here tonight, isn’t it?’ a voice comments next to me, and I turn to see Ant from the bakery. He’s wearing a bright green checked shirt with red trousers, and in his hand he holds two empty glasses. His gaze is locked hopefully in Rita’s direction.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ I reply, relieved to have someone to chat to. ‘Have you been busy in the bakery today?’

  ‘Too right we have. Sometimes Dec and I manage a Sunday off, even in the summer months. But there was no chance of that today – manic all day. We had to call extra staff in to help out. That’s why we’re in here tonight. I said to Dec, “There is no way I’m cooking tonight, we’re eating out!” So here we are! What have you been up to today – out enjoying the sunshine like everyone else?’

  ‘Oh, this and that,’ I tell him, not wanting to have to explain too much. ‘I visited Noah’s Ark – the antiques shop?’

  Ant gives up trying to catch Rita’s eye and turns fully towards me. ‘Yes, I know it. Noah is a lovely guy. Quiet, mind. Well, quiet compared to me, I guess! But we see him about with his little dog and he always stops to chat.’

  I nod. Everyone always seemed to have something good to say about Noah.

  ‘Do you know Malachi?’ I ask. ‘He’s doing up a vehicle for me at Bob’s Bangers. That’s why I’m staying here really, until the work is done.’

  ‘No, I can’t say I do. I didn’t even know Bob had anyone working with him.’

  ‘Malachi is looking after the place while Bob is away.’

  ‘Ah, I see. Yes, Richie, I am waiting!’ Ant calls sternly as Richie approaches. ‘Only joking around.’ He winks. ‘You’re a bit busy in here tonight, aren’t you?’

  Richie rolls his eyes. ‘Tell me about it. But I can’t complain. The till is constantly ringing and that’s always good to hear!’

  ‘Our usuals, please,’ Ant says, passing him the glasses. ‘Would you like something —?’

  ‘— Ana. No, thank you. It’s very kind of you, but I have this.’ I lift my glass.

  Ant looks around while he’s waiting for Richie to bring his refills.

  ‘On your own, are you, Ana?’ he asks, his dark eyebrows rising in surprise.

  ‘I only popped in to ask Rita something. I had no idea it would be so busy though. She’s a bit tied up at the moment.’

  ‘And could be for some time by the looks of it. Would you like to join us at our table until she’s free?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know – I don’t want to impose.’

  ‘Nonsense, darling, you won’t be. We’ve eaten now, and to be honest when you work with someone and live with them, anyone new to talk to always goes down a treat. And we won’t bite. As I’m sure you’ve gathered by now, we’re very friendly, and very gay!’

  I smile at him. ‘Well, if you’re sure, then I will, thanks.’

  When Ant has his replenished drinks, I follow him across the pub. He introduces me to Dec and I take a seat with them, pleased not to be on my own any more.

  ‘So what is it you’re so desperate to ask Rita about?�
� Ant asks bluntly.

  ‘Ant!’ Dec admonishes. ‘It might be private. He always dives straight in with his size twelves,’ he says apologetically to me.

  ‘I’ve never known you to complain about the size of my feet,’ Ant responds quick as a flash to Dec, and then winks at me.

  ‘Trust you to lower the tone,’ Dec says, disappointedly shaking his head. ‘I can’t take him anywhere.’

  I smile. These two were quite the double act in their own right, even without the names!

  ‘I wanted to ask her if she knew anyone who lived here in the eighties. I’m looking for someone who I’m pretty sure lived in St Felix then, and I hoped they might remember them.’

  ‘The eighties, hmm?’ Dec says. ‘Well, we certainly weren’t here then, were we, Ant?’

  ‘Nope. I was at primary school then in Portsmouth, and you were what – already out working?’ Ant grins.

  ‘If you were at primary school, I’d have been at secondary, that’s all, and you know it!’ Dec chides. ‘I’m not that much older than him,’ he says quietly to me. ‘But Ant always has to make a thing about it. Now, the eighties – I don’t know much about them other than it was a great decade for music.’

  ‘It was, yes,’ I agree.

  ‘Although you don’t look old enough to remember the eighties,’ Dec says kindly. ‘Does she, Ant?’

  ‘You’ve had some great Botox if you do…’ Ant looks closely at me.

  ‘No, I was born then, that’s about all I remember. I just really like the music from that decade.’

  ‘Good taste,’ Dec says approvingly. ‘Now,’ he adds, ‘who do we know that might have been here then? What about Lou?’ he asks Ant.

  ‘Lou?’ My ears prick up. Surely she wasn’t actually still here?

  ‘Lou works at the post office. She’s been here donkey’s years, hasn’t she, Ant?’

  Ant nods.

  ‘Did this Lou ever own a camper van, do you know – a red one?’

  Dec shrugs. ‘Not that I know of. Come to think of it, I don’t even think she drives, does she, Ant?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. She said something about it when she was in the shop once – about how she wishes she’d learned when she was younger.’

  ‘Oh, that’s not who I’m looking for then. You see the person I’m hunting for is called Lou too, so when you said her name I wondered for a moment if it might be her. But she definitely drove a red VW camper van.’

  Dec looks at Ant with a puzzled expression.

  ‘It’s all a bit confusing, I know,’ I say apologetically.

  ‘Just a bit, sweetie,’ Ant says. ‘So why are you looking for this Lou?’

  I tell Ant and Dec all about the camper van and then the postcards. In fact, I tell them everything I know so far, and just like Noah and Jess before them, they too are equally intrigued by Lou and Frankie’s story.

  ‘It’s very romantic,’ Ant says, when I’ve finished. ‘But how odd she should write the cards and not send them. The pain of unrequited love…’ He sighs wistfully.

  ‘I think you’re on the right path looking for someone here who was around at that time,’ Dec says more practically. ‘This place used to be inundated with artists in the past, but you’d think someone would remember her. I say definitely go and see our Lou. If anyone knows, she will.’

  Fifteen

  According to Ant and Dec this other Lou lives in Bluebell Cottage on Jacob Street.

  First thing the next morning I head up there hoping to catch her in, but after I’ve knocked on her door a couple of times and rung the bell, there’s still no answer, so I walk back down the hill towards the post office to see if she’s there instead.

  ‘Hi, is Lou at work today?’ I ask a jolly-looking woman at the main shop counter. I hope Lou isn’t working behind the glass of the post office counter, because there’s already a long queue winding its way around the shop of people waiting to draw their pensions, post parcels and get official forms stamped. However, behind the glass I can only see a young man looking quite weary at the thought of this queue he has to work his way through over the next half an hour or so as he stamps yet another pension book.

  ‘No, my dear, sorry. Lou’s had to rush off up to the hospital. Her nephew’s wife gave birth last night and they’ve all gone to the hospital to be with her.’

  ‘Is that Poppy who owns the flower shop?’ I ask, putting two and two together. ‘Jake’s wife?’

  ‘Yes, it is. Know them, do you?’

  ‘Sort of. I’m renting their cottage in Down-along.’

  ‘Ah, yes, Rose’s old cottage. That’s what they’ve called the little girl – Daisy-Rose – after Poppy’s grandmother and…’ She puzzles for a moment. ‘Her great-great-grandmother, I think it was – the one who started the flower shop. Anyway it’s a very pretty name.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ I say, thinking first about my Daisy and then about the camper van. What were the chances – two Daisy-Roses in St Felix? There was definitely something special about those names and this town.

  ‘Anyway the little baba is doing well, but Poppy’s had a bit of a rough time of it, so I hear – Caesarean,’ she whispers. ‘So Lou’s taken some time off to help out when she comes out of the hospital. It’s Jake’s busy time of the year at the nursery, and poor Amber will be run off her feet in that shop without Poppy – they’ll need all the help they can get! Thank goodness they let the National Trust take over the running of Tregarlan last year.’

  ‘Tregarlan – that’s the old manor house up on the hill?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Poppy inherited it when old Stan died. Wonderful place, it is now. They’ve made a lovely job of doing it up.’

  I nod, suddenly aware that there’s a small queue beginning to form behind me.

  ‘Ooh, listen to me gabble on!’ the woman says. ‘I could talk for Cornwall. You only came in to ask after Lou. Shall I tell her you called when I see her?’

  ‘No, it’s fine, really. I’ll catch up with her when she’s slightly less busy, but thank you,’ I say, beginning to edge away. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’

  ‘Okay, my lovely!’ she calls, turning to her next customer. ‘Now, Sidney, what can I get you? Scratch cards, is it today, now you’ve got your pension?’

  I leave the shop and walk down the street.

  So that’s that particular line of enquiry over. There was no way I was going to bother a stranger with my questions when she had all that to deal with. It wouldn’t be fair, and anyway she might not even have known this other Lou, let alone know where she might be now. I’ll have to think of something else.

  I decide to take a walk up to see Malachi. I hadn’t seen or heard from him since the night we sat out under the stars together, and I was keen to see if he’d had time to do anything to my Daisy-Rose over the weekend.

  The garage is quiet as I make my way through the gates and around the back. Ralph barks as I enter the yard and wanders over to see me, but there’s no sign of Malachi.

  ‘Hello, boy,’ I say, ruffling his head. ‘Where’s your master, eh? Is he here?’

  ‘I am indeed!’ Malachi calls, pushing himself out from underneath Daisy-Rose on a little wooden trolley. ‘I was just doing some work on the engine.’

  ‘How’s it going?’ I ask, walking over towards the camper van as Malachi rolls himself off the trolley and stands up. He grabs his customary rag and wipes his hands.

  ‘Very well, actually. I’ve done some ringing around and I can definitely obtain all the parts we’re going to need. Most of them are winging their way to me as we speak.’

  ‘Great – any timescale yet?’

  ‘All in good time is all I can promise right now, I’m afraid.’

  I nod. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Are you still in a hurry to get away from St Felix? Aren’t you enjoying your time here?’

  ‘Yes I am, very much. A lot more than I thought I would.’

  ‘Good, I’m glad to hear it. Tea?’ Malachi offers. �
��I’m just about to make one. No, wait!’ he says, holding up his hand. ‘You’re a coffee person, aren’t you? I can do either.’

  ‘Yes, I am, but how did you know?’

  Malachi taps the side of his forehead. ‘Intuition,’ he says, grinning. ‘Coffee, milk and one sugar, right?’

  ‘Yes, spot on.’