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‘But you don’t have permission to park there,’ I repeat, without raising my voice.
‘And you do, I suppose!’ she counters, aggressively.
‘Well, yes. On account of the fact that I own it. You could have done the decent thing and asked me if you could park there, but you didn’t. You just helped yourself. I’m sorry about Derek’s tea, but you left me no choice. If it happens again, I might have to get someone to clamp you, and that will be much more inconvenient than being delayed by half an hour. Do you understand?’
She’s so angry that I’m actually worried she might have some sort of seizure, so I decide to leave it there.
‘I’ll go and move my car now so you can get home. Don’t park there again, okay?’
She’s muttering furiously as she follows me out of the back door but, thankfully, I can’t make out the words.
13
My exhilaration from the victories against Alan Carter and Rita is short-lived. I now have to face the van again, and I can feel my anxiety levels shooting up as Matt locks up the café and we step back out into the sunshine.
‘How far is it to the cash and carry?’ I ask him, and I’m embarrassed to hear the quaver in my voice.
‘About twenty minutes to half an hour, depending on the traffic. It’s just off the A21 in Tunbridge Wells, so it should be a pretty quick sprint down the dual carriageway once we get out of Sevenoaks.’
Fuck. This is much worse than I thought. Just pottering around town in his van was scary enough. Now he wants to take me on the open highway in it? My stress levels are going through the roof, and I’m suddenly aware that my legs have turned completely to jelly and I’m going to collapse if I don’t sit down. I plonk myself down at the top of the concrete stairs leading down to the car parking spaces and put my head between my knees. I concentrate hard on keeping my breathing under control; the last thing I need right now is a full-scale panic attack. In the first few years after my parents died, I used to have panic attacks quite regularly, and they terrified both me and those unfortunate enough to be around when I had them. It’s something my counsellor and I worked hard on, and I haven’t had one for years. I still recognise the warning signs well enough, though.
‘Are you okay? Daisy, what’s the matter?’ Matt’s voice sounds far away, even though I’m aware that he’s sat down next to me. I can feel his arm against my side, and there’s something reassuring about the hardness of the muscle and the warmth of his body. I can feel my anxiety levels starting to creep down but, as they do, I realise that I’m going to have to come up with some sort of explanation for my erratic behaviour. I lift my head slowly and turn to face him.
‘Sorry,’ I start. ‘This is going to sound stupid, but I’m frightened. I don’t think I can come in the van with you.’
‘I’m not sure I understand. Can you tell me what, specifically, you’re frightened of? I know I look rough and ready, but you’re quite safe with me, I promise.’
Great. Now he thinks I’m worried that he’s going to attack me or something. I need to put him straight on that, at least. I break eye contact and stare straight ahead.
‘It’s your van,’ I whisper.
‘My van?’ he repeats, incredulously. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to give me a bit more. I can’t think of anything threatening about the old rust bucket.’
‘It’s because it’s an old rust bucket! Look, I know I’m not making much sense here, so let me try to explain. My dad made a point of never paying more than he absolutely had to for a car. If it was under ten years old or had fewer than one hundred thousand miles on the clock, it was too new and shiny for him.’
‘He sounds like a sensible guy, if you don’t mind me saying so. Cars are a terrible investment.’
‘Yes, but it turned out to be the worst kind of false economy. He and my mother were killed in a road accident ten years ago. The car he had at the time was barely roadworthy, and it gave them no protection at all.’
I see the comprehension dawn on him.
‘Shit, Daisy, that’s awful. I’m so sorry. It makes sense now, though. Because of that, you’re worried that my van won’t protect you if we have an accident?’
I nod.
‘Okay, well, of course I’m not going to force you to come. I’d suggest we take your car, but I’ve got a lot to get this week, particularly if we’re changing some things up, so I need the space. We could take a different route on quieter roads if that helps?’
‘Not really, but thanks for trying. At least everyone’s going in the same direction on a dual carriageway, aren’t they?’
‘True. The only other thing I can say is that, although my van looks a bit tatty, it’s perfectly sound structurally. However, if you really can’t face it, you could follow me in your car if you like? I’m not going to pretend that I wouldn’t rather you came with me, because I was hoping to get to know you a bit better on the way, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I promise to drive extra carefully if you do come with me, though.’
His kindness is just making everything worse. Of course I’d rather follow behind in my nice, modern Focus with its vast array of safety features and airbags, but I feel like I’d be slapping him in the face. Even though I only met him yesterday, he has really gone out of his way for me, from running us up to the bank to getting fuel for Fred’s car. The least I can do in return is try to trust him not to kill me, isn’t it? Maybe Katie’s right and I need to try to be more rational about this. Statistically, I know we’re very unlikely to be involved in an accident between here and Tunbridge Wells, and it’s even less likely to be fatal. I can’t help how I feel, though, even though I detest how weak it makes me look. A tear of frustration spills out of my eye and runs down my cheek. I take a deep breath and turn to him again.
‘I really want to conquer this,’ I tell him shakily. ‘If you can be patient with a totally neurotic passenger, I would like to try to come with you.’
He beams as he helps me up, and we make our way over to the van together. I’m still very anxious, but the fact that I’ve been able to explain, and he hasn’t ridiculed me, makes me feel a little better. I am still struggling to believe him when he says that it’s not the death trap it appears to be, as it looks pretty dangerous to me. I climb into the cab and Matt carefully closes the door behind me, before walking around and opening the driver’s door. The creak makes me jump again, but I concentrate on my breathing as he fastens his seatbelt and starts the engine.
As we head out of Sevenoaks, I notice that he’s driving much more gingerly than he did yesterday. It’s not that he was over-exuberant or anything, I’m simply aware that he’s being extra careful today, driving smoothly, braking early and leaving a large gap between us and the car in front. It’s working, and I can feel the tightness in my chest start to loosen. When we reach the dual carriageway, the noise levels increase dramatically, but he keeps to the left-hand lane, doing a steady sixty miles an hour.
