Chapter 15
Seven hours later, we have crawled out of the Midlands and are finally firmly in the north of England.
The motorways have brutalised their way through vast swathes of the country, leading us up through Somerset, past Bristol, through a variety of different Shires, ever onward and upward; we have passed forests and cities and lakes, and our eyes have feasted upon seemingly infinite stretches of endless grey tarmac.
We have stopped at service stations for snacks, and pulled over onto lay-bys for emergency wees, and made numerous stops because poor Eleanor felt sick. We have played every kind of car-spotting game imaginable, and battled our way through too many rounds of I-Spy. We have sung along to Rose’s Disney song playlist, and challenged each other to quizzes we found on our phones. We had to abandon one on Marvel movies when Alfie and Hugh actually come to blows about who said “Nebula” first, Lyssa won first prize for Friends trivia, and I discovered that Josh knows way too much about European football clubs.
In short, we have done what grown-ups always do on long journeys with children – tried to distract them, and ourselves, from the peculiar combination of boredom and terror that is motorway driving.
I’ve offered to take a shift, as has Lyssa – though I don’t really think she meant it – but Josh has refused, as you need some kind of special thing on your driving licence to be at the wheel of the Starshine Express, and he already has it due to driving kids on school trips.
Now, we have passed signs for Liverpool, journeyed through Lancashire, and have most definitely broken the back of the journey. I am sitting up in the front of the bus with Josh, partly to help with navigating and partly just to chat to him. He’s had plenty of breaks and plenty of coffee, but it’s not easy being in the driver’s seat for this long, no matter how sensible you are.
I realise that gradually, almost without me noticing, things have become less fractious in the back – in fact the new silence is a little unnerving. I crane my neck around to see properly behind me, and I have to smile. Every single one of them is out for the count. Eleanor is in her car seat, blonde hair tumbling over her face as she snoozes. Lyssa is next to her, asleep but twitchy, her eyes rolling beneath her closed lids. The twins were separated after their Marvel bust-up, and are now sitting at opposite ends of the vehicle, both snoring away. And my baby is on the back seat, headphones on, head lolling to one side but so still I can tell from years of looking that she is asleep.
I smile, and rub my sore neck, and really wish I could have a little power nap myself. My eyes are stinging, and every time I blink it seems to last a fraction of a second longer than it should. If I’m not careful I’ll be displaying my hypnic jerks in front of an audience.
“Everyone’s in the land of nod,” I say, as Josh settles back into the slow lane after over-taking a horse box. “Various stages of drool are involved.”
I see him glance in the mirror, and grin at the sight.
“Peace at last,” he says, taking one hand at a time off the wheel and flexing his fingers in and out of fists.
“Do you want to stop for another break?” I ask. “There are some services up ahead. We could get Krispy Kreme doughnuts and buy inflatable neck cushions.”
“Didn’t we do that at the last services?”
“Oh yeah. We did. But we could still stop. Maybe there’ll be different flavour Krispy Kremes?”
“Nah, I’m okay. We’re not too far away now, so let’s push on through. What was the thing Rose was doing with Lyssa’s phone before we set off, by the way?”
“Oh. Well, I’m not totally sure of the technicalities, but apparently there are ways to turn off bits of your phone that share your location, and also store records of everywhere you’ve been. Scary stuff, assuming you ever go anywhere interesting. It only took her about three minutes’ worth of swiping, and she seemed to know way too much about it.”
“Teenagers specialise in counter-surveillance techniques.”
“Yup – not that I’d ever dream of tracking where she is via her phone. Mainly because I didn’t know I could, other than that thing you do when you’ve lost it. But apparently yes, it can also be set up so someone else can see where you are all the time.”
“And that someone would be Lyssa’s husband? The one she’s trying to get away from?”
“Yeah. He will have had it set up like that from day one, I’m sure, so he could check on her if he wanted to. And Rose says there are still other ways, apps and the like, but we’re not sure exactly what he has installed on the phone – but she’s done her best. I hate that she’s even involved to be honest.”
“She doesn’t seem too disturbed,” Josh replies, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead even as he chats. I like that about him – I always get really anxious in TV shows when people keep turning to look at each other while they drive. I have on occasion been known to scream “WATCH THE ROAD YOU IDIOT!” during especially long scenes of dialogue.
“No, she doesn’t… but you can’t always tell what’s going on beneath the surface, can you? Not with teenagers.”
“Not with anyone,” he says emphatically. “Me, you, anyone. We’ve all got our complications. So… please feel free to tell me it’s none of my business, but I’m guessing that Lyssa isn’t doing this because she’s in a happy marriage? What’s the deal with this guy Robert?”
“Ha! That’s a big question. But as you’re spending a whole day of your alleged holiday driving a bunch of near-strangers halfway across the country, I think you’ve earned a few answers…”
I pause, and fiddle unnecessarily with my ponytail, and buy myself a few seconds to construct a reply.
“He’s not a good man,” I say eventually. “He’s what the modern world would call a coercive controller, though I don’t think there was a handy name for it when I first met him. He’s… well, Priya says he’s got some kind of narcissistic personality thing, and that sounds about right. He works his way into your life, and then he takes it over. It started with small things – little comments about stuff like my clothes being too revealing, or telling me my favourite colours didn’t suit me. Asking me questions about work as though he was interested, and then using everything I’d told him against me – like, if I’d had a tricky case in the surgery, he’d somehow imply that I’d made a mistake, and would probably keep making them… undermining me, I suppose, to the point where I was constantly asking my supervisors for advice and came across as a complete idiot. Vicious circle.
“With me, and Lyssa, he found ways to isolate us from our family and friends. He took over all the day-to-day stuff like finances, to make life ‘easier’ for us. And he always seemed so genuine, so committed to my wellbeing, that I let it sneak past my instincts. Every time I objected to something, he’d be so hurt, so offended, that I’d end up not only apologising, but voluntarily giving him everything he wanted and more. He… he somehow had a way of making me complicit in it. Of making me a partner in what he was doing. That’s what really messed me up, I think – the head games. The constant second guessing myself. It wasn’t abuse like you see on screen – no black eyes or trips to AE – but I see now it was still abuse, even if he wasn’t violent.”
I trail off as I finish the sentence, realising that this is probably the most I have discussed it with anyone – and wondering if that might be quite an unhealthy thing. Maybe I need to. Maybe I need to purge it rather than bury it.
“You say he wasn’t violent,” Josh answers, his voice steady but his face stern, his knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel way too hard, “but he was. Maybe not with his hands, Lucy, but with his words. With his actions. With the way he made you feel about yourself. That kind of violence doesn’t show up on X-rays, but it’s still there. It still scars. How long were you with him?”
“A lifetime, it felt like. I managed to leave when Rose was six, but only because he’d met Lyssa. She feels guilty about the affair, but I just saw it as an escape route. Seeing her now, the things he’s been doing to her… he likes confining people. He does this thing where he holds you still, or up against a wall, or traps you so your arms are crushed and you can’t move. And he has a room he puts her in, where he locks the door and leaves her. He did the same to me, and it’s… well, it’s bad. And I’m not sure I can say anything more to be honest. I’m not trying to be evasive, it’s just upsetting. I’m sorry.”
He surprises me by taking one hand off the wheel, and reaching for mine. He squeezes my fingers gently, and says: “Don’t apologise. Don’t talk about anything you don’t want to. Just know that I’m on your side.”
It is a simple but surprisingly sweet thing to say, and I realise that it is just right. As he moves his hand away from mine, I realise that I feel less alone. That I feel safer, warmer… better.
I can see from the look on his face, the slight flare to his nostrils, that what I’ve told him has also made him angry. I’ve never wanted to be a damsel in distress, and what I’ve been through has left me firmly convinced that it’s always a good idea to rescue yourself rather than rely on someone else to do it for you, but there is part of me that responds to his fury. Part of me that wonders what it would be like to be protected by a man like this, to see Robert confronted by someone who would see him for the worm he is. To trust a man enough to let him become an ally, when all I’ve experienced is the opposite.
I turn away and stare out of the window. It is raining, a sudden and vicious shower, the glass streaked by the downpour, glimpses of nothing but concrete and metal beyond – but even that is better than looking at Josh. Than thinking about something I can never have.
We are both silent for a while, turning over our thoughts, occasionally smiling at an especially ferocious snort from a sleeping ten-year-old boy. When one of them also lets out a rip-roaring fart as well, we both laugh out loud – it’s impossible not to, because few things in life are funnier than unexpected farts. This is simply a fact.
It is enough to burst the small, serious bubble that I had been building around myself, and to reset the mood a little.
The rain stops just as abruptly as it started, and leaves behind glorious spring sunshine. The road is now snaking its way through some magnificent scenery, moving from the urban sprawl to the wildness of the countryside. We are surrounded by lush green hills dotted with sheep, by winding rivers glimpsed through woods, by the sight of steepled churches in the distance. There is still traffic, but it feels less intense, less of a constant near-death challenge.
“This is nice,” I say, gazing out of the windscreen. “Pretty. And thank you – for this, and for what you said. About being on my side.”
“You’re welcome. I can’t tell you how much I detest men who bully women. Or anyone, obviously. I’m so sorry you went through that, and I really admire you for… surviving it. Raising Rose so well. Being the kind of person who is strong enough to help others. You kind of rock, Lucy.”
That makes me grin, and I reply: “You’re not so shabby yourself, sir. Enough of my tragic backstory, anyway – what about you?”
“What’s my tragic backstory?”
“Well, I really hope you don’t have one of those, but everyone has a history. Tell me something about yours so I don’t feel like such a freak.”
“Right. Well, when I was thirteen, I asked Charlotte Lewis out to the school Christmas disco, but I got there late because I stopped at the garage to buy her some flowers. My mum always said flowers were romantic so I thought it was what men do on dates. When I walked in, though, she was snogging my best friend Damon on the dance floor in front of everyone. To Un-Break My Heart by Toni Braxton. That was my first heartbreak. I still cry uncontrollably every time I hear it.”
“Oh no!” I reply, clasping my hands to my cheeks in mock horror. “That’s awful! What else?”
“Well, when I was eighteen, I had a crush on a girl called Ellie Clark, who was in Jake’s year at uni. She was a mysterious older woman, and I decided I needed to be more sophisticated to stand a chance with her. For some reason the way I chose to do that was by recording a video of myself singing a song dedicated to her, and posting it on my MySpace page.”
“What was it? The song?”
“Kiss from a Rose by Seal. It was really, really bad. It also didn’t work, and apparently she just laughed her arse off at me. So that’s another song I can’t hear without crying uncontrollably.”
I am laughing so much by this stage that I’m struggling to breathe – the image of poor teenaged Josh getting his heart repeatedly mangled is way funnier than it should be. I think it’s because he’s so put together now, it feels even more unbelievable.
“Is there more?” I ask.
“Well, I once did a karaoke version of I Want It That Way by the Backstreet Boys, complete with all the dance moves, purely to impress a girl I’d seen at the bar.”
“And did that one end in disaster as well?”
He gives me a wicked grin, and says: “Nah. That one worked, man – girls are suckers for that stuff! And by that stage, I’d kind of grown into myself. I was this height from about sixteen, but a complete beanpole then – seriously, if I turned sideways, I disappeared. But by the time I was in my twenties, the rest of me caught up, and I discovered the gym, and I started to channel my inner Joey from Friends. How you doing?”
It’s a pretty decent impression, and it’s not hard to imagine exactly how easy it was for him to charm the ladies – with or without the assistance of the Backstreet Boys. I still remember how flattered I felt when I – or Amelia – first met him at Dublin Airport, the way his combination of good looks and easy charm flustered me.
“So was that the start of your playboy era?” I ask. “And if so, did it ever end?”
“It was, and it did,” he says, glancing at the map screen as he drives, preparing to turn off at our motorway junction. “I was engaged, actually. Until about two years ago.”
“What happened? And same applies – feel free to tell me it’s none of my business.”
He flicks on the indicators and takes the exit, and once we’re in the right lane, replies: “It’s complicated, as these things always are. But I met Anna while I lived in New York, back when I was still managing some of Jake’s business. He’d moved to Starshine by then, but there was still plenty for me to do.
“Anna was… well, she was like nobody else I’d ever known, and I fell for her hard. Totally and utterly smitten, love at first sight for both of us. And if I’d stayed, maybe things would have worked out differently, who knows? But I knew I wanted to come home, knew my heart wasn’t in the business, that I needed to change things. So, I ended up telling her I was planning to leave and asking her to marry me on the same night. Looking back, I don’t know why she even said yes…”
“Maybe because she loved you?”
“I’d like to think it was that, but if it was, it faded quickly. I moved back to the UK, and she stayed in the US, which I totally understood – she had her career to think about, and needed to make plans, and I knew it wasn’t an easy thing for her. I knew my own mum had struggled when she moved to a new country, so I didn’t want to pressurise her – we agreed that she’d come in six months. For a while, we managed long distance – she visited me, I went to her, I suppose it was all quite romantic in its own way. We spoke every day, and even though I missed her, I felt like it was working – and I knew she’d be with me before long.”
I am, of course, getting the feeling that this story isn’t going to have a happy ending – unless I know Josh even less than I think I do, and he’s been secretly married this whole time.
“Then on one of my visits to her, she told me she was pregnant,” he continues, his tone brusque and businesslike, as though it’s the only way he can tell this story. “And I was delighted. We’d never planned it, but I was thrilled – couldn’t wait to be a dad. I came back here, and completely threw myself into it – I’d made plenty of money being in business with Jake, and I’d bought a nice house in Notting Hill. I started painting a nursery, and I swapped my much-loved but very impractical Mazda two-seater convertible for a Volvo, and I told my dad and Jake all about it. You have never seen a happier reformed playboy in your life.”
“Until?” I ask. “What happened?”
“She had a sudden attack of conscience. Turned up on the doorstep and told me she’d been having an affair. Apparently she’d met someone new not long after I’d left for London, but she didn’t think it was going to turn into anything serious – not serious enough to end things with me anyway. So all that time, while I was living here and staying faithful and looking forward to her joining me and us building a life together, she was seeing this other guy. Her fling.”
“Yikes. That’s terrible. She must have been crazy to mess it all up!”
He smiles, and says: “I know, right? I was quite the catch. Except maybe Josh the unemployed guy in England – I was doing my teacher training then – wasn’t as attractive as Josh the high-flying business guy in New York.”
“So, what, she wanted to keep her options open, and see both of you?”
“That’s about it. She had the best of both worlds – her fiancé on the other side of the globe, and the guy she was having fun with on the doorstep. Except she did fall pregnant – that bit was true. The bit that was a lie was me being the father. I think she panicked – the new boyfriend didn’t react well when she told him, so she decided to try and make a go of it with me. I suppose I might have realised the dates were off once the baby was born – we weren’t having sex that often, the Atlantic Ocean is a pretty effective contraceptive – but maybe I wouldn’t. I don’t know, and I didn’t need to find out, because eventually she told me – the baby wasn’t mine, and our whole engagement was a joke. Not the happiest of times for me, as you can imagine. I think it was even worse than Charlotte Lewis at the Christmas disco.”
I shake my head, amazed at the whole sorry tale. It suddenly becomes much clearer to me why he declared so very vehemently that he hated liars. My innocent little turn as Amelia must have been a nasty reminder of another woman with a New York connection who also lied to him.
“And… how about now?” I ask tentatively. “Have you met anyone else?”
We are now driving along an A-road that seems to be winding through endless woodland, and I keep getting little flashes of water in the gaps between the trees. Every now and then, when there’s a clearing, a lake appears as if by magic, dazzling in reflected sunlight. It’s very, very gorgeous indeed.
“I’ve met quite a few someone elses,” he answers, “but nothing serious. I’m not exactly Mr Trusting, you know?”
“Yeah. I know what you mean. Maybe, Josh, the two of us are just really bad judges of character?”
“I suppose that’s possible. But I really like you, so what does that mean?”
“Gosh, I don’t know – maybe that I’m a dickhead?”
He nods, looking serious, and replies: “Just my type! Except you’re not – a dickhead, I mean. It’s hard, when someone has hurt you this badly, to ever imagine a time when you won’t be in pain from it. Hard to imagine a time you might ever trust anyone again. Personally, I just cling on to the hope that I will – that nothing lasts forever. That everyone is different. That I am not Robert, you are not Anna. That one bad experience should not condemn the whole human race.”
I nod. It is a good theory, and maybe one day it will work for me too.
“Anyway,” he announces, “that got heavy. I think maybe we’re in the Lake District now.”
“Was it the sign that said Lake District National Park that gave it away, or the giant lakes themselves?”
“Bit of a combo. It’s really lovely isn’t it?”
I nod, glancing out of the window. We are driving on a quiet road that seems to run directly alongside Lake Windermere, forested hills on one side of us, and a glorious expanse of water on the other. I spot people on paddleboards, and a big steam-powered boat chugging along full of visitors. In the middle of the lake there’s a solitary island, a few trees standing proud against the skyline.
“Beautiful. It all looks so clean and fresh.”
I look behind at our sleepy travelling companions, and decide that I should probably wake them up. We’re not far from Lyssa’s family home, and she’ll probably appreciate a few minutes’ warning. I have a word with Josh, and he parks us up near to Ambleside village. I see the look of relief on his face as he turns off the engine, and suspect he’ll be the most pleased of all of us to end this journey.
I gently wake up Lyssa, keeping my distance so I don’t startle her, and she blinks at me in confusion for a few seconds as she gets her bearings. She looks out of the window, sees where we are, and murmurs “Oh,” with her hands covering her mouth. She seems both pleased and worried, which is an easy multi-task option for a woman in her position.
She thanks me, and nudges Eleanor awake as well. Within a couple of minutes everyone is up and stretching and yawning, and we traipse off the minibus in a flurry of arms being shoved into jackets, backpacks being hoisted onto shoulders and requests being made for food, drink and toilets.
It’s a wonderful spot, with a path that promenades along the edge of the lake, grassed areas where people are lounging and eating picnics, and lots of cute little ice cream shops and cafés. A big Victorian hostel sits on the lake front, complete with a bar and restaurant that will meet all of our requirements. Right in front of it is a wooden jetty stretching out into the glistening water, a few brave souls taking a running jump from the end of it, splash landing in the lake.
We find a table, place orders, and Rose takes the children off for a paddle, their socks and shoes abandoned on the grass. I laugh as Eleanor takes very tentative steps into what will still be pretty cold water at this time of year, and the boys roll up their joggers to their knees and wade right in regardless.
“I’d forgotten how lovely it is,” says Lyssa, gazing at her kids. “What a fantastic place it was to grow up.”
“I can imagine,” I reply. I grew up in an urban jungle in London, which wasn’t as pretty, but most definitely had a lot of scope for adventure. “I’m sure they’ll love it. How far are we from your parents’ place?”
“Well,” she says, sipping her orange juice, “assuming they haven’t moved or anything outrageous like that, it’s about a fifteen-minute drive from here, just up near Grasmere. This was the perfect place to stop, so nobody turns up hungry or restless. The kids can blow off some steam, and I can… I don’t know, panic quietly in the background maybe?”
I reach out and place my hand over hers in reassurance.
“It’s going to be fine. Whatever happens, it’s going to be fine.”
She nods abruptly, and I can see she is struggling – facing up to her new reality. She has no money, no possessions, no car. She is pregnant, and the now-single mum to three young children. She is on the run from her husband, and heading to a family she is unsure of, looking for help. Who wouldn’t be struggling?
“It is,” she says firmly, as though trying to convince herself. “Now, I’m just going to go and call Robert from somewhere quiet – time to put in my Oscar-winning performance to convince him everything is completely normal on the home front!”
Josh watches her leave, a sad expression on his face.
“It’s not going to be easy, is it?” he says, shaking his head. “Even if her parents take her back, she’s going to have to look at divorce, and sorting out her finances, and maybe going through some kind of custody battle. I’m guessing from what you’ve said that he’s not the kind of man to let this go easily.”
“No,” I reply bitterly. “He is not. He’ll see it as an affront, a challenge. He’ll fight her every step of the way just for the hell of it. But there’s only so much we can do for her, Josh – the rest she’s going to have to figure out for herself.”
He turns this over in his mind, then asks: “If she ends up in court, though… and she tells them what she’s been through? Surely that will go in her favour. Especially if she’s not the only one saying it.”
My eyes widen as I realise what he means. That is a scenario that I have never even considered, and I am shocked and disappointed to realise that my first, instinctive reaction is a big fat “no way”. The thought of being dragged into a fight against Robert makes me feel physically nauseous, even though I know he can no longer harm me. Even though I know it might help Lyssa and her children.
I stare down at my coffee, not wanting to meet Josh’s eyes. I feel ashamed of myself and don’t want to face him – or me, but I’m harder to avoid.
“Who knows?” I murmur. “That’s a way off, isn’t it? Let’s concentrate on the next step for now. Just nipping to the loo.”
I stand up quickly, and head to the toilets. I’ve already been, but I need to be alone for a few moments. I lock myself in a cubicle, and bury my face in my sweatshirt while I let out a few frustrated sobs. I hate that I’m hiding. I hate that I’m crying. I hate everything about the way this is affecting me.
I know myself well enough to understand that I have to let some of this out, have to let the anxiety flow over me instead of trying to dam it up like a river that will eventually burst its banks. So I stay there for a few more minutes, listening out for signs of other people coming in and flushing the loo when I notice them, just so nobody can overhear me and ask if I’m okay.
Eventually I calm myself, come out and splash my face with fresh water. I take a quick walk in the fresh air to give my eyes the chance to settle. I see that Rose and the children have gone back to the table for the freshly arrived food, and join them all – nobody will be looking at me while there are baskets of chips on offer, I reckon.
Nobody except Josh, I realise, as I take a seat. He is looking at me, and it is a look that tells me he knows immediately that I have been crying. He mouths “You OK?” at me over the fight for ketchup sachets, and I nod firmly. Because even if I’m not one hundred per cent definitely okay right now, I will be soon, I know. I understand my emotional ebbs and flows, and this will pass – I was just shocked and ambushed, temporarily stunned by a new and upsetting concept.
Once we’ve eaten and the kids have had one last run around the lake shore, we begin the final part of our journey – at least in this direction. The thought hits me that Josh, Rose and I will be turning right around and going back again, and it is not a pleasant one.
As we wind our way towards Grasmere, we pass more hills, more water, more shades of green than I ever knew existed – and eventually, Lyssa starts to give us the kind of very local directions that satnavs never have. I see her tension as she directs us along a side road, and her surprise when she sees a sign that announces the presence of “Camp Nicholson – the Place Where You Find Your Limits and Go Beyond Them”.
She told us that she grew up in a big house with a small amount of land, that her mum kept chickens and pet sheep, staying at home to look after the kids while her husband was on tours of duty, then working in a local tea shop once they’d all grown up.
None of this seems to fit with Camp Nicholson, and Lyssa seems as confused as us. But she tells us that this is the right place, and that her family are indeed called Nicholson, and we drive in. As we move along a dirt path, surrounded by fields on either side, I spot all kinds of strange structures. There are little huts built of logs with roofs that seem to be made of grass and branches; an obstacle course complete with monkey bars and crawl-under nets, and a huge pile of enormous black truck tyres. I can hear yelling in the background, and intermittent pops that I tell myself could be fireworks, but which actually sound like guns.
The children are increasingly excited by all of this, and as we drive up to what was once clearly a farmhouse, they are pipping to get out.
Lyssa stares at the building – large, solid, maybe Victorian – and frowns. There are more signs for Camp Nicholson, and an array of people walking around in the big courtyard. Most of them are men, but some are fit-looking women, all dressed either in camouflage suits or outdoors gear. Over to one side, a woman in her sixties is in charge of a catering stand, dishing out bowls of soup and bread rolls to a small queue of sweaty individuals.
“That’s my mum,” Lyssa says, staring at her. She is frozen for a few moments more, and that is understandable – she hasn’t been home for so long, it’s going to be a bit of an adjustment. Eventually the noise levels from the boys demanding to be let out of the bus force her hand, and she shakes off her indecision. Josh opens the door with its now-familiar hiss.
Lyssa goes first, and her three children lurk behind her, suddenly unsure of themselves. She approaches the pop-up soup kitchen, and makes eye contact with the woman behind it. Now I’m closer I see that she is petite and pretty, like Lyssa, with steel grey hair cut into a no-nonsense bob, and creases around her eyes that speak of a life lived outdoors.
When she looks up and sees Lyssa, she stares for a moment, mouth open in surprise, then drops her ladle into the urn and abandons her post. She comes flying towards her daughter, not even pausing before she wraps her arms around her and squeezes. Lyssa hugs her back, and the two of them teeter on the spot for a few moments, their bodies entwined. I see that both of them are crying, and have to look away, or I know I’ll join in myself. That kind of emotion is deeply contagious, isn’t it?
Eventually the two women disentangle and simply stand still, examining each other’s faces. Her mum holds Lyssa’s cheeks in her hands, and scans her in that way that mothers do, checking for damage. She gives her a little smile, and then wanders over to do the same to the kids. She pays particular attention to Eleanor, who I know she has never even met. I can’t imagine how strange this must be for all of them – but so far, it seems as though any fears Lyssa had about not being welcomed back were completely unfounded.
She brings her mother over to us, and says: “Mum, this is Rose, Robert’s daughter – you met her when she was considerably smaller! And this is her mum, Lucy, and her friend Josh, who drove me all the way up here from Dorset. This is my mum, Susan.”
“Dorset!” exclaims Susan, perhaps on the basis that everything else seems a bit too weird to comment on. “You must be exhausted! Just let me get hold of your dad and your brothers, Lyssa, and we can go inside for a cuppa.”
She stands to one side, looking at me with warmth but definite curiosity – she knows I am the woman who was married to Robert before her daughter was married to Robert – as she pulls a walkie-talkie from her pocket and speaks into it.
“Mum,” says Lyssa once she has finished the call, “what is all… this?”
She gestures around her, at the obstacle course and the small groups of camo-clad guests, at what was once her childhood home.
“It’s diversification, love,” Susan says, her eyes crinkling as she grins. “You remember the Harrowbys, who owned the farm?”
“Yes, of course I do.”
“Well they retired, and sold off their land. Your dad and I had some savings, and we took a punt, didn’t we? Bought a few acres from them. Couple of years ago it was – Marcus was due to come home, and for the first time ever, it looked like all three of the menfolk were going to be here, and out of uniform. I always suspected that might mean trouble, and one night me and your dad were talking about it, and we came up with an idea. You know all those TV shows where they do stuff like put you through SAS training, or dump you in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a compass and a tub of Vaseline to survive on?”
“I love those shows,” says Josh, his eyes lighting up. “I hate the fact that I’m suckered into it, but every time I find myself wondering how I’d cope if I was caught behind enemy lines, or if I had to wrestle a grizzly bear for the last can of Coke!”
“Exactly!” says Susan, laughing. “You and half the UK, it seems. Lyssa’s father and both her brothers were in the military, so we had that pedigree, and we knew a lot of local people with the right skills, so we drew up a business plan and went for it – Camp Nicholson was born!”
“But where do they all stay?” asks Lyssa, looking at the house – which is big, but not big enough to host so many people.
“Oh, we had some barracks built out back. You wouldn’t believe how much money people will pay to stay in a dorm and use an outside toilet! So now, we do wilderness weekends, bushcraft courses, self-defence classes, clay pigeon shooting and game tracking, and your dad’s favourite, special forces-style training. Basically people pay us to get shouted at while your dad and your brothers make them crawl through the mud and call them names. I’ll never quite understand the mentality behind it, but I don’t suppose I’m the target demographic, am I? We get a lot of stag parties, corporate events, and I suppose just some very bored people looking to spice up their lives.”
“Wow,” says Lyssa, looking around in wonder. “That’s amazing… I can’t wait to see it all.”
“There’s plenty of time,” her mum replies, then looks suddenly worried. “Isn’t there? You are staying, aren’t you, love? I don’t know what’s happened, and right now I don’t care – I’m just glad to have you back.”
Before Lyssa can answer, three men come jogging over from behind the main house. All of them are in full camo gear, and all of them look frankly terrifying. I know that this is safe, that these men are Lyssa’s family, but I still take a quick step back as they approach. Her dad scoops her up in his arms and spins her around, laughing as her feet fly and she screams at him to put her down.
He is a large man, not quite as tall as Josh but broad and beefy despite his age. His hair is silver and buzz-cut short, his eyes a piercing blue. Her brothers are equally impressive – all bulging muscles and macho energy. Rose gives me a “WTF?” look, and I pull a face back – it is odd, being here, watching Lyssa being hugged and kissed by her very own regiment.
I jump slightly as I hear the sound of guns going off in the background, and as I watch these huge men fuss over tiny Lyssa, I have to fight down a smile.
I realise, slowly and with a great deal of relish, that she really couldn’t have come anywhere better. Anywhere safer. Anywhere more likely to piss Robert off – because there is no way on earth that he is getting through this personal bodyguard. He’s very good at telling women what to do, and controlling the little empire he has built for himself in his working life, but this is a whole different world – this is a world where he’d just get a punch in the face, and entirely possibly chased across a live-ammo clay pigeon range. There are guns, and there will be knives, maybe even bows and arrows – combined with men who love Lyssa and know how to use them.
Out here at Camp Nicholson, none of his charm or intelligence or success will do him any good at all. This will be so far out of his comfort zone that he won’t know what to do with himself.
It’s almost tempting to stick around and see what eventually happens when he finds her here – which, of course, he will. It won’t take genius-level skills to guess that she might have run to her parents, and he will come for her.
Once the initial fuss has died down, Susan quickly sorts out food and drink, arranges bedrooms in the big house for the Lyssa and the children, and calls a neighbour with similarly aged kids to bring over some supplies. Within what feels like minutes, they are all fully and easily assimilated into the world of Camp Nicholson. I quickly realise that it’s not just the men of the family who are capable of running a military-grade operation.
Lyssa is led into the house, all three children tagging along like ducklings, Eleanor keeping a firm hold of Rose’s hand to drag her inside with them. It must be very strange for her – she’s only four, and can’t have a clue what’s going on. She’s suddenly found herself taken away from home, and introduced to grandparents and uncles for the first time, and they’re big and scary. The boys are a little bit older and have each other, but Eleanor seems timid and nervous. It’s not a surprise she’s clinging to her big sister for comfort.
I make my excuses and stay outside for a while. I’ve been cooped up for too long, and need to be in the fresh air. The camp is in a gorgeous location, surrounded by fields and distant hills, secluded and strangely calm given the nature of the place. I’m even getting used to the sound of the gunshots.
Josh stays with me, and I see him eyeing up the assault course with interest. He is staring at the monkey bars with as much yearning as a kid in a sweet shop, and I laugh at his expression.
“What?” he asks, grinning at me.
“You know what! Go on – nobody’s using it, and I’m sure they won’t mind. You’ve earned it after that drive.”
“I will if you will!”
“I’ll come with you to admire your technique. You will not, however, be getting me to hop through tyres, or go anywhere near that cargo net thing.”
“What about the balancing planks?”
I follow his gaze and give a half-hearted nod. They kind of look like see-saws, so how scary can they be?
Josh jogs over to the monkey bars, and I try not to laugh as it takes him two tries to jump up and grab hold. Once he’s there, though, he fairly scoots across the whole thing, swinging rapidly from one hand-hold to another. It’s an impressive display of upper body strength, and I have to avert my eyes when his T-shirt rides up and exposes taut abs and that plume of dark chest hair disappearing into the waistband of his Levi’s. Bad Lucy.
He jumps off the bars, and gallops towards a wooden wall that must be at least ten feet tall, a set of thick ropes hanging from the top. He pauses, takes it all in, and backs up to take a run. This one he gets first time, grabbing hold of the rope for leverage, and simultaneously planting his feet on the wall so his body is at a right angle. He climbs up, hand over hand, foot over foot, and reaches the top with alarming speed. Once he’s there, he perches on the top, and fist pumps the air.
“Hey, Lucy?” he shouts down at me. “Could you maybe sing the Rocky theme tune for me?”
“Ha! Nobody needs to hear that. How are you getting down from there?”
He looks momentarily flummoxed, but then he hoists both legs over the side, holds on tight to the top of the wall so he’s dangling down, then jumps. He lands in a patch of mud from the recent rain, but it doesn’t seem to deter him at all. In fact it seems to make him even happier. As Rose would probably say if she could see all of this – boys are weird.
There are quite a few different obstacles, and it becomes clear that Josh plans to do all of them. I suppose he’s earned it after that mammoth drive. I stand at the side of the course, moving along with him, not at all tempted to join in. It looks way too dangerous, and a pleasant stroll is just about right for me. The last obstacle is the crawl net, which causes him more trouble than the others – you have to stay low to the ground and shunt yourself along, and I suspect it might be easier for smaller people. I bet the twins would be through it in seconds, but it takes Josh a while.
There’s a dash for the finish line at the end, and by the time he crosses and collapses into a heap on the grass, he is muddy, scratched, and has a tear down one side of his T-shirt. He’s also grinning like the village idiot and has strands of dark hair stuck at weird angles on his face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look more relaxed, or happier.
I sit down across from him and offer him a bottle of water from my backpack. He nods, and gulps the whole thing down, then swipes sweat from his face. Lying on his back and staring at the sky, he says: “That was brilliant. Exactly what I needed. Now I feel like I could take on the world and win.”
“How about driving home? Do you feel like you could win that, too?”
“Yeah,” he replies, sounding slightly less excited. “Though to be honest, I wouldn’t mind setting off soon. The longer I stay here, the more likely it’ll be that I’ll just crash out. Then Lyssa’s dad and brothers might scream at me and call me a wimp.”
I glance at my phone and see that it’s just after 7pm. It still looks like daytime, but the quality of the light is fading in that way it does as sunset draws closer. I have no idea what traffic will be like on the way back, and even if it’s clear we have at least a solid seven hours of driving ahead of us. Yikes.
I nod, and we both stand up and walk towards the house. The door is propped open, and inside there is a large reception hallway, and racks of leaflets about local attractions and activities. Just as I’m wondering where to go next, Lyssa appears at the top of the staircase, Rose following down behind her with Susan. Rose has Eleanor in her arms, and her sister has her face buried in her hair. When she looks up at us, it appears that there have been tears. She has that damp-eyed, snotty-nosed tremble that little humans get when they’re upset and overwhelmed.
“Impressive, Josh,” says Rose, confusingly. “We were all watching you from the window upstairs.”
He looks pleased, until she shakes her head and adds: “Boys are weird.”
I bite back a laugh, and Rose says to me: “Mum, would you mind if I stayed here for a couple of days? Eleanor’s a bit upset, and she really doesn’t want me to go. I think she might feel better if her big sis helps her get settled.”
Eleanor looks at me pleadingly, and I try not to melt under the gaze of those sad blue eyes and tear-streaked cheeks.
“But how would you get back, babe? It’s a long journey, and we can’t expect Josh to drive back and get you.”
“Don’t worry about that,” says Susan, laying her hand on my arm and squeezing. I see something intense in her look, a grimness to her expression that wasn’t there earlier. I assume that Lyssa has explained at least some of what has been happening to her, and she is quietly furious about it.
“You brought my daughter home to me,” Susan says firmly, “and for that I’ll be forever thankful. So, we’ll return the favour, and make sure your daughter comes home to you.”