The Getaway Girls: A hilarious feel-good summer read

by Dee MacDonald

  She was ready to go.

  She’d packed most of her stuff into Bella already: the torches, the spare batteries, a set of screwdrivers, the first-aid kit, her Kindle loaded up with books to read, and CDs to play on the state-of-the-art sound system. She’d chosen an eclectic mix, unsure of the others’ preferences but well stocked up with Andrea Bocelli. She’d always loved Italian opera but it wasn’t until she’d accompanied Di to his concert at the O2 a couple of years back that she became a dedicated fan of the popular tenor. As she listened to ‘Una Furtiva Lagrima’, the urge to get to Italy grew stronger and stronger. She wouldn’t be shedding any tears, furtive or otherwise! On the contrary she was becoming more and more excited, if a little nervous at times at the prospect of everything that might go wrong. ‘Connie McColl,’ she told herself, ‘think positive! You’re made of tough stuff, you won’t be alone, you’ll cope and you’ll have fun!’

  Gill positioned herself in front of her well-lit mirror in preparation for her night-time routine. She undid her hair and set it on large rollers; she cleansed; she toned; she moisturised her face; and then she shaved her legs. She nicked her shin as usual and stopped the flow with a bit of tissue. Tomorrow was a special day. They were meeting at Connie’s flat at 7 a.m. to catch an early train from Waterloo, settle themselves into the motorhome, and then be on the ferry at Portsmouth by lunchtime.

  She’d already deposited most of her clothes in the vehicle, taking up three-quarters of the storage space allotted to her and Maggie. Fortunately Maggie didn’t appear to be bringing much, and Connie had her own wardrobe space at the front. Now, somehow or other, she had to cram all the toiletries, make-up and hair stuff into one little bag. How was someone her age supposed to survive without the hair colour, the eyelash curlers, the cleansing masks, the serums and all the rest? For sure no one had seen her make-up free in years. She found some eyebrow dye and shoved that into the bag too.

  Not for the first time she wondered how she’d survive in a glorified caravan, sleeping in a bunk bed with a nutty Scotswoman overhead and bossy Connie at the helm. Her family was right: she must be crazy. Not only that, it was already costing a small fortune in holiday insurance and driving insurance. Connie had insisted on that because, although she herself was going to be doing most of the driving, what if she became ill or had an accident? But Gill hadn’t driven much in the past forty years, and didn’t intend to start again now on the wrong side of a vehicle the size of a bus, and on the wrong side of the road to boot. But in spite of her doubts she was humming to herself, ‘We’re all going on a summer holiday’ – how she’d loved Cliff Richard in that film!

  She set her alarm for 5.30 a.m. but didn’t expect to sleep much. Let’s face it, she thought, I’m excited. More excited than I’ve been in years.

  Maggie hadn’t seen Ringer for days, but he reappeared as she was packing her bag.

  When she told him that she was leaving the following morning on her touring holiday, he yawned and said, ‘That’s nice. How long will you be away?’

  Maggie had no idea. ‘Oh, some weeks. I’ll text you.’

  ‘Yeah, you do that.’

  She felt tears prickling behind her eyes. Damned if she was going to cry, but he hadn’t even asked who she was going with, or where, or if he was even bothered about her going without him, all of which would have been unthinkable even a year ago.

  ‘I’m out tonight, babe. Probably back in the wee small hours. What time are you leaving?’

  ‘I’m leaving here just after six in the morning.’

  ‘Six! My God! Well, you’ll have to wake me up to say goodbye if I’m back by then.’ He was fidgety and preoccupied which probably meant he’d got a job lined up. ‘I won’t disturb you then when I get back; best if I sleep in the spare room.’

  It had been a while since he’d been out on a job and Maggie wondered what he was up to. He’d be needing money to spend on the blonde bimbo, damn her. He’d also taken to the spare room a lot lately and Maggie felt another alien wave of anger. After giving up thirty-eight years of her life to this man, she suspected she was now being discarded like an old pair of slippers.

  She finished her solitary supper, washed up and watched an hour of Big Brother, then went to bed, aware of her early start in the morning. But sleep eluded her as she tossed and turned and tried to keep her mind blank. Still awake at 4 a.m., she was almost ready to get up to make herself a hot drink when she heard Ringer coming in and shuffling around in the kitchen.

  He wasn’t one for being domesticated at the best of times so she wondered what he was doing as she heard cupboard doors being opened and closed – even the oven door. She was sure it wasn’t for cooking. Then she heard him close the spare room door behind him and, after about ten minutes, the sound of his snoring reverberated through the wall.

  She got up quietly, taking only a few minutes to get ready and then, picking up her passport and her nearly empty holdall, tiptoed into the kitchen. She’d drink coffee until it was time to go. After she filled the kettle she checked the cupboards to see what Ringer might have been looking for but nothing seemed to be out of place.

  Maggie sat down with her coffee. Ringer had been on a job last night, she was sure of that. She was almost ready to leave when she remembered the oven; she’d heard him opening it. She herself was the one who’d suggested the oven as a good ‘holding point’.

  A canvas bag filled the entire interior, and it was a big oven. Maggie eased it out gently and undid the zip, staring at the used notes – wads and wads and wads of them. Must be thousands and thousands, she thought. Why shouldn’t she have some of that? Come to think of it, why shouldn’t she have all of it? If he wanted her out of his life, he could damned well pay for it. As far as Maggie was concerned this was a divorce settlement; she was his common law wife after all. She needed some acknowledgement of all the years she’d stood by him, the trials, the prison visits, the time spent on her own waiting for his release. Yes, he owed her, and now she was going to collect. She jammed as many notes as she could carry into her holdall and then, as an afterthought, got a backpack from the hallway and stuffed that full too. Just as well she’d been travelling light in the first place. She hadn’t left much for the two-timing bastard – but why, she thought, should I leave any at all? She lifted up her T-shirt, removed her prosthetic breast and filled the space in her bra with two wads of tenners. Then she replaced the empty canvas bag back into the oven.

  Terrified he might wake up, she took a quick look round, picked up both the bags and left, closing the door quietly behind her. Maggie knew there would be no going back, not now. She’d often wondered if she’d ever have the courage to leave, but now she knew she had because that was exactly what she was doing.

  Connie looked at the clock. Five to seven. There was just time for a quick check round the flat. Had she unplugged the fridge, turned off the gas and ensured there were no marks on Di’s gleaming worktops? The other two would be here any minute.

  First to arrive was Gill, fully made up and coiffed even at this unearthly hour, with an enormous bag. ‘Oh, just a few last-minute bits and pieces.’

  Five minutes later Maggie, supposedly travelling light, staggered in with a holdall and a backpack bulging at the seams.

  ‘That looks heavy, Maggie.’ Connie was concerned for her fragile friend. ‘Can I help you carry something?’

  ‘No, no, I’m fine,’ Maggie replied, gripping all the handles tightly as they left the flat.

  ‘Has Ringer given you some farewell goodies then?’ Gill asked.

  ‘You could say that,’ Maggie replied.

  * * *

  Connie felt choked at saying goodbye to her family. Nick and Tess presented her with two bottles of Bombay Sapphire gin while Tom and Josh, aged seven and five, had made her a brightly coloured ‘Good Luck’ card and were worried about when Grandma would be coming back.

  ‘Will she be away a long time, like before?’ Tom sounded anxious.

  ‘No, s
he won’t be away too long, will you, Mother?’ said Nick.

  And then Lou had appeared with the two little girls and a large lasagne and a bag of salad. ‘You’ll need something to stick in the oven this evening, wherever you get to,’ she said, leaving Connie feeling tearful, and not a little apprehensive, as she drove away.

  Connie would have preferred Maggie to be in the passenger seat as they headed towards Portsmouth. But Maggie had been reluctant to move from the rear.

  ‘I just need to reorganise my things,’ she said. ‘I’ll sit up front later.’

  ‘I wonder what’s got into her?’ murmured Gill as she fastened her seatbelt. ‘She said she didn’t have much stuff.’

  Then Maggie had seemed hell-bent on staying in the motorhome for the crossing.

  ‘You can’t stay down here, Maggie,’ said Connie, as they parked nose to tail among countless caravans and motorhomes on the car deck of the ferry. ‘They don’t allow it. You’ve got to come up and they’ll call us when it’s time to come back.’

  When they eventually persuaded her out, Maggie got herself into a complete tizz about locking the doors.

  ‘Are you sure they’re all securely locked?’ she asked Connie for the umpteenth time.

  ‘Yes, of course they’re all locked,’ Connie replied. She demonstrated the handles. ‘See?’

  Maggie’s air of preoccupation continued above deck when Gill asked her what sort of coffee she wanted.

  ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Yes, coffee. You know, dark brown stuff, comes in a cup, with or without milk and sugar?’

  ‘Oh, sorry. Yes, just with milk, please.’

  ‘Grab a table then.’ As the other two joined the queue Gill asked, ‘What’s got into her? She’s gone all peculiar.’

  ‘I expect it’s something to do with that Ringer,’ said Connie.

  * * *

  When they finished their coffee, Connie persuaded them to come up on deck. ‘Come on!’ she said. ‘Let’s wave goodbye to Blighty; it’ll be a few weeks before we see her again!’

  Connie felt an almost childish surge of excitement as the ferry left Portsmouth harbour and made its way past the Isle of Wight. They were finally on their way – Le Havre, France, Italy!

  ‘We’ll just have a snack,’ she said to the other two, ‘as we have Lou’s lasagne to eat later and we can’t afford to be splashing out before we even get to France.’

  ‘Why don’t I treat us?’ Maggie said, as she returned from the currency exchange with a large wad of euros.

  ‘Why would you do that?’ Gill asked. ‘We agreed to split costs, didn’t we?’

  ‘Yes,’ Maggie went on, ‘but I’d like to, ’cos I’ve just had a little windfall.’

  ‘A windfall?’ asked Connie.

  ‘How little?’ asked Gill.

  ‘Oh, quite a bit.’ Maggie was studying her nails with sudden interest.

  ‘What – you’ve not won the lottery?’ Gill laughed.

  ‘Well, not exactly.’

  ‘Oh, was it a scratch-card then?’

  ‘Yes, that’s it. A scratch-card.’ Maggie looked relieved.

  Connie and Gill exchanged looks before Gill asked, ‘So why on earth didn’t you tell us earlier?’

  Maggie shrugged. ‘I didn’t like to. Anyway,’ she said, ‘we’ll be able to have a few wee treats. Now, anyone want to come with me to look at the shop? I’m completely out of perfume.’

  * * *

  The crossing was relatively smooth but not warm enough, in Connie’s opinion, to sit on deck. While Maggie and Gill wandered off to explore the boat’s facilities, Connie bought a newspaper and found a seat. She glanced at the headlines but, after a few minutes, gave up trying to concentrate, her mind suddenly full of what-ifs and whys. What if, at this late age, she found she couldn’t cope with driving on the right again? What if they couldn’t find somewhere to park tonight? After all, they hadn’t pre-booked anything anywhere. What if she had problems reversing Bella and hit something? Why had she made herself responsible for transporting two women she hardly knew across half of Europe?

  I’m a positive person, Connie thought. I’ll be all right. I’ll cope. And I’ve got The Box with me, to remind me of why I’m making this pilgrimage. If my grandmother, Maria, was alive surely she’d want me to do this, to visit her birthplace, to try to find out about her life before she came to Newcastle? She wondered if Maria’s parents had ever got over the shock of their daughter marrying a foreigner, leaving their shores and probably never seeing her again.

  And then there was the ring. It was a stunning topaz, a magnificent orange with pink undertones, set in a plain gold band. She’d taken the ring to a jeweller, as at first she hadn’t been entirely sure what the stone was. An imperial topaz, she was told, the best kind. Apparently the ancient Romans associated this gem with the sun god, giving it the power to protect and heal. And it was a November birthstone. Did Maria have a November birthday? Well, if she didn’t, Connie did!

  ‘There you are!’ Gill had reappeared. ‘Maggie’s just treated me to some perfume! And, guess what, we can see the coast of France!’

  Connie folded up her newspaper and her daydreams. ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Maggie’s gone to the loo, but she’ll be here in a minute. Oh, Connie, I’m beginning to feel really excited! We’re actually doing this!’

  ‘Yes, we’re actually doing it,’ Connie agreed with some feeling, as she viewed the French coast from the window alongside her chair.

  * * *

  Maggie sat inside the toilet cubicle and contemplated what she’d done. Now she needed time to herself, to reflect and to wonder how Ringer might be reacting. He was most likely going ballistic. She should spend as much of the money as possible, just in case he should come after them – although that was highly unlikely, because how would he know where they were going when she didn’t know herself! But Maggie had never had this kind of money to spend on herself before and she was going to enjoy every minute of it, although she was no fool and knew she had to hold enough back to make some kind of future for herself, because she certainly wouldn’t be returning to Ringer. There must be enough hidden away to make for some sort of escape. But, in the meantime, she’d stick with the scratch-card story and enjoy spending.

  It was good of Connie to let her come along and Maggie wanted to treat her. Gill, on the other hand, was a silly old boot, but harmless enough, and Maggie thought the biggest favour she could do for her was to try to persuade her to visit a hairdresser, probably in Paris. She’d treated Gill to some perfume to add to the collection of assorted cosmetics and treatments in the drawer beneath the lower bunk. She only hoped Gill didn’t snore.

  * * *

  It was none too warm but Gill decided to go back on deck to watch the rapidly approaching French coastline. She was the only one who seemed genuinely excited; there was Connie looking at her newspaper, and Maggie in the loo or somewhere when they should be out here, excited like her. This adventure had certainly got off to a good start, with Maggie treating her to that lovely bottle of Obsession. And tonight they’d be camping on French soil, which was another new experience. Gill had been to Malaga several times, but that was different. You got on a plane, looked down at the clouds for a couple of hours, and then you were there. Very nice it was too, but you didn’t see much in between. Now they were going to see every stone on the road and probably experience the French lifestyle! And then there was Italy, and all those good-looking, dapper men! She’d feel like the proverbial child let loose in the sweet shop! Quite different from your two-week package where the only people you met were other Brits, all looking for sunbeds and fish and chips.

  Gosh, she thought, I haven’t set foot in France yet and already I’m feeling this is where I’m meant to be!

  Six

  LA BELLE FRANCE

  Connie squinted against the late afternoon sun, gripping the steering wheel and concentrating hard on the road ahead. It was several years since she’d driven on t
he right and it took a bit of getting used to again, although it was definitely an advantage having a left-hand drive vehicle.

  ‘Keep right, Connie! Right-hand lane, over there!’ ordered Gill, the navigator, from her sea of assorted maps. The satnav lady was, in the meantime, doling out instructions in the background.

  ‘Inside? Outside? Nearside? Offside? I can never remember which is which at home, far less over here.’ Connie was beginning to feel stressed, hemmed in by the heavy crawl of traffic leaving the ferry at Le Havre. She’d feel more relaxed when the traffic thinned and she was on their chosen route which, hopefully, would get them somewhere to the east of Paris.

  ‘Get into that middle lane now!’ ordered Gill a little further on. As Connie obeyed, Gill asked, ‘What the hell is Maggie still doing back there?’

  ‘Goodness knows. Something’s definitely up with her. We’ll find out when we stop for the night, which’ll be soon, I hope. It’s been a long day.’

  ‘I wonder how much money she won on that scratch-card?’

  ‘I don’t know. But why would she be so peculiar about it, and why didn’t she tell us earlier?’

  ‘You’d have thought she’d have been bursting to tell us news like that; I know I would!’ Gill pointed towards the right. ‘There’s the sign for Paris off to the right! We’re heading the right way, yippee!’

  ‘Good navigating,’ said Connie.

  ‘Great satnav,’ said Gill.