Chapter 13
SHANE
Shane hadn’t expected a top-of-the-range motorhome.
He hadn’t envisaged one of those vast, gleaming vehicles with solar panels and a fully fitted kitchen and impeccable sound system.
However, when he follows Boris out of the shop, he is alarmed to discover that it’s not actually a campervan after all.
‘It’s… an old ambulance?’ he blurts out.
‘Hey, less of the old! The term is retired, I’ll have you know.
’ Boris slaps its rear doors affectionately.
‘Enjoying new adventures and freedom after many years of loyal service. Plenty of life left in the old girl yet.’ He extracts a premade roll-up from the top pocket of his frayed denim jacket and lights it.
‘An ambulance,’ Shane mutters. Appropriate, considering how his heart is jolting alarmingly now.
Boris nods. ‘Best vehicles ever built.’ With some effort he wrangles the back door open, and Shane peers inside.
‘See, there’s plenty of headroom for a tall lad like you,’ Boris continues as they clamber into it.
‘And tons of space for moving around in your living quarters. Ambulances are big buggers when you strip all the stuff out. Obviously,’ he adds, ‘when you think about what’s gone on in here. Medical emergencies and stuff.’
People have bled copiously in here, Shane realises. Countless medical procedures will have taken place in here. What’s the worst thing that can happen in an ambulance? Death, he realises. Death has happened in here.
‘Real bargain, she was,’ Boris continues cheerfully, taking a puff of his roll-up. ‘There are loads of these on the market if you’re ever tempted.’
‘Um, yeah! Maybe!’ Deciding not to mention the dent in the side, Shane flits his gaze around the van’s interior.
It is entirely without permanent fittings.
He doesn’t quite know what Boris had led him to expect, or if Shane had merely imagined that this would be a fully functional camper to facilitate a life of luxury on the road.
Whichever it was, he didn’t expect this.
‘Don’t look so worried. Old Doris is still roadworthy,’ Boris announces.
Yes, Shane thinks, but am I? ‘And she’s got so much potential,’ his friend enthuses, more animated than Shane has ever seen him.
His dark eyes are twinkling, his cheeks highly flushed.
‘I’m gonna build fitted units along here and have a sofa bed that pulls out here.
’ He flails his skinny arms about to indicate their intended locations.
‘And here’s where the log burner’s gonna be.
It’ll be so cosy. Can you imagine, getting all snuggled up in here with a nice glass of red in front of the crackling flames? ’
No. Right now, Shane cannot imagine that.
‘And jumping out of bed in the morning,’ Boris raves on, ‘cracking eggs into the pan, lightly scrambled, or maybe poached? Picture that! Pot of coffee brewing, toast on the go…’
Shane stares at him, waiting for him to stop. Already, he has had enough of being told what to ‘picture.’ He’s not about to start rhapsodising about how he likes his eggs in the morning because there will categorically be no eggs.
‘I made those curtains myself!’ Boris indicates the mottled brown linen flaps stuck over the two small rear windows with masking tape.
They look as if they have been roughly hacked from the shirt of a dead man.
‘And look – here’s your interior lighting,’ Boris adds, grabbing a portable plastic lamp from a corner and clicking the switch.
Nothing happens. ‘Ah, you’ll need to pick up batteries on your way.
’ He clonks the lamp back down and beams at Shane.
‘It’s gonna be amazing in here, mate, once I’ve kitted her out. I’ve got so many plans.’
Shane blinks at him. He doesn’t need plans.
He needs facilities now – a loo at least!
What are they going to do about that? Shane has Josie down as a chilled-out and possibly spiritual type, but he can’t imagine that she’d be terribly spiritual about having to poo in the woods.
And what about washing and other basic human needs?
‘Shower’s gonna be up against there,’ Boris continues happily, rapping the partition that divides the ‘living quarters’ from the cabin. ‘But in the meantime, just enjoy old Doris as she is. Enjoy the space.’
Shane bites his lip and pushes his hands into his jeans pockets.
No, he thinks, I can’t enjoy the space. Because apart from everything else, there is another aspect that is concerning him.
It’s the unmentionable object that’s lying on the van’s floor, which the two men have been carefully stepping around, and which Shane has been trying to pretend isn’t there.
The thing that renders this trip impossible because, obviously, he and Josie cannot possibly share a mattress.
Shane clears his throat. ‘So… there’s just this?’ he asks, feigning casualness as Boris pauses for breath. Or is there a secret second sleeping facility cunningly hidden in one of the walls?
‘Yeah,’ Boris replies. ‘Don’t look so worried. It’s really comfortable.’ Admittedly, it’s a double, and it looks clean, at least – if a little thin. ‘You can get all snuggly and cosy on that,’ he adds with a grin.
Seemingly unaware of Shane’s rising panic, Boris jumps out of the back of the van and flicks his damp-ended roll-up into the road.
‘C’mere a minute. I’d better show you what’s what, hadn’t I?
’ He beckons Shane around to the cab, which he clambers into in order to demonstrate how to handle the vehicle. ‘Driven one of these before?’
‘Can’t say I have,’ Shane replies, gazing at Boris through the open driver’s door.
‘Vans, though?’ He turns the ignition key. The engine coughs and splutters as if clearing out a dollop of phlegm and finally kicks into life.
‘Yeah, loads of times,’ Shane shouts over its roar. Not that this is relevant as he and Josie are categorically not going anywhere. He’ll have to cancel the trip. What will he tell her? He’s ill – that’s the simplest option. He’s been throwing up all night.
Quickly, he checks the time on his phone. Christ, she’ll be on her way already.
Boris demonstrates the van’s various functions – to which Shane is paying zero attention – and turns off the engine. ‘So, what d’you reckon then?’ As if he’s just introduced Shane to his new girlfriend and is keen to hear his verdict.
‘Really great!’ Despite everything, Shane is fond of Boris and appreciates the ￡9.25 he’s spent on plectrums over the past three years. And he doesn’t have it in him to crush his enthusiasm.
‘Been all over the country with me,’ Boris adds as he climbs out of the cab. ‘Tell you what, mate, you can’t beat that feeling of freedom.’
No, you can, Shane thinks, as his gaze alights upon a sticker on the back door. If this van’s a-rockin’ don’t come a-knockin’, it reads, with a crude illustration of a quivering VW camper. Catching him staring at it, Boris chortles. ‘Historic artefact, that!’
‘Ha! Yeah.’
‘So, whereabouts are you planning to go again?’
Right now? Shane muses. A psychiatric facility might be appropriate because clearly, anyone who thought this might be a good idea needs professional help. ‘Just a little tour up north,’ he replies.
‘Lovely. Do you good, I reckon. You’re looking a bit strained, if you don’t mind me saying.
Putting in too many hours in that shop.’ Shane shrugs, and then, because he can’t think of anything else he can possibly do, he thanks Boris profusely as he accepts the van’s keys and offers to book him an Uber home.
‘Nah, mate. You don’t need to do that. The walk’ll do me good. ’
‘Okay, if you’re sure?’ Shane asks.
Boris nods and grins and pulls another roll-up from his jacket pocket. Giving Doris a final slap on her haunches, he lights his cigarette and saunters off down the street.