Page 16 of The Golden Girls’ Road Trip

*

I pass the border into Scotland at about five-thirty and it’s an emotional experience. I wipe ridiculous tears with the back of my hand, but I don’t stop the van. I keep ploughing up the A1, keen to take the North Berwick coast road while my van is still happy to do so. I have always kept my faithful old camper in top condition for the ten years I’ve had her. Before that, I had a more modern van, but the charm of this original VW was too much of a draw. Simon had told me it would be a mistake and I’d have to be towed out of every campsite. And, to be fair, I did have to be towed out of a few, but with careful driving and a couple of solicitous garages, I’ve kept her going.

I wind down the window and slow down as the fields flatten out and the North Sea stretches out in front of me. It’s been too long since I’ve been on the road like this. A sharp stab of realisation hits me when I think about Leo and his lack of enthusiasm for travel. Not even just travel – he’s never keen to spend more than a night or two in a strange bed. The only reason he’s okay at his daughter’s is because he’s probably taken his pillow with him. I can barely get him in the van for a lift – he certainly wouldn’t entertain sleeping in it.

I pull into a parking bay and get out. The wind is wild and I let my hair free from its clip, where it whips around my face as I drink in the sea air. Bright white gannets swoop overhead, looking for prey with their beady eyes, and I imagine myself swooping with them.

This is what it’s all about, I think – being free.

*

I manage to limp as far as Perth before I stop again for fuel and use of the toilet. I’ve skirted the north of Edinburgh and navigated the Forth Bridge, but the sign for Perth was welcome. It’s a long time since I’ve driven this far, and I still have a fair couple of hours to go. The knowledge that I’ll be skirting the Cairngorms National Park is enough to push me onwards.

I arrive in Inverness at nine-thirty and head straight for the campsite.

I climb out and stretch my cramped limbs, Ruby seeming to sigh behind me.

‘Well done, old girl,’ I say, patting the bonnet. ‘We’ve made it.’

The reception building is little more than a wooden hut and just as the man on the phone had promised me, there’s an envelope stuck to the window with my name written on it. Inside is a map of the site and an arrow in pen showing me where my spot is. I glance through the window of the building and see they sell provisions when the shop is open during the day. There are bottles of wine lined up, just out of my reach and I sigh at my lack of foresight. Why I didn’t think to pick one up when I stopped earlier I don’t know. I shall have to content myself with a cup of tea and a bottle of water. And really, I might well be meeting someone I haven’t seen for many years tomorrow. Already tired after my journey, I don’t want to make myself look worse than I already do. I don’t want to appear in front of Alex looking like a desiccated old woman.

I get back in and navigate the site to find my pitch, then park up and draw Ruby’s curtains closed. I push up the pop top of the van so I have head space and smile at the new canvas I had fitted with its raspberry coloured roses. Not cheap, but worth every penny, I think. I decide to bypass both water and tea and instead I pull out my sleeping bag, lower the back bench seat into a bed, and climb on top.

I’m asleep in moments.

8

I fill the kettle from the water bottle, which I keep replenished and in the cupboard in the back of the van, and then light a flame under it. I rub the sleep from my eyes and try to shake off the vivid dream I was having just before I woke. These dreams are becoming a habit. I pull the cafetière from its box and pile in the ground coffee. Once I’ve poured in the water, I slide my feet into some sandals and pop a baseball cap on my head, then set off across the parched grass towards the toilet block.

Another hot cloudless day, the sun already doing its best or worst, depending on how you looked at it. I loved the heat when I was younger; I adored stretching out on a beach towel to catch some sun on my skin, always pleased with the golden glow I managed to achieve. Now though, as an older woman, I’m careful to wear a hat, cover my shoulders, no longer interested in how far I can toast my skin, but worried about the damaging effects of the sun, however much too late that may be.

The toilet block is not all that clean and I walk past three doors before I choose the least offensive cubicle. Still, I hover above the seat as I relieve myself, and use my own toilet paper that I’ve stashed in my pocket. I don’t linger as I wash my hands, do no more than glance towards the mirror. I have no wish to see the missing fifty-two years on my face or begin to imagine what Alex will think of my appearance. I don’t want to acknowledge that while I would always say that the least important thing about myself is what I look like, today, that might be further up my list of priorities. I think I’ll apply some make-up later and think about what’s best to do with my hair.

Back in the van I drink the coffee and consider what I might do today. I have eleven hours to amuse myself until the exhibition opens and a boat trip on Loch Ness seems a perfect way to kill a few, to occupy my mind. Maybe lunch afterwards. I turn my phone on to book something and prepare myself for missed calls and messages. There is just one, from Leo.

Connie, I’m so sorry. Please call me when you feel you can. I’d like to talk, to explain. This isn’t the end of us. We can get back on track. Lots love, Leo

I stare at the message for a moment, letting the words sink in. We can get back on track, he’s written, but can we? I hold the phone against my chest while I digest his words. I do understand how he feels, of course I do. He’s trying to carve out a new life for himself while still grieving the life he had before. I can relate easily to that. I’m not angry with him; I just feel a bit sad.

I look up boat trips and restaurants and manage to get booked in, then I’m about to switch my phone off again when it pings and I’m expecting another message from Leo, but actually it’s from Vic.

Hope you’re okay? Did Fiona allow you over the threshold of her café? Vic x

It occurs to me that nobody knows where I am and that perhaps someone should, just in case, so I tap a quick message back.

I decided to go to the exhibition after all. I’m in Inverness! Only you know though, so can we keep it that way for now? Connie xx

I wait a few agonising minutes for a response and then it explodes onto my screen.

Bloody hell, Connie! Do you know what you’re doing? Please be careful and don’t get hurt. I hope he’s worth it. Vic x

That makes me smile, of course, and then I reply:

It’s not like that. I just need to put old ghosts to rest. I’ll be in touch. Cx

I switch the phone back off again and sit down on the open doorway of the van, my hands under my chin, elbows on knees. I think about Leo having to make that awful but necessary decision to have his wife’s life support removed and a sob breaks free from my throat.

‘Oh, God, Leo, life can be so cruel.’