`You`re right,` she said, addressing her kindly companion. `I`ve got to stop catering for Tom in my mind, feeling guilty if I find myself doing anything he wouldn`t have liked, wanting still to do the things the way that pleased him. From now on, I`ve got to learn how to please myself.`
Determined not to be caught out again by the talkative couple in the caravan pitched next to hers, Sylvia set her alarm for half-past-six. Such an early start should ensure being able to use the wash-block without meeting anyone. With breakfast over by seven, she could leave the park the minute the gates were unlocked, though it would be just as well to avoid bumping into the warden. Before that happened, she needed to be sure where her next pitch would be.
Wincing at the noise the car made in starting, Sylvia drove towards the exit, keeping an eye open for the warden -- Best to keep well back till he`s not actually looking at me. Luck was with her this morning. At the entrance to the site, a car and caravan were waiting for admission. The warden, busy unlocking the gate and leading the newly-arrived campers to the office, did not even glance round as Sylvia drove off. Don`t race, she reminded herself -- speeding away will make him look-- just go slow.
The huge sigh of relief she let out as she reached the road made her aware of just how tense she had been. I can`t go on like this, or I`ll wear myself out -- I`ve got to find some place where I`m not under other folks` eyes all the time. Perhaps her day might be usefully spent in trying to find some location where the caravan could pitch unseen – and free of charge – after dark.
On the road towards Hexham she spotted a possibility – a closed-down petrol station. If she pulled in behind it, could she remain there unseen all night? The terrain looked promising, only open fields backing on to the rear of the building, but she would need to be careful not to show any lights. The trees did not entirely screen the farmhouse away to the left, and that view could work both ways. Still, this place was definitely worth a try. Making a note of exactly where she had found it, she set off prospecting again. It would be as well to select several locations, in case any of them turned out to be unsuitable.
In Hexham she made an impulse-purchase, her eye caught by a grotesquely-enormous teddy-bear in the window of a charity-shop. Too big to be a toy, it had possibly been part of some promotional advertising-display, but its sheer size suggested another use. I could dress that up in Tom`s old anorak, she thought -- at a distance, it might look as if there`s two of us in the car, so the wardens won`t get suspicious at seeing me on my own all the time. The idea was so monumentally silly that she could barely keep a straight face as she paid for the bear -- if anybody does look close, they`ll send for the Men in White Coats, and take me away.
She experimented on the drive back to WaterMeadows, perching the bear on two rolled-up rugs from the boot of the car, and securing him in place with the seat-belt. There you are, Thomas , she told him – yes, that`s what I`ll call you, Thomas. Perched alongside her, its mouth upturned in an inane grin, the creature looked even sillier than she had expected, reducing her to helpless laughter as she released the belt to push Thomas to the floor and out of sight -- I`ll never get away with passing him off as a person in a million years.
At about eleven-thirty she reached WaterMeadows. The warden waved from his cabin as she drove in, but made no enquiries as to why she was alone. Her inconvenient neighbours were most likely out for the day, leaving a couple of wet swimsuits and towels dancing from a washing-line strung between their caravan and a tree. They would be in trouble if the warden noticed what they had done.
Sylvia hooked-up her caravan quickly, and looked once more at the bear lying in the passenger-footwell of the car. Even with the anorak-hood pulled well forward, the likelihood of his passing for a human being appeared remote. But as she was leaving the site, it no longer mattered if the warden doubted her sanity. She strapped Thomas into place again, complete with anorak and rugs, and pulled away, glad nobody was close enough to look closely at her companion. As she passed Reception, the warden looked out. Determined to keep up appearances until the very last minute, she waved to him and he waved back, without the slightest sign of a double-take. Thomas must not look too outlandish at a distance, after all.
It had never struck her how few lay-bys there were on the rural roads of Northumberland. To make matters worse, a dithering car-driver travelling at slow speed continually baulked her efforts to overtake him, so that she was glad when he finally turned off down a farm-track. Although experienced at towing, she often found overtaking cars an unwelcome trial. Their drivers rarely seemed to understand that she had problems they did not share – for most of them, caravans were a nuisance to be endured with varying degrees of displeasure.
Coping with lorries was much easier. Although they created a powerful slipstream-effect when overtaking, they generally proved much more helpful when the boot was on the other foot. With a very few rogue exceptions, their drivers knew the overtaking light-drill, and used it. (Travelling behind the lorry, set right-hand indicator and flash headlamps, the lorry-driver switches-on his left-hand indicators to show he`s not going to pull out. Then you can make your run.) On catching sight of the driver`s headlamp-flash in her wing mirror when the caravan was far enough ahead to be clear of the lorry, she would complete the courtesy by flickering her left-hand indicator as she pulled-in again, happy in the cameraderie of the highway.
Today, unable to use official picnic-areas, she was reduced to pulling into the car park at Steel Rigg. `Will it be all right if I leave the van here for an hour or two, while I walk part of the Wall?`
`It`s not allowed,` the stern-looking woman behind the counter stated.
Sylvia adopted the wheedling tone she so much hated in others. `I wouldn`t ask, only we`re going home today, and I won`t get another chance. The rest of the folks I`m with didn`t want to do the walk, and so far I`ve fallen in with everything else they wanted. But being round here on holiday, and not visiting the Roman Wall`s like going to London and not seeing Buckingham Palace, isn`t it?`
Eventually the staff decided it would be all right if she parked the car in one bay and the van in another. `Thanks,` she said, not feeling at all grateful. It would mean unhitching, re-hitching and paying for two parking-bays, but at least she would not have to drive around all day, wagging her cumbersome tail behind her.
`It`s got to be gone before night, mind, or it`ll be towed-away,` they impressed upon her, With a secretive eye on the abandoned filling-station, Sylvia could offer that reassurance confidently.
`It`s okay. I`ll be gone long before then.` Removing Thomas from his place of honour in the front-seat, she pushed him into the rear foot-well, face-downwards and covered by rugs, to await the next occasion on which he might prove useful.
SEVEN
The day was warm and cloudless as Sylvia strolled along the path following the line of the Roman Wall. The tension of driving slipped away, replaced by tranquillity she remembered from the days when she had managed to nag an unwilling Tom into rambling in the country. Had he still been alive, she would probably not have been walking today.
Thinking of him reminded her of the problems his demise had caused, bringing recriminations impossible to push away. Why`ve you left me all on my own, Tom? -- we should be here together, enjoying the peace and quiet and the sunshine, like we used to do -- I could`ve made sandwiches, and we`d have eaten them beside the river, and sat there till it was time to go home.
`Fine day, missus.` Startled, she looked up to see a couple of walkers coming the other way, smiles on their faces. She liked encountering the walking-fraternity -- they always seemed so cheerful and relaxed, as if the peace of the moors and hills somehow became part of their souls, through the hours they spent amid the silence.
`Yes, it is. Have you been far?`
`Walked over from Birdoswald, making for Hexham.`
The trek they had described was no easy option. `You must`ve kicked-off early.`
The two sun-kissed faces beamed expansively. `Sta
rted out at seven,` the young man said, squeezing the girl`s hand on which the bright glint of an engagement-ring caught Sylvia`s eye, reminding her poignantly of herself and Tom in those long-gone early days of love -- where and how did we lose those tender feelings?
To help herself fight despair never far below the surface, she pursued the conversation. `Will it take you long to get down to Hexham from here?`
The couple thought for a moment before the girl answered. `About another two hours.`
Her fiance laughed indulgently. `About midnight, if she dawdles any more than-what she`s doing. Give her a shove, missus.`
Joining in their mirth, Sylvia felt suddenly elated. `You never know your luck. You might even make-it before dark. It`s nearly all downhill from here.` The company of the two young people full of hope for the future was just what she needed.
`Where are you making for?` the girl asked, and Sylvia shrugged.
`Nowhere special. Just killing time, really. I`m not an experienced walker, but I`m tired of driving, and I felt like stretching my legs.`
The young man looked at the sky. `You could most likely get as far as Once-Brewed before you need turn back. There`s a visitor-centre there, and the bus-stop.`
`Thanks.` She watched them stride away, hand in hand, wishing she dared to take-up their suggestion. But with no map, and unsuitable shoes, it would be unwise to embark on the journey for fear of becoming stranded in the middle of nowhere if darkness or foul weather came. She might try the walk another day, when she had more time before sunset, she decided, retracing her steps towards the car-park.
She drove uneventfully to the closed-down filling-station, halted by the roadside to check that there were no other vehicles in view, pulled-in swiftly behind the buildings and switched off the engine. The sudden silence was almost eerie, and she sat for a long time, unwilling to get out of the car -- if anybody comes, I can always say I`m having a rest -- if I`m in the van, I couldn`t prove I wasn`t pitching here.
But eventually, hunger overcame nervousness. I can`t sit in the car for ever -- if anybody comes, I`ll just say I pulled in to make a meal -- why am I behind the buildings, though? Trying to invent a plausible explanation occupied her mind to the exclusion of all other thoughts as she transferred herself – and Thomas – into the caravan and prepared a huge fry-up of bacon, sausage, mushrooms, tomatoes, egg and fried bread. `You`ll go off bang!` she scolded herself, smiling at the memory of how she had teased her daughters with the same ridiculous threat in their childhood years.
Replete at last, she washed up, then lay back peacefully on one of the long cushions, her head resting on Thomas`s stomach. It had been a good day. Had those two young people got to Hexham all right, she wondered -- they looked so happy -- Dear God, let them be happy for always. The depth of her feelings about a pair of complete strangers surprised her. She had not prayed with deep sincerity since long before Tom died.
When darkness fell, she drew the curtains carefully, making sure that not even the smallest chink of light showed outside. There would doubtless be some penalty for fly-pitching, and she could not afford to be fined. But somehow, staying in this isolated place was no longer so appealing -- On a site, there`s always people around, even if you never meet them -- what would I do out here if anything went wrong? -- if somebody tries to break in, I`m too far from that farmhouse for them to notice if I was attacked.
To fend off such morbid thoughts, she recommenced the task of sorting through Tom`s papers. This latest box looked promising, for the first thing she found was the address-book that one of Patty`s children had given him several birthdays ago. But apart from the phone-numbers of several former neighbours and a list of supplies needed for the office Christmas party, the pages were blank and she cast it aside - they might as well have saved the money they spent on that -- I hope the rest of this stuff`s more interesting.
Several exercise-books each filled with more notes for "Fresh Aspects of Egyptology". Tom had long talked about writing his book , but never got further than rough drafts, and now it was too late. Guide-books for resorts they had visited. What seemed to be every birthday card she had ever sent him, making her feel guilty for not keeping those he had sent her. A scrapbook of cuttings from the local newspaper about events at the museum -- damn the pigging Museum! -- who cares about the sodding stinking stupid bloody museum? – where`s the info about Daniel Franks and the Harland Venture?
Too irritated to continue, she bundled the documents and scrapbook back into the box and dumped it in the washroom. Tomorrow she would sling the whole lot into the first rubbish-bin big enough to hold it. For the moment, a good night`s rest was what she needed. She pulled out the sleeping bag and shuffled inside it, aware of how Tom`s presence had always made her feel safe in lonely places - just another one of those things you don`t realise you`ve got till it`s gone - I miss you, Tom, I really miss you.
Turning over restlessly, she felt the bulk of Thomas`s furry body pressing against the covers. On impulse, she unzipped the sleeping-bag far enough to pull him inside -- I`ve given you a home, bear, so make yourself useful – look after me.
To Sylvia`s relief, nobody appeared to notice the caravan`s presence in the abandoned filling-station. The night passed without disturbance, and having breakfasted, she set out on her travels again. Where to now?-- I can`t just keep driving round Northumberland in ever-decreasing circles - it might be nice to see the Lake District again, before winter comes.
That thought raised uncomfortable possibilities. Within a few weeks the majority of touring-sites would close down until Easter. Then where would she pitch at night? Although the petrol-station had been a happy find, parking there regularly would be courting disaster – someone was bound to ask questions eventually.
She had the opportunity to put her luck to the test that very night, for the onset of darkness found her nowhere near any official site, and travelling in the wrong direction along the M.6. Through tiredness, she had taken the wrong turning on to it, and the Scottish border grew ever nearer as she fought the urge to sleep. She must find an exit and take it, whether there was an official car-park or not.
A mile or two ahead she found what she sought, and left the motorway without signalling - by the time she had worked out what she should have done, it was too late to do it. Entering the outbound slip-road, she felt momentary panic, unable to decide whereabouts on the carriageway she was. Below her, a rumbling sound and the cold red glitter of cats-eyes vanishing under the car brought the realisation that she was travelling half on the roadway and half on the hard-shoulder, a terrifying lapse of judgement showing how dangerously tired she was. Time to get off the road as a matter of urgency.
When the next Parking sign appeared, she followed it and at once realised that, by lucky chance, she had chosen one of the giant lay-bys formed from a cut-off loop of the old road. At this time of night the place was deserted except for one heavy-lorry near the exit. Even as Sylvia brought her car to a standstill, the engine of the truck revved and the vehicle pulled away, leaving her alone in the vibrant silence of night. I don`t care whether the Police catch me here or not, she decided -- if I go any further, I`ll get into an accident. This time she did not go through the familiar nervous rigmarole of psyching herself up to leave the car -- if the Mad Axeman gets me, he gets me - who sodding-well cares anyway?
The journey did not end with locking up the car, however. As soon as she lay back on the cushions and closed her eyes, the dark unforgiving skein of motorway unrolled smoothly before her like an endless black carpet between shadowy embankments, the cats-eyes blinking wickedly, red, green, orange in the light of phantom headlamps, making night hardly more restful than day. Once more, in an effort to find comfort, she turned to Thomas`s furry presence and inane grin. Somehow his companionship, though useless, was enough to let her relax and sleep.
The night passed undisturbed. Screened behind a thick hedge of shrubs, the caravan had escaped the notice of any passing police-patrols . Thanks to Thomas
, she had slept well and it seemed ungrateful to consign him to the car-boot. She propped him up on the seat-cushion opposite where she sat to eat breakfast, returning his silly grin with a smile of her own.
As she cleared away the used crockery, she viewed the future realistically -- I can`t keep riding my luck like this - sooner or later, I`m going to be caught fly-camping, and I`ll get fined. Half of her brain reminded her that if she meant to continue living on the roads like a gypsy, she could not afford to pay site-fees. The other, more sensible half pointed out that even the most expensive pitch would work out a lot cheaper than a court-appearance and fine.
Over the next few nights she pitched on a variety of illegal sites, ever alert for the sound of police-cars. Abandoned farm-buildings among which the van was invisible from the road gave her two nights of shelter, brought to an abrupt end by the arrival of the landowner, demanding to know what she was doing there.
`I got tired, so I thought I`d pull in here for the night,` she lied, hoping to get away with it .
`You did not. I only seen you late-on yesterday and – like you say – I thought One Night Won`t Do Any Harm. But one of my men told me you were here the night before when he went home from the pub. I`ve got no license for caravans on my land, and I want you out of here, now, before I fetch the Police.`
`I was going anyway.` To make sure that happened, he stood watching until she had pulled away. In her rear-view mirror she saw him forcing the gate shut and wedging it with planks of wood to prevent her from coming back.
Her next three nights were spent in the late-arrival areas of licensed sites, with the alarm-clock set for six in the morning, to give her time to escape before the staff came on duty. As it happened, the alarm was hardly necessary – constantly worried about being caught, she slept badly and spent most of the daylight-hours parked in lay-bys, dozing fitfully. I`ve got to get a decent night`s sleep, or I`ll make myself ill, she told herself -- pull yourself together, Sylvia Brandon -- you`ve got to get more groceries today, and money from the cashpoint. She would travel in the general direction of Manchester – in the smaller towns round about the city there must be supermarkets in abundance.
A Long Road Through The Night Page 8
