Daisy’s Vintage Cornish Camper Van

by Ali McNamara

  ‘Newlyn! But that’s like what, half an hour from here?’

  Noah nods.

  ‘So were we right about Juliet? She was lying when she told us our Frankie wasn’t her grandfather?’

  ‘Yep, we were spot on, but she had good reason to lie. She thought the reason we were trying to find her grandfather, who apparently has been “on the run for years” as she put it, was to catch up with him for something he did in 1990.’

  ‘What?’ I ask, astonished to hear this. The story was getting stranger by the minute.

  ‘Remember I said that Johnson’s Electronics had closed down in shady circumstances?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, apparently that was Frankie – he’d been misappropriating the company’s funds to such a degree that he thought a prison sentence was on the cards, so he went AWOL.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He simply disappeared, took on a new identity, came to live in Cornwall and he’s been here ever since. Only his family know his true whereabouts.’

  ‘So all this time we’ve been looking for a criminal?’ I ask, trying and failing to hide the disappointment in my voice.

  ‘Well.’ Noah screws up his nose. ‘Yes and no. The reason Frankie was taking money from his business was to fund some specialist treatment for his wife abroad. Remember Lucy told us Juliet’s grandmother died of breast cancer? Apparently the treatment she was getting here just wasn’t making any difference. So in desperation he took money from his business, money he really wasn’t entitled to, but sadly he got caught and the rest of the firm’s directors decided to press charges.’

  ‘Really? Bastards!’ I exclaim. ‘How mean of them, they could have shown him a little compassion.’ I think of the photo of Frankie finishing the London Marathon with his arms around the rest of his team. How I hoped they weren’t the same men who turned on him in his hour of need. ‘Poor Frankie.’

  ‘Yeah, you never know who you can trust,’ Noah says, and I realise that the story has struck a chord with him too.

  ‘So that’s why Juliet became all agitated when we starting digging around,’ I say, thinking how us suddenly turning up must have seemed to Frankie’s granddaughter. ‘She thought we were still chasing after her grandfather for a crime he committed nearly thirty years ago.’

  ‘Yep, and when it was someone from the local police who asked her colleague to let me look at the old newspapers, that only made her suspicions worse.’

  ‘Oh!’ I say suddenly, realising something else. ‘Is that why the women were running for Breast Cancer Research? In memory of Frankie’s wife, Juliet’s grandmother?’

  Noah nods. ‘Wait, how do you know it’s in memory of? I didn’t tell you she didn’t survive.’

  ‘Lucy said at the race they were running in memory of Juliet’s grandmother. Plus,’ I continue, as something else pops into my mind. ‘There was a postcard. I didn’t really think anything of it at the time, but Lou wrote to Frankie sympathising with him on the death of his wife – how she knew, I don’t know, but she seemed to keep up with everything that was going on with him over the years. So why did Juliet suddenly decide to tell us about Frankie? Is that what his name is now?’

  Noah nods. ‘Yes, apparently he’s always been nicknamed that. The JFK thing about the president was just a ruse on Juliet’s part. Apparently she decided to tell Frankie all about us and the postcards – he’d been away for a few days and that’s why it took her so long to get back to us. He was interested immediately and wants to meet us… well, you in particular. He’d like us to bring the postcards and the camper van, if it’s finished.’

  ‘The camper van as well as the postcards – that’s odd, isn’t it? So he must remember Lou then?’

  ‘According to Juliet, yes, he does, very fondly.’

  I go to the door of the antiques shop and take a deep breath of fresh sea air. At last I was going to be able to take the cards back to the person who they had been meant for in the first place.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Noah asks, coming over to stand by me in the doorway.

  ‘They’re going home, Noah,’ I say, tears forming in my eyes. I turn to him. ‘Finally Lou’s postcards are going home.’

  And as we stand hugging in the doorway of Noah’s Ark antiques, as clear as anything the shop bell rings above our heads.

  We both look up.

  ‘How is that working again after all this time?’ Noah asks in amazement. ‘I never fixed it?’

  ‘Miracles happen, Noah,’ I say, smiling at the bell. ‘They really do.’

  Forty

  ‘That’s it. Perfect,’ Malachi says, as I attempt to steer Daisy-Rose around the local streets. ‘I told you you’d pick it up eventually.’

  Driving Daisy-Rose felt like I was driving a big old bus. Her cream steering wheel was wide and stiff to turn, and her gearbox – although perfectly restored by Malachi – needed quite some effort to move through the gears. Her engine was noisier than I was used to and her suspension made for a bumpy ride, but even with all her imperfections I felt a huge sense of enjoyment and pleasure while driving her.

  Fellow drivers flash their lights and toot their horns in greeting, and pedestrians wave to us from the pavement, their happy faces lighting up our journey with smiles.

  ‘That’s it,’ Malachi says, as I ease my way back into the yard. ‘Easy does it.’

  I pull up in the back yard of Bob’s Bangers and pull on the handbrake, then I turn the key in the ignition so Daisy-Rose’s gentle purring is quietened for the time being.

  ‘What did you think?’ Malachi asks from his spot next to me on the long leather seat.

  ‘It’s pretty special driving her, that’s for sure. I don’t mean the actual drive itself – I mean people’s reaction to her. It’s so friendly.’

  ‘Yes, there’s definitely something about a camper van that makes people smile. They’re a very happy vehicle, so people enjoy seeing them as much as their owners enjoy driving them.’

  ‘Thank you again, Malachi, for doing all this for me. I know I was paying you, and it’s your job and everything, but I feel that you’ve put a lot of you into this transformation and that makes it extra special. Especially to me.’

  Malachi looks visibly moved at my words. ‘When you say transformation, you’re not only talking about Daisy-Rose, are you?’ he asks quietly.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I’m talking about you, Ana. You’ve been transformed since you came here to St Felix, haven’t you?’

  ‘I – I don’t know. I guess maybe a little…’

  ‘I think you definitely have. It’s not only Daisy-Rose who’s been restored to her former glory, you have too. You’ve healed since you’ve been here, Ana, and I’ve enjoyed being a part of your recovery.’

  His words ring a bell. Hadn’t Amber from the flower shop also told me that St Felix was a very healing place to spend time in?

  ‘I suppose I am happier than when I first came here,’ I say, thinking about this for the first time. ‘I’m much more relaxed about life, that’s for sure. I had a few issues before. I didn’t like it if I couldn’t control things and I worried about wasting time. I had a fear of crowds and enclosed spaces too, and that’s definitely improved.’

  Malachi nods in agreement. ‘That’s partly because you’ve accepted what you can’t control, Ana. You accepted your feelings towards your friend Daisy, and you’ve moved on from being angry at her for dying, and as you see it, leaving you again.’

  I try to interrupt, but he continues.

  ‘You’ve also found someone else to fill her place – someone you can care for, and who will care for you too. Note I said “fill her place”, not “take her place”. No one will ever take Daisy’s place, Ana, but Noah will do his very best to help you live the rest of your life the way it’s supposed to be lived, with joy and laughter and love, and you will do the same for him.’

  I gaze at Malachi, entranced by his moving and inspiring speech. ‘I’ve as
ked you this before, Malachi, but who made you so clever? That’s a very wise head you have on your fairly young shoulders.’

  How old was Malachi? I’d always assumed he was in his late twenties, possibly early thirties, but his words and, in fact, his whole manner today had been mature beyond his years.

  ‘Years of practice,’ Malachi says earnestly. ‘I’m truly glad I’ve been able to be with you on this journey, Ana, and that I’ve been able to help.’

  ‘You have helped me so much,’ I tell him. ‘At first I thought you were a bit of a pain in the arse.’ Malachi grins. ‘But you’ve proved yourself to be an amazing friend.’ I take hold of his hand, and again the strangest feeling overcomes me. I can only describe it as an encompassing and overwhelming sense of love.

  ‘Who are you, Malachi?’ I ask, looking down at his hand. ‘I feel like I know you so well and yet…’

  ‘You’ll know soon enough,’ Malachi replies, looking unblinkingly into my eyes. ‘Now, Ana, it’s time to spread even more happiness to some other people’s lives.’

  He looks out of the windscreen and I see Noah coming towards us. He’s carrying the box that I know holds all the postcards.

  ‘Time to go,’ Malachi says, opening the passenger door and climbing out of Daisy-Rose. He turns back and looks at me. ‘This isn’t the end, I promise. I’ll be in touch again.’

  What an odd thing to say, I think, watching him walk away from Daisy-Rose towards Noah. He pauses to shake Noah’s hand, then he strides casually towards the office with Ralph at his side.

  Noah climbs into the seat Malachi has just vacated and pulls the door closed.

  ‘Ready to go?’ he asks, and I notice he’s wiggling the fingers of the hand that’s just touched Malachi’s.

  I nod as I start the engine again.

  ‘What did Malachi just say to you?’ I ask, before putting Daisy-Rose into first gear.

  ‘Nothing, he just shook my hand and walked away.’ Noah looks down at his hand again. ‘That guy has one powerful handshake. I can still feel it now.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, putting Daisy-Rose into gear and moving slowly away. ‘He’s something very special is Malachi.’

  The short drive down the south coast towards Newlyn takes a little longer in Daisy-Rose than it might usually, but I soon get the hang of driving a camper van, and Noah doesn’t look quite as scared as he had done when we’d first left St Felix.

  ‘Take a right here,’ Noah instructs, as we drive into the small harbour town. ‘Yep, now left, then left again. It should be just along here somewhere.’

  I slow down as we drive past a row of neat bungalows with pretty front gardens before Noah instructs. ‘Stop! It’s this one.’

  Luckily for me there’s a fairly big space on the road in front of the bungalow, so I don’t have to try anything too complicated when parking Daisy-Rose.

  ‘We’re finally here,’ I say, looking at a large whitewashed bungalow with pink roses in full bloom climbing up its front wall.

  ‘We are. You ready for this?’

  ‘As I’ll ever be. Let’s go.’

  Carrying the box of postcards, we walk up the gravel drive to the front door. Noah presses the doorbell and we wait.

  After a few moments the door opens and an elderly man stands in front of us. A few decades may have passed since the newspaper photo was taken, but I can still recognise a handsome, if slightly older Frankie. He’s tall, with blue eyes that still shine brightly amongst the many laughter lines that cover his face, but his white hair, that once would have been the thick dark mane I remember from the photo, is now thinning and heavily receding.

  ‘You must be Ana and Noah,’ he says, smiling. ‘Juliet said you’d be calling this afternoon. I’m Frankie, come in.’

  We’re invited into a small but neat hallway, and then we follow Frankie through into an even tidier sitting room.

  ‘Take a seat,’ he says, gesturing to a comfy-looking sofa with brightly coloured cushions scattered across it. ‘Would you like a cup of tea, or perhaps coffee?’

  ‘Whatever is easiest,’ I say politely.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on for some tea then. One moment, I’ll be back presently.’

  Frankie shuffles slowly out of the room and heads presumably for the kitchen.

  ‘See that picture over there,’ I whisper, pointing to a framed painting on the wall. ‘I bet that’s one of Lou’s. It’s the same style as the one at Juliet’s and the same as the ones I’ve seen on eBay.’

  ‘Frankie was obviously fond of Lou as well if he hangs her paintings up on his wall.’

  ‘Yes, it’s good to see, isn’t it?’ I’d wondered a few times if I was doing the right thing in bringing the postcards for Frankie to see. After all, Lou had never sent them so maybe she didn’t want him to ever read them, but seeing the painting only reinforced that we were doing the right thing. ‘What’s that smell?’ I ask Noah, as a distinct whiff of something catches at my nostrils. ‘It seems familiar.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Noah says, sniffing. ‘It smells a bit like…’

  ‘Paint!’ we both say at the same time.

  ‘It’s oil paint and turps,’ I say excitedly. ‘You don’t think that Lou might actually be here, do you?’

  ‘Now that would be an amazing coincidence!’

  ‘Malachi says there’s no such thing,’ I begin, but someone else comes through the sitting room door now. They’re wearing a painting smock and wiping their hands with a cloth.

  My heart, which had felt so euphoric just moments ago with expectation and hope, immediately sinks. The person looking eagerly at us may well be wearing painting clothes splashed with blobs and streaks of colourful paint, but this person can’t be Lou, because standing in front of us is another elderly man, shorter and a little tubbier than Frankie, and this time with a full head of white curly hair. A pair of gold-rimmed spectacles balances precariously amongst his curls.

  ‘Hello,’ he says, smiling warmly at us like Frankie had done. ‘You must be Ana and Noah.’ He comes over and holds out his cleaner hand for us to shake. ‘Thank you so much for coming to see us today. I should introduce myself. I’m Louis. But my friends call me Lou.’

  Forty-One

  A stunned silence fills the small sitting room.

  ‘You…’ I stutter. ‘You are Lou? Postcard Lou?’

  ‘Yes, Postcard Lou.’ Lou grins. ‘Not what you were expecting, eh?’

  Frankie arrives back in the room. ‘Kettle’s on,’ he announces. ‘Ah, I see you’ve met my Lou.’

  They gaze at each other with such a look of tenderness that I let out a small gasp. ‘Sorry,’ I apologise, my face flushing. ‘I just hadn’t ever thought you might be a man. I’d just assumed…’ My voice trails off.

  ‘… I was a woman?’ Lou smiles. ‘I thought you might. That’s why we told Juliet not to tell you I would be here.’

  I just stare at the two of them. I can’t help myself – I just hadn’t seen this coming at all.

  ‘Perhaps we should have,’ Lou says, regarding me with concern. ‘Are you all right, dear?’

  ‘Yes… yes, I’m fine,’ I say, my heart beginning to beat again. This was even more amazing than it had been previously. Not only had Lou loved Frankie unwaveringly for fifty years, but she had been a he. And now it appeared they were finally together after all that time. This story just got better and better.

  ‘I’ll get that tea,’ Frankie says, heading back out into the hall. ‘And we’d better make it good and sweet, I think, don’t you?’

  We sit down in Lou and Frankie’s sitting room armed with tea and biscuits, and they begin to tell us their amazing story.

  ‘It all started when we were at school, didn’t it, Frankie?’ Lou says, glancing at him with that same adoring look. ‘We were friends to begin with, really good friends, and we did absolutely everything together, but it wasn’t until we went on a school trip and shared a room that we started to realise it might be something more.’


  Frankie nods. ‘In those days being gay was completely frowned upon for anyone, let alone for two teenage schoolboys. If we’d tried to talk to anyone about it, they’d have told us to stop being silly, that we couldn’t possibly know anything at that age, so we kept quiet and pretended everything was normal.’

  ‘Until Frankie’s father caught us one day hidden down by the harbour in St Felix,’ Lou says. ‘We weren’t even doing anything particularly bad, only holding hands. He saw red and forbade Frankie not only from being friends with me but also from ever speaking to me again.’

  ‘We, of course, ignored him.’ Frankie’s bright blue eyes twinkle with mischief as he remembers. ‘But sadly he found out yet again when someone told on us. We never found out who, did we, Lou?’