Chapter 20 #2
He has got a point. Jared’s interests lie in cars and fishing. This is exactly the kind of feel-good story that would make him roll his eyes in boredom. He’d never seek out an article about a pub quiz or any goings-on in a small northerly village. ‘You think I’m overreacting?’
‘I think you’re understandably worried, but probably unnecessarily so.’
In the van behind me, the oven timer dings, and I let Reece’s logic reassure me as I go to rescue the Melting Moments and re-open the serving hatch. It’ll be fine, I tell myself for the hundredth time. Totally fine.
The afternoon is quieter. Maybe it’s blowing over already.
The kind of thing that’s a big deal to people in Yorkshire villages, but isn’t likely to spread far outside of them.
I hadn’t realised how much people loved pub quizzes, and most of our viewers are probably within that community of enthusiasts, and a mechanic from Sevenoaks is unlikely to be one of them.
When Lettie, Madge, and Wilma come for their usual afternoon tea and cake, they’re coy about the discrepancy in follower numbers, proud to take responsibility for such a boost in business and surprised by my less-than-enthusiastic reaction.
They haven’t done anything wrong. In fact, they’ve done everything right.
It’s me, isn’t it? I’m the wrong ’un. They don’t know I’ve stolen the campervan and its rightful owner is undoubtedly looking for me.
How would they even consider that someone would be stupid enough to start a business in a campervan that isn’t theirs?
It’s the first day since I arrived that things haven’t been wonderful, and the shadow of how I came to be here looms larger than usual, especially now that so many complete strangers seem to have a vested interest in my story, and I can no longer ignore the fact that this is something that must be faced, and I can’t keep burying my head in the sand and pretending I’ve done nothing wrong.
* * *
Over the next few days, as the initial surge of viral attention settles into a steady stream of curious visitors, I start to think Reece might be right. The people coming to the café are walkers or quiz enthusiasts – not even in the realm of Jared’s interests.
The business is thriving, the villagers are delighted with our unexpected fame and I’m starting to appreciate the acknowledgement of what I’ve created here. Maybe this is exactly what the Marzipan Campervan Café needed, and maybe it was exactly what Reece needed too.
After hosting another successful quiz night the following Friday, Reece and I sit in the car park and watch the sun set over the hills.
‘You’ve made me think that maybe I should continue the Kingfisher as a pub,’ he says, sounding like it’s something he’s been wanting to say aloud for a while.
‘I love what we’re doing here. I love hosting the quizzes.
It’s brought a purpose back to me owning this place.
If I continue trying to convert it into a home, it becomes exactly what the villagers don’t want it to be.
It shouldn’t belong to just one person, it should be a part of the village like it always used to be… ’
‘What do you know about pub management?’ I ask, a half-joking throwback to our conversation a few weeks ago.
‘Probably about the same as I knew about building work, and I took that on without a thought. And I have no idea what else I want to do with my life, but I do know that I want to stay here. Why shouldn’t I embrace the chance I’ve been given with this place?’
I feel myself fizzing on his behalf, uplifted by the excitement in his voice that he’s trying to restrain but not quite managing to hold back.
‘I keep thinking about it. If I use the money I’ve got set aside to get the roof fixed this summer, then maybe I can, I don’t know, appeal to a local college to let their electricians train here and get the electrics fixed that way.
Maybe there are ways around other things that I never explored because my heart wasn’t in it.
All I know is that I love this.’ He reaches across the table to take my hand and squeezes my fingers.
‘I love what we’re doing here. It’s brought meaning back to my life.
It’s made me want to be in that beautiful old building rather than avoid it as much as possible.
We could even split the quiz nights – summer nights in the car park, winter nights in the pub.
I wouldn’t open until evening time so I wouldn’t take any of your customers away during the day.
You can use my kitchen if you need extra space.
We could really do something together here, something that complements and boosts each other? ’
I can’t help the thrill at the idea of this becoming something truly permanent, something he and I are building together, exactly the thing we both needed without knowing we needed it.
I say something I’ve been turning over in my mind this week too.
‘I’ve been thinking too. I should do the right thing.
I should phone Jared and offer to buy the van from him.
I have an income now. It’s not much, but it’s more than I had when I left Sevenoaks.
If he’d let me pay it off in monthly instalments then Campervan would actually be mine.
I can’t keep being constantly on my guard, always watching the path up from the village in case the police are coming to arrest me because Jared’s seen the video and knows where they can recover his stolen campervan. ’
Since the quiz night, my sense of safety and security here is gone, and I want that back more than anything.
I feel like I’m finally doing something I’ve always wanted to do, getting my life on the track I’ve always wanted it to be on, but there’s this one glaring problem that’s stopping me from fully embracing it because I know this could all fall apart at any moment, and if anyone finds out the truth about the van, it will be over.
‘I want to feel like my life is my own again.’
‘Cheers to that.’ He clinks his mug of tea against mine, our fingers tangled together across the table, and it feels like finally things are going right for both of us, and we both came to this little village in the Yorkshire Dales when we were lost and had nowhere else to go, and somehow we’ve found exactly what we needed in this tiny car park near a waterfall.
And it’s fine, it’s all fine, until a few mornings later when I’m dragged from sleep by a sharp knock on the campervan door.
It’s not the hesitant tap of a curious customer or the familiar pattern of Reece coming for breakfast. This is a harsh, demanding and very, very ominous knock, and as I open the door slowly with shaking hands, all my fears come rushing back at once when I see who’s standing there.