willing to spare me a kip in a bus shelter I’d agree to whatever he wanted.
Within reason, obviously.
‘Rule one: no questions,’ he said. ‘If you don’t want to tell me why you won’t go home, I promise not to ask. And vice versa for me. All right?’
‘Suits me.’
‘Rule two: no feeling sorry for yourself. First step to sorting your new life out is drawing a line under the old one.’
‘It’s not that easy though, is it?’
‘I know. But if you make yourself look forward and not back, it’ll get easier every day. Trust me.’
I smiled. ‘How’d you get so wise, Jack?’
‘I’m part wizard,’ he said. ‘Okay, rule three: don’t squeeze the toothpaste from the top of the tube.’
‘Why?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s just annoying.’
‘Toothpaste… I haven’t got a brush,’ I mumbled absently.
My head was throbbing, and the dizziness seemed to be getting worse too. I forced my eyes to focus on a fixed point, trying to keep steady, and leaned heavily against Jack for support. Surely we were nearly there by now.
‘I’ve got a spare, still in the packet. It’s all yours.’
‘Is that it then?’ I said. ‘No more rules?’
‘No.’ Jack’s voice was quieter now. ‘Just one more. Rule four: no running away. Not without telling me where you’re going.’
That seemed an odd one.
‘Any reason?’
‘Just want to know you’re safe.’ He flashed me what looked like a slightly forced smile. ‘And like you said, you are getting pretty expert at it.’ He nodded to a pair of stone gateposts. ‘Here’s the campsite.’
***
‘Home sweet home,’ Jack said when we reached his van. ‘Told you it wasn’t that small.’
It’d certainly expanded since the last time I’d seen it. The roof had popped up, accordion-like, to give it standing room, and a little green awning jutted out at the back like a Victorian bustle. Another awning against the side practically doubled the living space, adding a second room.
Jack unzipped the flap and I followed him in. There was a camping table and chair with a little LED lantern in the centre, and a Stephen King book he must’ve been in the middle of turned face down. When he opened the door of the camper, I noticed that what had earlier been a sofa had folded down into a bed, extending out into the back awning so it didn’t encroach too much on the kitchen area. A pair of curtains could be drawn across to give a bit of privacy.
‘Your room, Madame,’ he said, nodding to it. ‘Just let me sort out Sandy’s dinner then I’ll show you around the rest.’
Jack opened one of the kitchenette cupboards and took out a box of dog biscuits. He filled a double bowl with biscuits and cold water, then put it down for Sandy.
‘She’s got a good appetite, hasn’t she?’ I said, watching her wolf it down. ‘Still, I suppose the pups are in there having their tea too.’
‘Nah, she was always a pig.’ He gestured around the little space. ‘So, this is where the magic happens, as they say. There’s storage in the overhead compartments and sofa, plus the big cupboard and a rack outside for cases.’ He pointed up at the accordion roof. ‘So’s a big lad like me doesn’t give himself a hunchback.’ He knelt down to the bank of pine kitchenette cupboards. ‘Half-sized fridge, gas bottle under the hob, storage cupboards for cans. And that’s it really. Small but perfectly formed.’
‘How old is it?’
‘1967 T2 – classic of her era, this old lady.’ He looked around with obvious pride. ‘The shell’s probably all that’s left from the sixties now though. It wasn’t a camper then.’
‘Right.’ I frowned. ‘What was it, a giant roller skate?’
‘People carrier. Microbuses, collectors call them. Then in the ’80s some bright spark decided to gut it and turn it into this.’
‘Did you have to do much to it?’
‘I had the sofa moved back so the bed extends into the tailgate awning, gives me a bit more space. Modernised the decor, redid the electrics. It was a nice little project, took my mind off – well, other stuff I had going on.’
‘Why orange?’
‘Wasn’t my choice. Someone else picked the colour.’
He’d turned away and was frowning into the distance. It felt like it was time for Rule One to kick in, so I quickly changed the subject.
‘So, um, where will you sleep?’
‘Got a fold-up camp bed and a sleeping bag under the seats. I’ll put it up in the side awning.’
‘Won’t you be cold?’
He shrugged. ‘Couple of thick jumpers on and I’ll live.’
‘I’ll sleep in the awning. You have your bed.’
‘Won’t hear of it. Irish tradition of hospitality. Anyway, you need a decent bed after the day you’ve had.’
‘Thank you.’ I was too tired to argue. ‘So, er… bedtime?’
I felt suddenly bashful. My cheeks and forehead were on fire.
‘First things first.’ He rummaged in the tall cupboard until he found a little green first aid kit. ‘Your hands. Let me take a look at them.’
I sank dizzily onto the edge of the bed. Jack knelt in front of me to examine my inflamed palms.
‘The left isn’t so bad but the right’s looking nasty,’ he said. ‘Better get some antiseptic cream on them and bind them up.’
‘I’ll be okay,’ I mumbled. The world seemed a bit spinny suddenly.
‘Metal drainpipe, was it?’
‘Think so.’
‘Hmm. Have you had your tetanus jab?’
‘Yeah. Probably.’ A little giggle bubbled out of me. ‘Funny word, tetanus. Tet-anne-uz. Sounds like a… centurion. Brush on his head and all that.’
He frowned. ‘You okay, Kitty?’
‘Tetanus,’ I repeated. ‘Tett-an-nuss.’
He held one hand against my forehead. ‘Jesus, lass, you’re burning up.’
‘’M’okay. Sleepy.’
Suddenly, everything was black.
***
When I came to, a man’s silhouette was leaning over me, stroking my hair.
‘Ethan?’ I mumbled.
‘Morning, sleepyhead.’
I blinked to get the fog out of my eyes. ‘You…’
‘That’s right, me. Who am I then?’
‘You’re… Jack. Jack Duffy.’
I could see him clearly now, leaning over me as I lay in his bed in the camper. He smiled.
‘So you remember me. That’s a good sign.’
‘Did I fall asleep?’
‘Yeah. For two days.’
‘Two days!’
‘You passed out with a fever. You’ve been in out and of consciousness ever since, raging temperature. Don’t