Page 38 of The Seaside Cocktail Campervan

He was also feeling slightly nervous. What had she really thought about him making the move to kiss her on her step? Had she enjoyed the afternoon on the beach as much as he had? Jeez, he hadn’t felt like this since he was a teenager, getting giddy about some girl. What the hell was the matter with him? The traffic was busy, with a trail of lorries stuck behind that tractor up ahead. He’d better concentrate on the road, instead of daydreaming like some love-struck kid. Better to keep her out of his mind altogether, in fact.

As he neared the wholesaler’s depot, he happened to pass a secondary school. He could see into the sports field where a football match was being played, by what looked like a group of older teenage lads. There was one boy with sandy-blond hair, his arm in the air as he called out for the ball … Jack froze for a second.

Shit, one of the lads had looked just like his brother Daniel from the back, just for that split second … Of course, it wasn’t, would never be. Jack found his hands were trembling on the steering wheel.

And there it was again, over eleven years later, that punch-in-the-gut blow of grief. He was jolted back to the past. He remembered the excitement of the two of them going for new football boots. Jack’s first-ever pair, and Daniel’s second – his big brother as always having got there first in life, not that Jack minded, it was just the way it was. His eyes had lit up at the row of boots in the sports shop: blue with black stripes, a vivid yellow pair, green Nikes. The measuring, feet having grown again, now a size 4. The trying on. And of course, he went for the pair just like Daniel’s. He could still picture them now – Adidas, white leather with black stripes, and bright-green laces. And he’d felt like the coolest dude in town heading out on that football pitch for junior league the next Saturday morning. By the end of the match his feet were sore and a blister had formed, but he didn’t mind one bit. New boots needed breaking in, so that didn’t stop him adoring them and him. His big brother.

When you were a younger brother, you were never on your own. You always had a constant companion … or at least you should, Jack thought with a fresh bolt of grief.

It had happened when Daniel was just twenty, on a pitch at uni, mid-play. If only they’d known that Daniel had been stalked by a silent, undetected killer. The fallout of that fateful day still haunted Jack. And perhaps it always would.

Jack carried on driving on autopilot, found himself at the wholesaler’s depot, took the turn into the car park and pulled into a space. Still feeling overwhelmed, he listened to the engine fall silent and looked down at his lap, trying to stop the tears that were misting his eyes. Sniffing, he took out the pad and pen that he kept on Ruby’s dash, mostly used for jotting down supplies he’d need to restock. He paused, and then started to write:

Smell of cut grass and mud, sweaty football boots.

Kickabout in the back garden,

You the shooter, me in goal.

He shoots, he scores, yay!

We were always going to be winners, me and you.

But you lost the big one, Danny,

You lost at life.

And that day I lost everything too.

Am still lost.

He stopped with the pen hovering over the page, wiping his face as fresh tears blotted the paper.

If only he and Daniel could kick that ball around again, play some five-a-side for a local team. He took a slow, steadying breath. Had to pull himself back to the present. It was just him in a campervan in a tarmacked cash-and-carry car park. Needed to crack on, get the supplies he needed for the function. Just function himself. Keep going. Move on, move forward.

But sometimes, it damned well felt like he couldn’t move at all. Floored by these aftershocks of grief. It didn’t matter how long it had been. It was still, would always be, a part of him. Jack had learnt that sometimes you just needed to let that grief take hold, reach its roots down to your soul and then out towards that person you missed so much. He’d bottled it all up for long enough now.

Maybe it was time to reach out and let someone in too. Break down those walls he’d built around himself for so long.

Lucy flashed into his mind again with her glossy chocolate waves, her thoughtful eyes. Could she be that someone?

Chapter 20

Lucy was in a mist of 00 flour, having spent the last hour binding batches of pizza dough in her industrial-sized mixer, ready to prove and then feed the festive gatherers at the 40th Birthday Bash tomorrow. To-morr-ow, and that was coming around way too fast. The kitchen clock warning her that already it was 7 p.m.

Now mid-knead and plastered in sticky dough, she heard her mobile phone buzz into life on the side. She shifted sideways to check who was calling. ‘Becky’ was flashing up on the screen. Ah, she’d have to call her back in a while. By the time she’d cleaned her hands up enough to answer, it would have stopped anyhow. And these dough mountains weren’t going to make themselves, no way, José. Get this job out of the way, and then she might find a chance to pour a cuppa and take five mins out. A brief chat with her friend would be a welcome distraction then.

Just ten minutes later, and the phone sprang to life once more. Lucy had just placed the huge dough ball in a tray to prove, and was about to prop it along with the others near the old-fashioned stove that kept everything toasty warm in there. A pizza production line that filled her galley kitchen. Dashing to the phone, she spotted that it was Becky again – oh, was everything alright? Or better … was her friend maybe wanting to meet up soon for coffee and cake or something? Get tomorrow over with, and she’d be well up for that. Wiping her hands vigorously against her apron, Lucy just managed to pick up in time.

‘Hel-lo.’ The phone was propped under Lucy’s chin as she dried her fingers some more.

‘Hey-y …’ Becky sounded … different. After all these years, the girls were so in tune, it was scary.

‘You okay?’ Luce asked.

‘Oh, yeah … but there’s just been something on my mind, hun.’ Becks’ voice sounded troubled down the line. ‘Okay, so you were all excited about this Jack, the bar guy … and well, naturally I looked up the Cocktail Campervan thing. Being nosy, like I am.’

‘Okay …’