Chapter 10 #2
His voice is full of empathy, and it makes my nose burn like I’m about to burst into tears, and I focus intently on doing up the bandage and securing it around his leg.
‘All done.’ I pat his knee and let my hand linger there for a moment, and his fingers drift across mine and give them a quick scrunch, and his lips mouth a thank you.
We hold each other’s gaze until the silence feels unnatural, especially when I lean over to pull his trouser leg back down and he leans forwards to do the same thing at the exact same moment, and our foreheads nearly collide and our fingers waggle awkwardly against each other’s.
‘Tea!’ I declare, letting him pull his own trouser leg down, mainly because it’s an excuse to stop him leaving when that’s the last thing I want him to do, and if this gets any more uncomfortable, he might.
‘I could go for that.’ He puts his other leg up on the table as well and settles back, stretching out and taking up the entire seating area with his long legs and lanky body.
The campervan’s tiny kitchen is becoming increasingly familiar now and rather than feeling cramped, it’s starting to feel like just the right size. Everything has its place, and I have everything I need at my fingertips.
I can feel Reece’s eyes on me as the noise of the boiling kettle reverberates through the van and I get two plates out of their holders in a cupboard and open a packet of biscuits I bought this morning.
When I glance at him, he’s got a small smile on his face, and it quickly turns into a big one when we catch each other’s eyes and I tell myself it’s the warmth from the kettle that’s making me feel overheated.
‘You can stay here as long as you need to.’ He grins again when I lean over his legs to put the plate of chocolate digestives on the other side of the table where we’ll both be able to reach it, and then turn around to pick up his mug and hand it to him.
‘Because of the tea and biscuits?’
‘They weren’t a deciding factor, but I do have a fondness for people who automatically serve biscuits with tea without even asking. My kind of person.’
I pick up my own mug from the campervan’s countertop and he lifts his legs so I can get past and sit on the bench seat across from him, and then he sprawls them back out again.
I sigh, because with his easy-going smile and the way he makes everything seem lighter than it is, it’s easy to forget that I’m in real trouble here. ‘Your kind of person who’s going to end up in prison when she gets caught.’
I don’t expect him to laugh so hard that he creases up. ‘You won’t end up in prison for this.’
‘I’ve stolen a campervan!’ I go to snap and then lower my voice and hiss the words instead, just in case there’s a nosy dogwalker lurking nearby.
‘You had the spare key. That’s implied permission.
It’s like giving someone your bank card and PIN and then being surprised when they help themselves to all your money.
Your ex will have called the police and got a crime reference number, but the police aren’t interested in sorting out domestic tit-for-tats.
The van will be marked as stolen and if traffic recognition cameras flag it up, you’ll be pulled over, at which point you can explain all that and be on your way.
At worst, they’ll impound it and your ex will have a heavy bill for getting it out. ’
‘You mean they’re not tracking my every move? Triangulating my phone signal? Appealing for dashcam footage and poring over traffic cameras up and down the A1? Monitoring usage of my bank card?’
‘Unlikely.’
‘So I threw my phone into a river in Peterborough for no reason?’ I squeak incredulously, even though being phoneless hasn’t been an entirely bad thing lately.
‘You threw your phone…’ He repeats like it’s such a silly notion that he can’t finish the sentence because he’s laughing too hard. ‘You can’t honestly think they’d track your phone because you drove off in a vehicle you had a key to, can you?’
‘I don’t know! I’ve never stolen anything before! That’s what they do on TV! What about sniffer dogs?’
I didn’t think he could find it any funnier, but now the van is shaking from the force of his cackling and he’s wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. ‘You’ve got to stop making me laugh like this, it’s actually starting to hurt.’
It takes a few minutes for him to catch his breath and answer, and even that sets him off giggling again. ‘No, Dolly. No sniffer dogs. And police are not going to roar up at the village shop because you used your debit card.’
I’m not sure whether to be offended because he obviously thinks I’m melodramatic or just reassured by his sensible outlook that’s hopefully realistic rather than optimistic.
‘I’d be more concerned about the vehicle insurance aspect,’ he says when he’s got the laughter under control enough to speak in full sentences again. ‘Are you a named driver on it?’
‘I doubt it. Jared never said anything, so I’d assume not.’
‘Then you can’t drive it. Driving without insurance is a strict liability offence.
Immediate fine and points on your licence, likely followed by a court appearance, a further fine, and possibly a driving ban.
You’re lucky to have got as far as you did without being caught on that angle.
I wouldn’t risk going far until you’ve got this sorted. ’
‘Oh, great.’ I huff. I really am stranded here. I can’t exactly ring Jared and ask him to put me on the insurance, can I?
‘It’s a good job you can stay here where you’re safe then, isn’t it?’
I notice the difference in our attitudes again.
From stranded to safe. A negative to a positive.
I want to believe it, but I’ll never feel safe, not while Jared’s still looking for his campervan.
‘You don’t understand. Even if the police aren’t interested, Jared will be on the warpath himself.
He spent a lot of money and put a lot of time into restoring this and fitting it out. He won’t rest until he finds it.’
‘Does he know where you are?’
I shake my head.
‘Does he know you used to spend childhood holidays up north or that you have any connection to Thimblenouth or the Yorkshire Dales?’
‘No. That’s one of the reasons I came here. He was never one for sentimental memories. I’ve never mentioned this place to him, ever.’
‘Then good luck to him.’ Reece gives a nonchalant shrug and leans over to take another biscuit.
‘It’s a big country. Needles and haystacks spring to mind.
Best he can do is put an appeal on social media, and the chances of someone seeing it and happening across this car park and putting two and two together are slim to none.
I wouldn’t get yourself any more worked up about it. ’
Oh, good, my level of panic is clearly visible then. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and push it out slowly, forcing my shoulders to relax where they’ve been bunched up around my ears, and when I open my eyes, Reece is grinning at me.
If you looked up the term ‘annoyingly chipper’ in a dictionary, his face would be there, grinning back at you in an annoyingly chipper way, and at the same time, it’s impossible to be annoyed because I wish I had his courage of conviction and not just the fear of literal conviction that I have.
We sit in silence for a moment, and I’m acutely aware of how close we are in the small space.
How my arm is resting against his right leg, creating a patch of warmth between us, and how his ridiculous dinosaur pyjamas make him more endearing rather than less.
‘Thank you for not judging me, and for the legal advice.’
‘Anytime.’ He dunks another biscuit in his tea and I find myself focusing on a small scar on his chin as he pops it into his mouth.
‘How come you know so much about that side of things, anyway?’
He’s silent for so long that I start to think he didn’t hear the question.
‘I used to work in…’ There’s silence again, and I can see his face shifting as he tries to come up with the right words. ‘…a law-adjacent field.’
‘What’s a law-adjacent field?’ I ask, picturing a meadow next to a solicitor’s office, which is definitely not what he meant.
The question hangs between us and his cheerful expression falters, and he looks around like he’s searching for an excuse to bolt.
‘Come on, Reece,’ I say gently. ‘I’ve trusted you with the worst thing I’ve ever done. You can at least explain what a “law-adjacent field” is.’
When he still doesn’t answer, I knock my arm softly against his good leg. ‘I won’t tell a soul, I promise, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
‘It’s not, it’s… Well, yeah, that too.’ He sighs and pushes a hand through his hair, scruffing it up and not bothering to smooth it down again. ‘I used to be a barrister.’
‘A barrister…’ I repeat, convinced I’ve misheard. ‘One of those solicitor-types who represent people in court? In the wigs and the gowns and things? You?’
He nods, and if he didn’t look so serious, I’d be certain he was winding me up. He seems like the last person who could ever do such a sombre job, let alone a job that’s such a world away from what he does now.
‘How does one go from being a barrister to being a builder?’ I ask cautiously, certain that he’s going to burst into his usual laughter at any moment and reveal he’s been pulling my leg all along.
‘I needed a change.’
‘Change of career?’
‘More like a change of life.’ He says it quietly and with a sadness in his eyes that he can’t hide.
I’m so surprised that I take a swig of my tea without thinking about it and then gag when I remember it went cold ages ago.
My thoughts go to the first night again, and his words about everyone here being lost or running away.
When he said he was a bit of both, I thought it was just part of his jovial personality, but now I get the sense that his brightness is covering something much darker, and there are a lot of layers behind that incessant smile.
I also get the sense that he really doesn’t want to talk about it.