The tantalising scent of fish and chips from a van parked by the harbour reaches me and my stomach rumbles. I imagine sprinkling salt and vinegar on big juicy chips and crisply-battered cod, and taking the first bite…but no, I have tins of tuna and bread back at the van.
I have to be sensible. I don’t know when I’ll be paid, so I need to hang onto as much cash as I can. But hopefully, if Mrs West pays me weekly, I might be able to relax a little soon…
My limbs are aching with the unaccustomed exercise, but it’s quite a nice feeling, knowing I’ve done a good day’s work. I’m definitely going to get fit, being a cleaner.
Back at the camper van, I wolf down my food, rinse my plate at the tiny sink, then I wash through some underwear as best I can in the cold water and drape it around the van to dry. When I packed, I just grabbed a handful of underwear out of the drawer, but when I looked at it later, I realised I’d brought stuff that was far more suited to sexy nights in (I just about remember those) than roughing it in a camper van. As a result, I’m going to have to keep washing through my one spare sensible bra and knicker set.
I collect my washbag and a towel and go to Mrs West’s front door. My hand freezes on the way to the bell and I almost chicken out. I hate having to put her out like this, but what option do I have? Apart from giving up and heading back to London?
Gritting my teeth, I ring the bell.
Mrs West’s on the phone when she opens the door. I smile apologetically and hold up my towel, and she indicates I should come in quickly and points me in the direction of the bathroom. Turning her back on me, she continues her phone call.
‘It’s no-one,’ I hear her say. Then she prods me and hisses. ‘Watch that vase on the table. Don’t knock it over. It’s expensive’
I hurry into the bathroom, lock it and stand there, staring at my face in the big mirror above the basin.
It’s no-one.
Her words echo in my mind, a stark reminder of how unimportant I am. I feel anonymous here, in Pengully Sands - a sort of ghost person with no substance. It’s still a lovely little seaside town. But there’s one important thing missing.
Mum…
Silent tears mingle with the cascade of water as I shower quickly to get out of Mrs West’s way. But as I’m trying to sneak out quietly, she pops her head round the living room door.
‘Everything all right?’ she enquires.
‘Thank you. Yes. I feel so much better after that shower.’
‘Good.’
I remember the bedding. ‘Um, you don’t happen to know if there’s a launderette nearby?’
She frowns. ‘Can’t you wash things in your…van thingy?’ She points.
‘Not really.’
She sighs. ‘Use the machine.’
‘Sorry?’
She points irritably at what I assume is the utility room. ‘You can use the washing machine. It’s in there.’
‘Oh, no, it’s fine.’ I stare at her in horror as I step outside. ‘I wasn’t asking…’
‘There is no launderette.’
‘Oh. Right. Well, I’ll…don’t worry. I’ll think of something.’ I edge towards the door, just wanting to be away.
She gives an impatient sigh. ‘Lucy. Just use the machine. If they go in first thing, they’ll be dry by the evening. I’ll deduct the cost of the electricity from your wages.’
I hesitate, torn between not wanting to be a nuisance and the thought of sleeping in musty bedding long-term.
‘Well, if you’re sure…’
‘Yes. I’m sure. I’m not doing them for you, though. I’m not a replacement for your mother!’ She gives a cackling laugh and disappears, shutting the door in my face. And I stand there, staring at the letterbox, thinking she must have forgotten I told her I’d lost Mum. Because no-one would be that callous, surely?
Back in the van, I lie on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. It’s so stuffy in here. I can hardly breathe.
Getting up, I grab my bag and leave, walking quickly away from Mrs West’s house, down the hill to the harbour. It’s almost nine and music is drifting out from the cafes and restaurants, and I cross the road to admire the boats bobbing in the water. I’m already sizing up the best place to set up my stool and easel. I can’t wait to paint some of these jaunty, colourful little boats.
After I’ve walked around the harbour to the furthest point, I double back and end up gravitating towards the window of a gift shop selling Poldark paraphernalia. Wandering up a little side street, I find a shop selling art supplies. It’s closed but I make a mental note of where it is. Painting always soothes me and I need that more than ever. When I get paid, I’ll buy more watercolour paints -
Hearing someone cough, I turn but the street is deserted. The sound must have come from an open window, I reason, and I continue along the street, admiring the cute, white-washed fisherman’s cottages. There’s one up for rent. Maybe, if I settled here, I could eventually live in a house like that? But looking in the window of an estate agent’s a few doors along, I see how steep the rent would be. I can’t even afford a plot at a camp site yet!
Glancing back at the art shop, I catch a movement in the doorway. Puzzled, I peer over for a moment, but nothing stirs. I must have imagined it.
The skin on my arms prickles. Suddenly, I have the weirdest feeling that someone is watching me.
What if it’s Eleanor?
I hurry away, blundering through the maze of alleyways and side streets, back to the main street. Leaning against the brick wall of a café front, I stop for a moment to catch my breath, looking back the way I came, still convinced that someone was following me.
After a while, my heart rate returns to normal. I feel safer surrounded by people. It’s easier to think straight. Of course Eleanor’s not after me! How on earth would she have found me, for a start?
Feeling hot and thirsty, I spot a newsagent’s that still open, displaying a sign for ice-lollies. But when I get to the window, I decide against buying one. I need to conserve my cash. A minute later, though, I’m doubling back to the shop, imagining the delicious sensation of the icy orange lolly melting in my mouth.
I deserve a treat after working so hard today!
Pushing at the door, I find myself stumbling forwards as the door is pulled from the other side. To stop myself staggering into a display of colourful buckets and spades, I grab onto the nearest solid object, which I realise a second later, is someone’s arm.
‘Whoah!’ The owner of the arm reaches out to steady me, and when I look up at my rescuer, my heart does a funny little double somersault.
It’s the guy from the park.
Jump Lead Man himself…
CHAPTER TEN
He’s glowering at me as if he can’t quite believe it’s the mad park lady in the flower-painted camper van.
‘We have to stop meeting like this,’ I quip to counter the awkwardness.
He gives a curt nod, and embarrassed, I rattle on, ‘I never thanked you properly for getting me going that time. You’re a proper miracle-worker.’
He tries to get past me, but we somehow manage to get tangled up.
Laughing, I hold out my hand. ‘I’d better introduce myself if we’re going to get this familiar. My name’s Lucy. Lucy Honey.’