And then, at last…a sign for Pengully Sands!
I feel butterflies fluttering inside as I drive along the town’s high street, recognising familiar landmarks along the way. But when I arrive at our old camp site, a mile or so out of the town, I’m filled with dismay.…because it’s not there! Pulling up outside the gates, I stare in dismay at the modern hotel and car park that’s now occupying the site.
Marvellous. Time for Plan B. Except I haven’t got a Plan B.
I’ll never find another camping site, driving around in the dark. So where am I going to park for the night?
Driving back towards the town centre, I pass the big public park on my left and pull in by the entrance. Perhaps I could stay in there for the night? But first, I need to find the public toilets…and luckily, when I go in search of them, they’re still right where I remember they were. (Effie has a chemical contraption, cleverly concealed, but I’d rather go to proper toilets whenever possible.)
Heading back to the park, I drive through the gates, past a wood and a big open grassy area. It’s just after nine in the evening and the place is deserted. Spotting a picnic area with a gravelled place for cars, I pull in and park, angling Effie beneath an overhanging horse-chestnut tree.
It’s finally stopped raining. A shaft of moonlight picks up the tree’s pale, cone-shaped flowers, glowing like candles against the darkness of the night. The horse-chestnut was Mum’s favourite tree. It feels like a sign and with a sigh, I switch off the engine.
I slip out of the van, closing the door softly and breathing in the scent of dripping foliage and May blossom. The menacing clouds have rolled away and stars have appeared overhead. I stretch out my stiff shoulders, raising my arms to the sky, just enjoying not being hunched over the steering wheel.
A cry from a creature in the woods startles me. The landscape of the park is eerie in the moonlight. The shapes of the trees and bushes look like sinister stalkers, waiting to pounce, but I tell myself there’s nothing to be afraid of as I retreat inside the van. I’ll lock the doors, get my head down in the back, and then in the morning, I’ll decide what to do.
My sore cheek twinges, reminding me of those last moments before I fled from Shellbury Lodge. But I brush the images away. I’m leaving the nightmares of the past behind me…
It’s chilly in the van and I suddenly worry that I should have thought of bed linen. Perhaps my jacket will have to do. But when I pull out the drawer beneath one of the beds, I find pillows and the patchwork quilts Mum made, one for each of us, on the little sewing machine in her craft den.
Eagerly, I pull one out, hugging it to me. It’s been three years since the van had an outing, and the quilt smells musty. But it doesn’t matter. It’s just for one night. Exhausted, I slip off my trainers and lie down, fully-clothed, on one of the two narrow beds. Pulling the quilt over me, I curl on my side, breathing through my mouth as my nose meets the acrid-smelling pillow.
My last thought as I drift off to sleep is: I’ll have to find a launderette…
*****
I’m woken by a noise. A glaring light is being shone through the camper van window.
Confused and half-asleep, I struggle to a sitting position, just as there’s a sharp rap on the door.
CHAPTER THREE
My heart leaps into my mouth. Who…?
Someone clears their throat. ‘It’s the police. Can you open up, please?’
Throwing off the quilt, I go to the door and open it, realising too late that it could actually be anyone.
The sight of a police car parked there, with its lights on, is comforting. But my heart rate revs up again at the words of the young male police officer, who’s standing there with his torch.
‘Were you planning to stay here overnight?’
I swallow. ‘Well, I was…’
‘That’s against the rules of the park, Madam. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to move on.’
‘Right.’ My heart sinks into my socks. ‘Okay, I’ll leave. I just need to…’ I point back into the van and the officer nods, looking almost sympathetic.
‘All right. Have a good night,’ he says, without a trace of irony, getting back into his car.
I watch him through the window as I tidy things away inside and put my trainers back on. He isn’t moving off immediately. Maybe he thinks I might need more persuasion to leave. I slip into the driver’s seat and buckle up, and the police car drives off.
He probably thinks I’m some sad eccentric, roaming around the country in my flower power camper van, without a proper home to go to.
I smile grimly as I turn on the engine. He wouldn’t be far wrong.
The thought of trying to find somewhere else to park makes me feel so weary, I could cry. But there’s nothing else for it. The policeman has driven away but he’ll no doubt come back and check later, to make sure I’ve actually gone.
I get to the park gates and try to shift up a gear to drive away. But instead, the engine stalls. And then - joy of joys – dear Euphemia decides she’s had enough for one day and refuses to start again. So now I’m stuck there, blocking the entrance, with no way of getting her started again. And I haven’t even got my phone to summon help.
Flumping forward onto the steering wheel, I try to think what to do, but exhaustion is getting in the way. I could just fall asleep right here…
An owl hoots from somewhere in the trees and I raise my head and look around me. My heart lurches when I see a dark-coloured car parked on the kerb, just outside the park gates. It wasn’t there when I drove in. I’m certain of it.
Fear clutches at my insides.
Eleanor! She’s followed me here…
My heart starts to pound, the familiar panic rising up.
The last thing I meant to do was ruin Eleanor’s lovely dental work – she was so proud of those veneers Dad bought for her – but when she came towards me and reached up to calm me down, that’s when the big sapphire in her ring hammered against my cheekbone, jagging the skin. For a shocked second, I thought she’d deliberately struck me and I raised my arms in defence…too sharply, I realised, as I accidentally bashed her in the mouth.
I peer at the vehicle. There’s no-one behind the wheel, and screwing up my eyes to see the number plate, I realise it’s not Eleanor’s car at all.
Just my over-active imagination at work again.
I slip out of the van, wondering if I should look under the bonnet. But what would I be looking for? My knowledge of car maintenance extends no further than topping up the windscreen wash and checking the oil.
Oh, God, has Effie run out of oil?
I’m bending into the driver’s seat, trying to locate the lever that opens the bonnet, when I suddenly hear footsteps on the park road behind me, and my heart leaps in my chest.
I spin round, just as the giant, towering shape of a man appears. He stops in his tracks, a few yards from the gates, long legs planted apart, and there’s a heart-stopping moment during which I stare at him, frozen to the spot, and he stares back at me.
To say I feel vulnerable would be an understatement. And when he strides towards me, this dark hulk of a man, my heart starts slamming in my ears, like a toddler let loose with pans and a wooden spoon. Closer, I glimpse the glint of his eyes, the stern mouth, big shoulders hunched in a black jacket. And then, as I hold my breath, he brushes past me, walks over to the car and gets in.