Everything has changed, though.
Amber is growing stronger and more confident as she gets older.
But as for me…I’ve turned into a hermit over the past year, scared of my own shadow. Lately, I’m a bag of nerves all the time, jumping at the slightest thing.
I stand up and Amber’s expression changes to one of panic. ‘You’ll stay in touch, though? Lucy, you have to promise. Text me every day? Let me know where you are and how you’re doing?’ Her eyes widen with an idea. ‘I could come with you! We could drive off on an adventure, like Thelma and Louise did in that movie.’
I smile at the thought. ‘But stopping before we accelerate over the cliff?’
She nods eagerly, and I can see that she actually means it – even if just for that moment - and I love her for it.
‘I don’t think your boss would be too pleased. Or Mark, for that matter,’ I remind her, and she smiles sadly as reality crashes in.
It would be so lovely having my best friend with me, but I guess it’s just going to be me…
‘Nipping to your loo, then I’ll be off,’ I say with a bright smile, hurrying away so she doesn’t see the tears start to fall.
If I don’t leave now, I never will.
Five minutes later, I’m back behind the wheel of Mum’s old camper van, getting to grips with the stubborn-minded gears. ‘You need the strength of Iron Man to get this thing into reverse,’ I mutter to Amber through the open window, smiling to show I’m viewing this as a bit of an adventure, rather than a desperate escape.
‘Have you got your easel and your watercolours in there?’ She peers into the back.
‘Of course. I wouldn’t leave without them.’
‘Paint me some lovely pictures for my living room walls? I’ll pay you for them.’
‘Don’t be daft.’
She shrugs. ‘I’m not being daft. You’ve got talent, Lucy. You’re a real artist.’
I shake my head. I’m ‘technically good’ but I’m lacking ‘that special something all successful artists have.’
‘Take care, love,’ she pleads, finally accepting that my mind is made up. She crosses her arms and frowns up at the sky as the first drops of rain start to fall.
‘I will. You, too. Look after Mark.’ I grin. ‘He’s the only one I ever really liked.’
She laughs. ‘I’ve had some scumbag boyfriends, that’s for sure.’
‘You’ve fallen on your feet now.’
‘Come back soon, Lucy.’ She leans over and we manage a big hug through the window that almost breaks me emotionally. I don’t even care that her arm is grazing the wound on my face. I don’t want to let her go.
I pull away at last, yank the van into first gear and we smile at each other. Her eyes are glistening, just like mine.
‘Lucy?’
‘Yes?’
‘Put your cape on.’
A lump rises in my throat but I manage a smile of acknowledgement.
Years ago, when I was being teased at school for having red hair, Mum taught me this trick to give me instant confidence. I had to pretend I was a superhero and put on an imaginary cape. She was right. I felt bolder and I stood taller when I was wearing my cape. When Amber was being bullied, I taught her the trick and it worked for her, too. (My confrontation with the chief bully also helped!)
I straighten up in my seat, hold my head high like a superhero and give her a double thumbs-up. With a little wave, I pull out of the driveway and trundle off along the street.
I told Amber I didn’t know where I was going. But I do.
It’s the one place I know I’ll be close to Mum.
And where I’ll feel safe at last…
CHAPTER TWO
Pengully Sands is my destination.
A lovely little seaside town on the north Cornish coast.
When she first bought her beloved camper van almost twenty years ago, when I was about ten, I remember Mum shrieking with joy like a little kid. She named her prize acquisition Euphemia – Effie, for short - and had her spray-painted bubble-gum pink before adding some artistic flourishes herself; big, blousy purple flowers with curly green foliage on each side and a smiling golden sun on the driver’s door.
Dad worked hard at his plumbing business and could rarely take a whole weekend off, so it was often just Mum and me going off on an adventure together.
We would pack the things we needed into the van on a Thursday night and Mum would collect me on the Friday afternoon, driving Effie up to the school gates and causing a mini sensation. People smiled and pointed at the zany camper van, and I’d climb into the passenger seat, feeling proud of my fun, extrovert mum, with her wild red hair that was like mine, only a shade or two less zingy, and we’d head from our home in north London down to Cornwall, to a camping site just outside Pengully Sands.
Today, though, it’s me in the driver’s seat. And the view through the windscreen is a little blurry right now. The showers have turned into a deluge, and the old wipers are being tested to the limit. They move across the windscreen with a screech like a demented banshee, and I grip the steering wheel as the downpour spatters the glass, my already frayed nerves shot to pieces.
The forecast, from tomorrow, is for a spell of dry, sunny weather. And judging by the number of cars on the road, jostling for position with my colourful little van, the whole world and his auntie are heading down to Cornwall for the weekend.
A horrible thought occurs to me.
Did I bring Mum’s jewellery box?
What if I just imagined putting it in the bag when I packed in a tearing hurry earlier?
Pulling into a bus stop in a panic, I unzip the bag on the passenger seat. But when I delve under the clothes, my hand touches the cold metal of that precious object, and relief rushes through me. I did put it in.
I might have imagined other things, but not that…
A double-decker bus blares its horn behind me and I move off swiftly into the traffic, driving hunched over the wheel as the rain lashes down relentlessly.
It’s just after five now. I should make Pengully Sands by nine. I’ll find somewhere to park up and sleep for the night, and then tomorrow I’ll make a plan.
Panic rises up as I think about Dad’s reaction to my sudden departure. I dashed off a note just before I left, and tucked it into his slipper because I knew Eleanor wouldn’t find it there. I told him I was really sorry for all the mayhem I’d caused and that I just wanted him to be happy, and that I was taking a little break away in the camper van. I told him a change of scene would help me get back to my old self and that he wasn’t to worry about me because I’d be fine. I signed off with kisses, saying I’d be in touch soon, and that I loved him.
Oh, Dad…
I’m going to miss him so much. I idolised him when I was little and I suppose I still do. He’s not perfect. No-one is. But I really couldn’t hope for a better dad.
He left school at sixteen and did a plumbing apprenticeship. In his early twenties, his gran left him money in her will and instead of buying a flashy car, he stuck with his old Ford Cortina, bought a second-hand van and launched his plumbing business. Dad’s the sort of person who pours his whole self into everything he believes in, and he worked long hours, building up the business, saving enough to eventually buy Shellbury Lodge outright. We moved into the four-bed Victorian gatehouse when I was eight and it’s been home ever since.