I realise she’s going to peel the lid off if I don’t act now. ‘No!’ I grab the cup from her, taking a hand off the wheel momentarily. ‘Sorry. Just…’
Her face is thunderous. ‘What the fuck, Hal?’
‘It’s…’ I pause, but there really isn’t any other thing for it. She’s either left thinking I’m a violent coffee addict who’s unwilling to share a sip, or that I got caught short. The truth is marginally preferable. ‘Listen, I needed a pee and I couldn’t get to the loo and…’
A look of horror begins to dawn on her face. ‘So you’re saying that’s—that it’s?—’
‘Yep.’ I keep my eyes on the road, one hand still holding the paper cup.
‘And I?—’
‘Yep. Almost.’
‘Oh my God.’
There’s nowhere to pull over, so I’m forced to shove the cup into my driver side cup holder for the ten awkward minutes that follow. Finally, there’s a rest stop and I turn into it gratefully. I grab both cups, ready to head to the loos and dispose of everything properly. ‘Want a proper coffee when I get back?’ I say.
She looks at me. ‘No offense, but I think I’ll get it myself.’
5
SARAH
I wake up with a gasp to find myself in a dark room, not quite sure where I am or how I got here. Then the light begins to filter through the tiny window with its scrap of curtain, and I realise that, of course, I’m in bed inside Betty.
The campsite, when we finally arrived, was quite nice – each camper gets their own little section, and although it’s pretty rudimentary, we’ve got a shed-like structure with a basic loo and shower for our sole use. Hal seemed pretty convinced that this was going to impress me when we arrived; clearly this is an upgrade from his usual pitches, which doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence for the rest of the trip.
He then proceeded to light the tiny gas stove he’s installed on the makeshift kitchen counter and to heat up some soup, pairing it with bread he picked up from the small shop on the way in. We perched on the little fence outside in the fading light and clinked our baguette together as if it were a glass of the good stuff.
Somehow, although I’ve never been a fan of soup, it was so warm and welcome after that stuffy, horrible day of travelling that it tasted delicious. ‘Do you think that’s what it is?’ I said to Hal, who’d said something about food tasting good in thegreat outdoors. ‘Or that maybe you get so hungry when you’re travelling that any food tastes three times as good?’
He looked thoughtful for a minute, then started to say something about almost drinking pee from a coffee cup, before thinking better of it and clamping his jaw shut.
I’ve decided that we’ll never talk about the pee cup incident again. And we seem to both be fine sticking with that.
Hal failed to mention, when I asked for the lift, that Betty has just one bed. A huge, foldaway thing that fills almost the whole of her open space. But after the soup, he pulled it all out and began to make it up with sheets and blankets. He piled pillows down the centre as a barrier, presumably to prevent me from giving into temptation during the night or something. Then we both clambered in as best we could.
The last thought I had, as we lay under our respective blankets, was that I’d probably never manage to sleep on the thin mattress. But it seems I was wrong: when I check my watch, it’s actually 7a.m. – pretty close to the time I’d usually be up for work.
Hal is snoring lightly beside me and I shuffle forward, carefully trying not to wake him. It’s hard with the boot that seems to be gaining weight by the second. My leg throbs as I gingerly get to my feet, grabbing the crutch that I leant against the end of the bed last night.
I hobble to my suitcase and manage somehow to extract a pair of shorts to slip into. My plan had been to use the shower, but I’m going to leave that until Hal’s up. Knowing my luck, without a little help with my toiletry bag and stuff, I’d slip over and break the other leg or something.
Dressed enough to be decent, I fiddle with the handle on the inside of Betty’s door and manage to slide it back a little – enough to slither out. Hal makes a grunting noise but turns overand I breathe a sigh of relief. It will be nice to have a little ‘me’ time this morning before he wakes up.
His plan is to visit some sort of bird park today. When he told me last night, I thought he was joking. ‘Yeah, good plan,’ I said, then watched a kind of red flush travel over his face to the tips of his ears. He said something about not being a birdwatcher but that it seemed a shame, and did I know there were 1,000 different species of birds in that sanctuary alone?
I made appreciative noises, but in all honesty I’m not sure I’m going to go with him. I’d rather stream a movie, put the leg up and just wait until he’s all birded-out and ready to travel again.
The campsite is almost full, but not as busy as I thought it might be. It’s spread over quite a large plot and the vans and campers are separate from the chalets and tents. This morning it’s already warm, but it’s early and the whole place feels hushed. I resist the urge to tiptoe (not possible anyway in the boot) as if trying not to wake anyone, as I walk the wide, gravelled path to the front desk.
Of course I’m not the only early riser. A woman with a pram walks past me, her eyes tired, face flushed. There are a couple of dog walkers, and one dog who appears to have got out of her caravan without her owners knowing. She passes me at a trot, pink tongue lolling out of a mouth I’d swear is smiling.
‘Don’t worry,’ I think. ‘I won’t tell.’ She’s entitled to her own early-morning adventure.
The shop is open when I arrive and a woman in a green Aertex T-shirt greets me with abonjour. It’s a small place, with just two rows of groceries; the rest of the shop is packed with holiday essentials – tiny, overpriced packs of laundry pods, bottles of washing-up liquid, plastic toys and blow-up floaties for the pool. There’s a section for swimming costumes and flip-flops, another for sun lotion. Wine takes up the whole of theback shelf, with a couple of spaces left for crates of beer and soft drinks.
I spy the pastries by the front till, stacked in enormous straw baskets and still warm. I lift a couple into a paper bag with tongs, then pick up a small jar of coffee just in case Hal has run out. The thought of coffee brings back a more unwelcome image from yesterday, but I push it away.
