Chapter 6 #2
It had been three days now and there was still no response, but Ken had told her about how remote some of the places Briony stayed in could be and she had no idea how good the mobile satellite Ken had described actually was.
He’d also said that the last time he and Donna had met up with Briony, she’d been staying on a tiny Scottish island called North Uist that Bex had never even heard of.
They’d flown up to Scotland, hired a car and then taken two separate ferry crossings to reach where she was staying.
When Bex had made a snarky remark about Briony needing to make the effort to meet them somewhere closer to home, Ken had placed his arm on her shoulder and explained in that gentle tone of his that visiting Briony always took them somewhere new and that they treated each visit like an adventure.
They didn’t want exotic holidays, just the chance to see their other daughter.
He’d gone on to explain that they’d been the ones to suggest they meet Briony in places she thought they might like to see.
After all, it wasn’t like she’d ever agree to come back to Cornwall, so they might as well get to travel somewhere new and exciting.
Bex hadn’t been able to argue with that, but it still rankled that her parents always danced to Briony’s tune, travelling the length of the country for the chance to spend a week with her.
The fact that she was still living a nomadic lifestyle in her mid-thirties with no responsibilities also irked Bex.
She knew it was unreasonable to feel that way, because it wasn’t the kind of lifestyle she’d ever wanted, but it just seemed typical of Briony to somehow exist outside the rules everyone else lived by.
She probably only checked her emails once in a blue moon too, but the waiting was killing Bex.
What terrified her most was that it might be killing their mother’s chances of a cure too.
Passing by the entrance to the campsite field, she glanced to the right.
Tristan had told her that Holly Day’s campervan was the dark green van conversion, with yellow daisies painted on the side and it would have been difficult to miss.
She glimpsed the woman standing outside it too.
She had her dark hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, huge oversized sunglasses, and casual dungarees that still somehow showed off the fact that she had an amazing figure.
She looked exactly how Bex might have expected an Instagram influencer celebrating the joys of van life to look, and she just hoped Holly would give them a favourable review.
The thought was almost as fleeting as the glance Bex had shot in her direction though.
She had far more important things to think about and she only had enough space in her head for so many worries.
Right now, all of them were focused on making sure her mum got well, regardless of what other trouble that might end up inviting into her life.
Holly watched Tristan cross the paddock towards her and she let go of a long sigh. When he knocked on the door, as she knew he inevitably would, she could always hide or pretend to be out. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d done something similar.
The last thing she’d intended was to become an ‘influencer’.
Documenting the various alternative lifestyles she had tried out over the years had been her way of processing how she felt about them and, if she was honest, it had helped combat some of the loneliness she often felt.
What she hadn’t expected, as her number of followers had taken off, first slowly and then with a pace she could never have imagined, was that she would end up with some pretty hardcore ‘fans’; a word she hated attributing to herself even more than the term influencer.
How could she have fans? Holly had been just an ordinary woman in her twenties when she’d started out.
She didn’t have any special talents, more was the pity.
All she’d done was embrace some alternative lifestyles and pick up some handy skills along the way, which had enabled her to do most of Woody’s conversion by herself.
Holly would have loved to have been an artist, or writer, or some other form of creative, as so many others in the van life community seemed to be.
She met other people who lived in vans partly because they were touring the country as performers or singers.
When she was younger, she’d harboured an ambition to be an actress, but it had just been a phase most kids went through in one form or another, not a serious dream that she put any real effort into pursuing once she’d left home.
She supposed she was an actress of sorts now though.
The image she presented online wasn’t nearly as carefully curated as many of the other social media influencers and she was unafraid of showing some aspects of van life that others shied away from, because a degree of realism was important to her, but her videos definitely only showed one side of who she was.
Her followers didn’t know the real Holly, they only thought they did.
She kept her working life and her personal life quite separate in many ways, and there was a lot that remained hidden on both sides of the equation.
Her parents had no interest in the online world and had no idea how successful she was, and the truth was, she was glad they thought social media was a waste of time, because she didn’t want them following her accounts or hearing the things she shared with the people who did.
They thought she made an income in online marketing, they just didn’t know that she was the product.
Her followers were just as ignorant about the details of her personal life.
She didn’t mention her parents, or any of the complex relationships within her family.
She’d spoken more generally about how family breakdown could contribute to embracing the kind of alternative lifestyle that made van life appealing, but none of her followers knew her background.
That didn’t stop them wanting to meet her and she’d been recognised far more frequently than she’d ever imagined possible.
It was why she’d ended up hiding in plain sight, under the duvet in her van, on more occasions than she wanted to recall, pretending not to be there when someone who recognised her came to visit, uninvited.
She didn’t mind having a chat if she was out and about with Merlin, her faithful companion for the past ten years, but she didn’t want people turning up at her home.
And that’s what Woody was, her home, every bit as much as if he’d been made of bricks and mortar.
He was also her safe haven, and she didn’t want strangers thinking they had the right to just turn up and hammer on her door until she let them in.
Tristan was different though. He wasn’t a stranger labouring under the false illusion that they were friends just because he’d watched her videos online.
He’d invited her to his farm because he knew that if she endorsed the campsite, it could be a game-changer for his new business.
He’d been totally upfront about that in his messages to her.
There’d been no uncomfortable sycophancy, or beating around the bush.
He’d asked her for a review in exchange for staying as long as she wanted to for free and it had been as simple as that.
It was why she’d known she was going to like him before they even met, and it was also why she wasn’t going to leap under her duvet now and pretend to be out, even though she wasn’t really in the mood for talking. Not even to Tristan.
‘Hi, I saw you crossing the field.’ Holly smiled as she pulled open the door, before he even got the chance to knock.
She found herself thinking how attractive that disarming smile of his was, changing not just the shape of his mouth but his eyes too.
Even if the lower half of his face had been completely covered, she’d have been able to tell that he was smiling, and she’d have suspected it was something that came easily to him.
That made her admire and envy him all at the same time.
‘I’m going down into Port Agnes and I just thought to myself, I wonder if Holly might like to come along?’ He laughed then, shaking his head. ‘It’s alright I don’t actually talk to myself out loud.’
‘Don’t you? I do.’ Holly laughed too, much to her surprise, her defences seeming to lower around Tristan all too easily.
It should probably have felt awkward or uncomfortable when she realised what she’d just confessed, but it didn’t.
‘That’s why I got Merlin, really. So I can pretend I’m talking to him and not myself, but I’ve done it ever since I was a kid.
My mum used to say I narrated my whole life out loud.
It’s probably why I ended up making videos of myself waffling on, so it felt like I was talking to someone else and not just myself.
Even Merlin usually opens one eye when I start, then shuts it and starts snoring again. ’
She gestured towards the coal-black dog, who was stretched out on the end of her bed snoring without a care in the world.
Some guard dog he’d make. He’d hadn’t even woken up when she’d opened the door to Tristan; their early morning walk through the woods and down to the coastal path having taken it out of him.
He wasn’t getting any younger, bless him.
‘Well, a lot of people are really glad you talk into a video camera these days. I was reading some of the comments under one of your posts and there are lots of people who say that watching your videos has got them through a really bad time in their lives.’