The Lighthouse Library (Applemore Bay)
Chapter 1
Meg trundled slowly up the inside lane of the motorway, hoping she looked braver than she felt. The journey from South Yorkshire all the way to the west coast of the Scottish Highlands was a long one for someone who hadn’t driven further than to the local supermarket in years.
Her husband Michael had always insisted on driving, telling her she didn’t have the confidence and that he’d be happier behind the wheel. She’d had a few cautious, experimental trips since selling her little car and buying the campervan, but nothing to prepare her for a drive of over four hundred miles. Her little corgi, Eliza, sat beside her on the passenger seat, strapped into her little doggy harness and looking out of the window with her habitual cheerful curiosity.
It was funny, Meg thought, that there was something about a campervan that just seemed to intrigue people. Before signing on the dotted line at the showroom and handing over a hefty sum in exchange for a set of keys for the six-month-old van, she’d never so much as looked inside one. Selling up everything she owned and buying a house on wheels had seemed the biggest gesture she could make towards changing her life completely. So she’d parted with the cash, swallowed any vague sense of unease she might have felt, and decided to go for it.
After a couple of hours, they stopped at a service station to stretch their legs. There were long parking bays, which were specifically laid out for drivers like her. She pulled in alongside a beaten-up van with stickers all over the back doors, mismatched streaks of paint where the rust had been covered over, and a side door with several dents in it. She was just taking it in when the side door slid open and a tall boy in his early twenties appeared, a tin mug of coffee in one hand and a half-eaten sandwich in the other.
‘Alright?’ He tipped his head in greeting as she put the window down to lean out and double check she’d parked within the lines.
‘You’ve got loads of room there,’ he said, smiling cheerfully. ‘Nice van.’
She looked across into his little house on wheels. Colourful Nepalese flags hung on the wall, and a still-steaming kettle stood on top of a blue gas stove. Striped rugs lay on the floor and the whole interior looked cool and hippy-ish.
‘I think mine is a bit more traditional than yours – luckily my friend’s promised to make me some nice crochet blankets to brighten it up a bit. I’m going to house sit for her,’ Meg added.
‘Cool,’ said the boy, sipping his coffee. ‘Doesn’t matter what it looks like, though, it’s the ethos that’s important. Freedom is everything.’ He patted the battered side of his van affectionately.
‘Freedom is everything,’ echoed Meg. ‘I like that.’
He looked like the sort of person who was designed for van life. She felt like a bit of a fraud in comparison.
Eliza gave a gruff bark of excitement and pulled against the travel harness, making it almost impossible to unfasten the two safety clips that held her secure on the front passenger seat where she’d been sitting on a blue and white fleece blanket folded neatly to protect the brand-new upholstery. The blanket already had a light dusting of the ever-present golden hairs, which her little corgi left as a calling card wherever she went.
‘Come on then,’ she said, as Eliza hopped down from the seat and navigated the climb down to ground level. Her little legs bustled along as they made their way to the grass where she found the young man leaning against a wooden picnic table.
‘We meet again. Oh look at her, she’s a sweetie.’ He bent to give Eliza some pats then straightened again, laughing as she wagged her little tail with excitement as his two graceful lurchers sniffed her in greeting.
‘I hope they’re passing on some travel tips in doggy language.’
He chuckled. ‘They know their stuff these two – they’ve been all over the place. Spain, Greece, all the way down to Turkey…’
‘In your van?’ Meg tried to keep the surprise out of her voice.
He nodded. ‘Tough old bird, is Esmerelda.’
‘Your van has a name?’ Meg laughed.
‘Course she does. What’s yours called?’
‘I… well, it’s just a van.’ She felt a pang of guilt for her poor nameless vehicle.
‘It’s not just a van. That’s your home, it is. Treat her well and she’ll do the same for you.’
‘I’ll give it some thought.’
‘Happy trails,’ he said, reaching out a hand and shaking hers, taking her by surprise with his old-fashioned manners. He smelled of patchouli oil.
‘And to you.’ He gave a wave and loped off, his dogs trotting along behind him.
She popped Eliza back into the campervan and headed into the café to pick up a coffee and something to eat, musing as she waited for her coffee. One suggestion her therapist had left her with was the idea that she start thinking about the things that made her happy, rather than things she felt she ought to do. She’d been married to Michael for twenty-five years and in that time she’d always bent to his will. He’d have had no time for nonsense like naming an inanimate object. She frowned at the thought, and paid for her food, still so lost in thought that the girl behind the counter had to remind her to take the brown paper bag containing her bagel.
Try as she might, she couldn’t quite get her head around giving the van a name, but she did listen intently to a podcast Helen had recommended as they made their way up through the borders of Scotland, and along the very plain and unappealing motorway that led towards Glasgow.
‘Rising from the ashes of a toxic relationship is hard, but it’s not impossible…’ said the voice through the van speaker.