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‘I like it. Very… alliterative.’
‘Er, thanks.’
‘Got a bit of a secret identity vibe,’ he said. ‘Not a superhero, are you?’
‘Maybe. But if I tell you I’ll have to kill you.’
Not the world’s most original joke, but the best I could manage in my current state. Anyway, it got a laugh.
‘So would that be short for anything?’ he asked.
‘No. It’s usually for Catherine, but my mum just liked Kitty.’
I started when I heard a little bark. Glancing over my shoulder, I caught sight of a tubby yellow mongrel curled in a dog bed, eyeing me with suspicion.
‘Oh, and this is Sandy,’ Jack said. ‘Don’t mind dogs, do you?’
‘No, I love them.’ I squinted at the tubby dog. ‘Er, he certainly looks well-fed.’
‘She. And it wasn’t the diet that caused the belly, it was the randy Jack Russell back in Settle.’
‘What, you mean she’s—’
‘Yeah. Less than a month to go now, I’m reckoning. Looks about ready to pop, doesn’t she?’ He turned the ignition key and the engine phutted into life. ‘Right, now we’re all friends, let’s get going.’
So he really had asked me back to his van to see his puppies… hmm. Still, in a way it was sort of comforting. A man who travelled with a pregnant dog couldn’t be too dodgy, could he? Maybe that was the logic of desperation but all the same, I relaxed slightly.
I could see him eyeing me curiously in the rear-view mirror as he drove, taking in my streaky mascara, my ballgown, my big green wellies.
‘You look like you don’t want to talk about it,’ he said at last.
‘God, I really don’t.’
‘Okay so. Then I won’t ask.’
I shot him a relieved smile. ‘Thanks.’
‘We’ll have to have some small talk though,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid the charge for this particular taxi service is scintillating conversation.’
‘Not sure I can pull off scintillating today. I can just about manage to form words, I think.’
‘Want to tell me why you’re going to Wastwater?’ he asked. ‘I mean, really? Hate to break it to you, but the dress codes for farmers’ dinners don’t tend to include wellies, whatever stereotypes might suggest.’
I examined Jack in the mirror. His expression was relaxed and careless, as if he’d be equally comfortable whether I chose to open up or not. He certainly had an easy face to trust.
There didn’t seem any harm in sharing my immediate plan with him, I eventually decided. I was heading for someone I knew I could depend on; someone who’d put me up until I’d sorted out my unholy mess of a life.
‘Okay, if you really want to know, I’m going to visit my aunty,’ I said. ‘She’s got a cottage in Wasdale Head.’
He glanced at the ballgown. ‘Must be a posh family.’
‘Yeah. She’s big on dressing for dinner.’
‘Muddy too, is it?’ he asked, eyeing my boots.
‘Something like that.’
We were on dangerous ground again. I tried to push the conversation back towards him. I just needed to kill a bit of time…
‘So, er, what do you do?’ I asked, the ultimate fallback conversation starter.
‘Human trafficker. I scour the highways for lone women and sell them into sex slavery. You?’
I laughed – the first real, genuine laugh I’d managed all day.
‘Serial killer,’ I said, matching my deadpan tone to his. ‘I lure men into laybys then hack them to bits. Although that’s really more of a hobby.’
He nodded soberly. ‘Always good to keep yourself busy. What do you do the rest of the time?’
‘I’m a project editor for this publishing company my stepsister Laurel runs, Whitestone Press.’
At least, I had been until about an hour ago. I think I’d effectively handed in my resignation when I’d decided to do a runner. My current occupation, if I was asked to fill in a form, probably amounted to ‘bum’.
‘What type of thing?’ Jack asked.
‘Travel guides. You know, things to see, restaurant reviews, handy phrases, all that.’
‘Sounds interesting. I suppose you get to travel quite a bit?’
I shook my head. ‘Someone else does. Then they write it up for me to edit and do the photo research.’
‘Still, must be fun. Bit of armchair travelling.’
I let out a little snort.
‘What?’ he said.
‘You know what I dreamt last week?’
‘Was it about a hunky Irishman with a devastating smile and abs you could grill a steak on?’
So we were doing a bit of social flirting now, were we? Okay…
‘It was actually. I love Aidan Turner.’
‘Funny,’ he said, eyes fixed on the road. ‘Turner can bite me.’
His reaction made me smile. If I’d tried that joke on Ethan, it would’ve been a three-day sulk at least.
‘So what did you really dream?’ Jack asked.
‘I dreamt I was in Iceland – the country, I mean, not the supermarket.’ My eyes clouded. ‘God, Jack, it was so vivid. The geysers, the glaciers, the lakes so dark they’re almost black. I could practically smell the herring.’
‘So?’
‘So, it just reminded me I’ve never been to Iceland. I read about all these beautiful places and I look at hundreds of pictures, but I never get to actually experience them. The most exotic trip I’ve ever been on was two weeks at a resort in Alicante three years ago.’
He looked puzzled. ‘So go, there’s nothing stopping you. Get off your backside and do it, girl.’
‘How? The thing about publishing – it’s interesting enough but it’s not that well-paid. Two weeks in Alicante every once in a while is about my limit.’
And then there was Ethan, who’d never wanted to go anywhere but a sunny beach with bars that showed the footie and hotels where there was always a full English on the breakfast table. The chances of getting him on a backpacking holiday to somewhere like Iceland had been exactly nil.
I mentally slapped myself. Thinking about Ethan was going to have me in tears again. I needed to hold it together, at least until I got to Aunty Julia’s.
‘So do you live in the Lakes?’ I asked Jack.
‘Yeah, when I feel like it. I live everywhere.’ He gestured round the van. ‘This is it for me. Home.’
‘You’re kidding! You can’t live in this tiny van all the time?’
‘Yep, me and Sandy. That’s the way we like it, life without fences.’
‘Bloody hell. You’re not part sardine, are you?’
He laughed. ‘Away with you, it’s not that small. Anyway, it’s just somewhere to sleep. We like to be off exploring.’
‘How did it happen? Is it a hippy thing?’
He didn’t answer. Just looked sober for a moment.
‘Sorry,’ I said, staring sheepishly into my lap. It felt like I’d crossed a line, although I was puzzled about where it had been. ‘None of my business.’
‘That’s okay.’ Jack forced a smile. ‘Tell you what. If I ever see you again, I’ll tell you all about it.’
Chapter 2 (#ue6f429e3-3d8c-5e0b-b594-8af9a731feee)
As we drove, I glanced in the rear-view mirror to get a better look at the van. I couldn’t help being curious about the man who’d rescued me, and the unusual way he lived.
It was small. Really small. But efficient, as far as use of space went.
There was a brown leather sofa in the back that I was guessing folded out into a bed when it wasn’t busy being a sofa. To the left of it was the world’s tiniest kitchenette: just a two-ring hob, worksurface and sink, with a bank of pine cupboards underneath. The floor was chequerboard-patterned, with a hole in the middle for slotting in a table. I couldn’t imagine how anyone could call the little tin can on wheels a permanent home.
Still. Life without fences. Lucky bastard.
‘So how do you make a living then?’ I asked Jack. I was struggling to think of any job that could fit with the nomadic lifestyle he seemed to lead. Unless he hadn’t been kidding about the human trafficking.
He jerked his head behind him. ‘Take a look, I’m not precious. My portfolio’s inside the sofa. Lever on the side of the seat’ll swing you round.’
He pulled over while I unfastened my seatbelt, and I turned the passenger seat to face the inside of the camper.
I picked my way around Sandy’s bed to the sofa. When I lifted the cushion to get to the storage space, I found a large portfolio case on top of a puddle of awning canvas.
‘Be gentle,’ Jack said when he heard me rustle the sheets inside. ‘I haven’t had those scanned yet.’
I laid the papers on top of the sofa, touching them as delicately as if they were bone china.
There were reams of them: gorgeous hand-drawn illustrations of a little pair of marionettes, a girl and a boy. In each, they were in a different scrape – dangling upside down in a tree, stealing biscuits from a jar on the kitchen shelf. A little dog like a skinnier Sandy lurked at the edge of each adventure, a sort of signature. They seemed familiar somehow…
My eyes widened as realisation hit. It said a lot for the foggy state of my brain that I hadn’t recognised them right away.
‘Oh my God!’
‘Tilly and Billy,’ Jack said. ‘You know them?’
‘Course. My stepsister’s little boys love Tilly and Billy. When I read them bedtime stories they always ask for…’ I paused while it sank in. ‘Bloody hell, you’re that Jack Duffy?’
‘Er, I am, yeah.’ I could see the back of his neck pinkening. ‘Didn’t expect it to mean anything to you, to be honest. I’m only really a big name among the under-fives.’
‘This is unbelievable,’ I muttered. I wished I could ring Laurel and tell her, but my mobile, along with my handbag and the shards of my hopes and dreams, was back at Butterfield Farm where I’d left it.
Jack laughed. ‘It’s sweet you’re so starstruck. Most people over three foot just shrug.’
I went back to join him in the front and he started the engine again.
‘I can give you a signed book for your nephews if you want,’ he said. ‘I mean, if you think they’ll be bothered. Kids don’t set as much store by that sort of thing as adults.’
That was one thing I’d been trying not to think about. God knew when I’d see Toby and Sam again. Or Laurel, or Nan.
‘Thanks. That’d be nice,’ I managed to mumble.
I couldn’t hold back the tear that had forced its way to the front of my eyeball. It slid down my cheek, and I dashed it quickly away. But Jack had already spotted it.
‘What is it you’re running away from, Kitty?’ he asked gently.
‘What makes you think I’m running away?’
‘I’m not thick. Taking lifts from strangers, inappropriate clothing, no bag. No money either, I’m guessing?’
I flushed. ‘No. I didn’t take anything when I—’
I bit my tongue.
‘Sorry,’ Jack said. ‘I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it. I’m worried about you, that’s all.’
‘You don’t even know me.’
‘I know you’re distressed. That you’re on your own, and without a penny to your name apparently. Whatever happened to you today, it must’ve been pretty traumatic.’
