Chapter 16
Days of running the Marzipan Campervan Café have turned into a couple of weeks, and every single moment has been amazing so far.
The walk to Thimblenouth Force is one of the most loved in the Yorkshire Dales, and part of a longer route that takes in several waterfalls, and the car park could not be in a more perfect position, and the number of customers stopping for a cuppa reflects that.
It’s the end of another long day, and I’m tidying up after closing for the night when Reece appears at the serving hatch.
He’s been coming down every night to help put away chairs and tables, and then we spend the evenings in the van, chatting and enjoying each other’s company, but today, he looks like a man on a different mission.
‘You’ve become an unofficial tour guide, but how long has it been since you actually went to the waterfall yourself?’
‘A long time. More than two decades, less than three?’ I say, even though he’s right, and I have struck up many conversations with walkers who stop to ask directions or for local knowledge about the hidden nooks and crannies along the route, but since the Marzipan Campervan Café opened, long hikes have been the last thing on my mind.
‘It’s a beautiful evening, it’s always quieter at this time of day, and there’s something extra magical about evening walks.’ He pushes his left arm through the strap of the rucksack that was hanging on only one shoulder. ‘I’ve got everything we need.’
I’m in half a mind to tell him to sod off.
I’ve been on my feet all day, and what I’d really like to do is collapse on the van’s bench seat while planning tomorrow’s menu.
But on the other hand, tourists talk about the beauty of the waterfall often and it has been years since I went there, and the prospect of a quiet evening walk with Reece is not an unpleasant one.
I change into my trainers and grab a jacket from the campervan’s storage space, and step out.
There is something about a man in hiking boots, because Reece looks good. He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt with a jacket over the top, the rucksack straps over both shoulders and his usual indomitable smile as he appears at the campervan door and holds his hand out to help me down.
I’m more than adept at jumping in and out of this van now, but I slip my fingers over his anyway and he gives them a gentle squeeze like he doesn’t want to let go, but I need both hands to lock up behind me, and I can’t think of an excuse to take his hand again afterwards.
‘You’ve done this before,’ I say as we set off up the path from the car park.
‘Many times, when I’m trying to avoid work. It’s a good place to… exhale.’
Exhale. I like that choice of wording. I’ve been busier than expected at the campervan, and while that’s a good problem to have, it doesn’t leave much time for simple things like breathing.
‘Are you sure your leg is okay for this?’
‘My leg’s fine, you know that. Just a closed-up graze now.’
Neither of us have mentioned that he’s continued coming down to the van every night, even though I no longer need to dress his wound and his limp is long gone.
We pass a few other walkers on their way back from the waterfall, but we’re the only people starting out at this time of day.
The path is everything I remember and more, and you only need to be out here for five minutes to see why it comes so highly recommended in all the Yorkshire Dales guidebooks.
Narrow trails carved through ancient woodland, mossy verges full of daisies and yellow pimpernel, following the curve of a fast-flowing river that winds its way between water-smoothed rocks.
The trees are in full summer swing, creating a canopy of greenery that filters the early-evening sunlight and creates patterns that dance on the ground.
Reece walks beside me, close enough that our shoulders brush when the path narrows and I’m constantly aware of his presence.
When we come to a log blocking the way, he takes my hand to help me over it, and instead of letting go, his fingers lace through mine as we continue walking, and I’m breathless in a way that has nothing to do with the exertion.
We follow the river endlessly. The sun drops lower in the sky, and I try to ignore how fast my pulse is beating at his touch, and how nice it feels to simply walk hand-in-hand, for no reason other than he wants to touch me.
The incline of the path gets steeper. The river runs downhill now, across weirs and shallow rapids and around curved corners.
It even seems like the trees get taller and the evening sun gets softer as we get closer to the waterfall, and the sound of rushing water grows louder with each step until finally, Thimblenouth Force itself comes into view, and you can see why waterfalls are known as forces up here.
A perfect surge of water, cascading magnificently down a rocky thirty-foot-high cliff face and into a pool so clear that I can see every pebble on the bottom. The low sun reflects off the water’s surface, creating a refraction rainbow that’s so striking, it takes my breath away.
‘It’s beautiful.’ I barely dare to breathe, and the hand I’m inexplicably still holding squeezes mine. I remember being here before. Its splendour was lost on me as a youngster, but now I appreciate it for the majestic spectacle of nature that it is. No wonder our little car park is so busy.
‘Do you remember the local legend?’ Reece has to shout to be heard over the rush of water.
I’ve heard bits and bobs from walkers, but not enough to know the full story.
When I shake my head, he obliges. ‘Local folklore says you’re supposed to pick up a stone and tell it all your problems, and then cast it into the pool and let the water wash away your troubles.’
I almost laugh. ‘I don’t think any stone wants to hear my problems.’
He steps down onto a small rocky beach, keeps hold of my hand as I follow him. Our hands only drop when he bends down to select a medium-sized stone and hands it to me. ‘Try it. The past couple of months haven’t been easy for you. See if the water can help.’
I take the smooth stone and look at it dubiously.
My main problem now is the constant worry that someone is going to recognise the campervan as a stolen vehicle, or tell me I can’t continue to operate there without producing documentation to prove I own it.
I don’t think any stone can help with that.
At the same time, it’s easy to get lost in how much I love this place and forget what led me here to begin with.
‘It’s not okay that my ex cheated on me,’ I say hesitantly to the stone, and Reece nods in encouragement.
‘It’s not okay that I was so invested in the life we were building together that I didn’t see how distanced we’d become.
It’s not okay that the person I thought was my best friend cheated on me either.
It’s not okay that I trusted both of them. ’
I rub the stone under my fingers. This is surprisingly therapeutic.
The words pour out of me, all the anger and hurt I’ve been carrying for weeks. By the time I finish, I’m breathing hard and my eyes are stinging with tears I didn’t expect.
‘It’s not okay,’ Reece agrees gently.
‘Although it kind of is, because it led me here, and here is…’
I trail off when I meet Reece’s bright eyes.
He’s got his lip clenched between his teeth, and his breathing has sped up, and before I realise what’s happening, his hands cover mine on the stone and he leans down to kiss me.
It’s the tiniest peck, not on my lips but right beside them, just skimming the edge.
His mouth is burning hot, his barely-there stubble grazes against my skin and my knees threaten to buckle. My eyes have closed, and if I wasn’t holding a heavy stone that’s likely to fall onto my own toes, I’d drop it and grab onto him and ensure he never moves.
Unfortunately he does move, and when he stands back upright and pulls away, I feel more oxygen-deprived than if we’d had a long snog, and the spark between us feels like I’d get a shock of static electricity if I touched him.
His eyes glint, like he’s silently daring me to have ever had a more perfect kiss than that, even though it wasn’t really a kiss at all.
‘…exactly where I was meant to be.’ I finish the sentence, even though it feels like hours have passed since I began it. My voice is as unsteady as my legs feel, in a way that has nothing to do with the rocks we’re standing on.
He laughs too, sounding unbalanced and nervous, and like he’s not entirely sure he should’ve done that, which sums up my feelings too. Unbalanced, nervous and not entirely sure he should’ve done that.
I take a deep breath and step around him, thank the stone for listening and then use both hands to throw it into the water.
It lands with a satisfying splash and stirs up river silt as it sinks to the bottom, ready to wash away everything I told it, and I can’t help wondering if we should let the water wash away that kiss too.
This feels like something with Reece, and yet, I know there are things he isn’t telling me. It might not be in a sinister way like Jared, but I can’t get into any thing with another man who isn’t being honest.
‘Who knew that shouting at stones and lobbing them into waterfalls could be so cathartic?’ I bend down to pick up a small stone and hand it to him. ‘Your turn.’
‘Mine?’ He takes the stone with a look of surprise. ‘I don’t have any problems to share with the waterfall.’
‘You don’t?’ I raise an eyebrow, even though my face is still burning red, both from the kiss and from how desperate I am for him to reveal something real.
‘Well, I…’ He looks between the stone in his hands and the water bursting over the cliff face, and I watch expectantly as he thinks it over, curious about what secrets he’ll finally share.
What’s the real story behind his abrupt career change, what really happened in his marriage, and who is the boy in the photos?
Maybe the real reason he’s renovating the pub, or why he sometimes looks so sad when he’s not actively trying to be happy…
This is finally the moment he’s going to let it all out.
Come on, Reece. Trust me enough to tell me who you are.
‘Missing socks, am I right?’ he says to the stone eventually. ‘Where do they go? There’s no one but me at the pub, there’s one laundry basket and one washing machine, and yet I’m always missing one sock. It’s like a hole in the universe hidden behind the utility room.’
I feel myself deflating. Of all the things I thought he might say, I didn’t expect missing socks to be one of them.
‘Maybe that nosy sheep has got a thing for socks and keeps nicking them.’ I make a joke of it too, trying not to sound as fed up as I am.
I love his ‘sunshine in human form’ act, but everyone has to drop an act sooner or later, and the more time I spend with him, the more I realise that some of it is an act.
After all the moments of intimacy and connection we’ve shared, someone putting on an act has no right to kiss me in the way he just did.
‘Hah. You’ve solved the mystery. Who said sharing with stones isn’t helpful?
’ He thanks the stone for listening and, as it’s much smaller than mine, throws it with a theatrical flourish hard enough to hit the waterfall itself and bounce off the cliff behind and into the pool, then turns back to me with a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes.
‘Sock management is a serious problem.’ I try to keep my voice light, but there’s an awkward pause. We’re standing close enough to touch, but the space between us feels wider than it did a moment ago. ‘We should probably go back. It’ll be dark soon.’
‘Dark. Yes. Right.’ His agreement is as awkward as I feel, and he stops to fumble water bottles out of his rucksack and after a quick break when it feels like he wants to say something more, he jumps up the bank first and turns to take my hand and help me up.
Instead of letting go once we’re back on the main path, his fingers intertwine with mine and it’s a gesture that feels like an apology he can’t quite voice.
I want to push him, to ask why he always deflects when things get too real, but there’s something unguarded in the way he’s holding my hand, something that makes me think he’s trying to build himself up to saying something, so I squeeze his fingers and let him lead the way back through the last dregs of evening sunlight, towards a place that feels like home.