The Second Life of Nathan Jones

by David Atkinson

‘I don’t know.’

  ‘She just expects me to accept it and get on with things.’

  ‘Probably – what else can you do?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  I wished I could think of something to lift our moods, when suddenly I had a brainwave, one of those ideas that only lived once and streaked across the mind like a fizzing, fading shooting star, the kind of idea that you needed to act on immediately or it vanished forever. I turned to Nathan, all excited, and said, ‘Nathan, I’ve got it.’

  ‘Got what?’

  ‘A camper van.’

  ‘A camper van? I thought you had a Fiesta?’

  ‘I do. But we could hire a camper van. I’ve always wanted to drive about in one ever since I was a kid. My dad’s friend used to park his old Volkswagen caravanette outside our house when he visited. It was diarrhoea brown, covered in rust, and had a huge hole in the floor that meant you could watch the road whizzing past when you travelled along.’

  ‘You’re not selling this to me very well, Kat.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s because you’ve got no imagination.’

  He gave me that kind of hang-dog look associated with someone about to be patronising. ‘Kat, I know you’re only trying to cheer me up by suggesting this holiday idea and, believe me, in different circumstances the thought of heading off with you to a beach somewhere in a camper van is lovely but …’

  ‘You don’t understand. I’m not suggesting you and I go off alone, though now you’ve mentioned it that does sound quite tempting, but no, I thought we could hire one, shoot down to London, snaffle the kids and then, whoosh, we’re gone. It’d make us really hard to track down.’

  Nathan sat bolt upright. ‘Whoosh?’

  ‘Whoosh.’

  ‘That’s a great idea. It’s probably kidnapping but I like it.’

  ‘I’m not sure how it can be kidnapping when they’re your children and you’re allowed to see them as much as you want. How is it more like kidnapping than what she’s doing? Possession is nine tenths of the law, remember?’

  ‘True.’

  ‘Also, after we’ve got them, you can call your wife and explain that you’ll bring them back but not until there’s an official agreement in place. That way she can’t keep them away from you for months – tables turned.’

  ‘We’d need a bigger camper van than your dad’s old friend used to own, hopefully with less rust.’

  ‘You can get them in all shapes and sizes now but best not to go too big otherwise it’s

  hard to drive. Plus, you want one that doesn’t stand out.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘If the police start looking for you, we aren’t so easy to find.’

  ‘The police? I thought it wouldn’t be kidnapping?’

  I thought for a moment. ‘Well, I don’t know that, do I? There might be a restraining order or something on you.’

  ‘Wouldn’t I know about it?’

  ‘I don’t know. Probably.’

  ‘We’re not very good at this, are we?’

  I laughed. ‘No, but we’ll be expert kidnappers soon, just you wait and see. Now, we need a plan.’

  Nathan paused and frowned at me.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t understand why you really want to get involved with me and all my … baggage.’

  I had wondered that myself; in fact, I hadn’t come up with a plausible answer to satisfy myself, let alone him, especially as ten minutes ago he’d started to drag me down. I fancied him, I liked being with him even when everything seemed to be a constant crisis, and he made my bits twitch. Nobody had ever done that before, at least not fully clothed. Maybe I was a complete weirdo but perhaps that wouldn’t be the best kind of reply, so I dredged up something I’d seen on an old episode of Kung Fu I’d watched on an obscure cable channel a few weeks ago. ‘There’s an old Chinese proverb that says, “Whenever someone saves another’s soul they need to stay until they’re whole, or something like that.’

  ‘What hole, like a hole in the road?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘What? Never mind, and, technically, did you save my life?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think I might have – if you’d been left in the drawer much longer you would have died of hypothermia.’

  ‘Thank you again.’

  ‘You’re welcome, but I have to admit that ever since I set eyes on you lying dead – or rather undead – in your shroud I’ve been unable to get you out of my head.’

  ‘Sounds like you’ve got issues.’

  ‘Yeah, I think I have, but you’ve become my latest in a long line of lost causes and, whether you like it or not, I’m sticking around.’

  ‘I like it.’

  ‘Good.’

  Nathan moved over and sat close to me on the couch. Then he leaned over and kissed me gently on the lips. ‘Thanks for helping me.’

  Uh-oh. My body betrayed me; everything inside had gone liquid. What a shame we were sitting in a busy Starbucks. I wanted him to tear my clothes off and drag me onto the floor, and wondered about that. I obviously had some clothes-shredding fantasy thing going on, which, unless I happened to be wearing something old and threadbare from a charity shop,, would only result in some stretched necklines, chafed skin and the odd popped button.

  Don’t forget the bodice.

  ‘Shut up about the bodice.’

  ‘What was that, Kat?’

  Oops.

  ‘Nothing, just thinking aloud.’

  ‘About bodices?’

  ‘Erm, yeah, I need to get a new one.’

  ‘I’d like to see you in that.’

  I bet he would.

  ‘Shhh.’

  ‘Okay, sorry.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t talking to … never mind.’

  I’d also determined that when we eventually ‘did the deed’ the time and place had to be just right. I didn’t know when or where, but it had to be my decision, and it didn’t look as if it would be any time soon now this latest crisis had hit.

  Jesus, I hadn’t realised what a control freak I’d become or why I’d got myself worked up about it, given the variety of places I’d had sex in my life; a muddy tent, a smelly toilet and a grubby Ford Transit came to mind, but I tried to rationalise this by thinking this man was still married and worried about his children. Surely, I must be just an added complication right now, despite the fact my body was screaming at me to grab him and hold on. Of course, it might just be that it’d been so long since I’d had a shag my body was desperate for anything. I laughed into his mouth at the thought.

  ‘What?’ he asked, pulling back.

  ‘I’ll tell you later. Let’s go and plan our road trip.’

  Chapter 20

  Back in his flat, the gloom had lifted now that we had a plan of action. We sat staring at Nathan’s laptop while we surfed Scottish websites showing camper vans for hire. Most of the prices were extortionate, asking nearly £1200 a week. I tutted. ‘That’s stupid money; you’d be better off buying one.’

  ‘Really? How much are they new?’

  ‘Well, this one here is about fifty grand.’ I pointed at the screen.

  ‘Okay, so maybe not better off buying, then.’

  Suddenly I had another brainwave. I was on fire today. ‘These are Scottish sites, that’s the problem.’

  ‘Is it? Why?’

  ‘Because there’s so much less choice up here. Let’s look at places inside the M25 corridor – makes it easier to get there too. If we hire a van locally we’ll have to drive it all the way down and that’ll take ages.’

  I scrolled through various screens and came across a site. ‘Look, the very same van at …’ I squinted at the screen ‘… somewhere near Oxford. It’s called Motorhome World and the price is only £500 for a week – that’s like less than half price.’

  ‘Weird.’

  ‘More choice. More competition. Right. Now give me your credit card. I’ll book this before it goes.’

  While the information upl
oaded Nathan asked, ‘Where will we go once we’ve got the girls?’

  ‘How about the Highlands? I’ve never been there.’

  ‘Me neither, but you’re Scottish and lived here all your life. I’d have thought you’d have gone with your parents.’

  ‘You don’t know my parents. Tramping around the Highlands wouldn’t be their thing. I think the furthest north I’ve been is Aberdeen. I had a weekend training course there a few years ago entitled “Advanced Decomposition of the Exposed Corpse”.’

  ‘Sounds like a blast.’

  ‘The pubs were good.’

  The website pinged, confirming our reservation. ‘That’s it done. We pick it up Monday morning.’

  ‘That’s quick work. So we need to get to Oxford tomorrow or Monday?’

  ‘Monday – I need to pack a bag and tidy up my flat.’

  ‘Tidy up your flat?’

  ‘Of course. I can’t go away and leave a messy flat.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Just because. You book the trains and I’ll see you at the station Monday morning.’

  I got the feeling that Nathan hoped I’d hang around for a bit longer but then I might just end up going all liquid again and losing my resolve and probably a few items of clothing as well.

  ‘It’ll be fine, Nathan. We’ll get your girls and have a ball. Tomorrow you need to pack some stuff for your girls, and yourself. Travel light if you can.’ I gave him a quick peck on the lips, wishing just for a second that I could stay, and left.

  *

  After she’d gone, Nathan fetched a beer from the fridge, popped it open and stared out the window across to Arthur’s Seat in the distance.

  He hadn’t initially been that keen on the camper-van idea, but the more he thought about it, the more he believed it was the only way to make Laura see sense. He could, of course, try and reason with her, but he’d be wasting his breath. Sharing a life with her for over a decade had taught him that much.

  His flat felt empty and quiet now Kat had left. He suddenly realised he missed Kat when she wasn’t there as much as he missed his daughters. Now that was a real revelation to him.

  Chapter 21

  Hayley phoned me on the way home from Nathan’s and I put her on hands free as I

  drove.

  ‘Sorry, Kat, I can’t talk long. I’m at work catching up.’

  ‘It’s Saturday, Hayley.’

  ‘I know, but I had to go into the office for a few hours to prepare for my Monday meetings, then I’m going to the gym. What’s happening with Nathan and his kids? Have you made any plans?’

  ‘Yeah, we’re going to snatch them back.’

  ‘Sorry, say that again. I thought you said you were going to snatch them back.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Uh-oh, that’s not a good idea. Maybe you should just step away now and not get involved in any sort of hare-brained scheme.’

  ‘It’s my hare-brained scheme.’

  ‘Strangely enough, that doesn’t surprise me as much as it should.’

  ‘He looked so sad. I don’t like him sad.’

  ‘Still, it’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?’

  ‘His wife’s a cow.’

  ‘Playing devil’s advocate, you don’t know her – she might be lovely, and he’s just driven her potty.’

  ‘I don’t think so. How many women do you know would move away and leave her kids behind?’

  ‘Not many; but she’s not leaving them, is she? She’s now taking them back. It seems like this might have been her strategy all along.’

  I hadn’t thought of that until today. Hayley was a much smarter cookie than me. ‘Well, that’s even worse, she’s a devious cow.’

  ‘My advice is don’t get involved.’

  ‘It’s too late for that, Hayley, but I need you to do me a favour.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I need to know if Nathan snatching his children is illegal, like kidnapping or a felony.’

  ‘It’s not a felony.’

  ‘It’s not?’

  ‘No, because we don’t live in America.’

  ‘Oh, okay. What about UK laws? Is it illegal?’

  ‘Well, as I said earlier, possession is nine tenths of the law, so I don’t think so, as long as they’re not being endangered or missing school or stuff like that.’

  ‘We’re only taking them for a week maybe, just so his wife knows Nathan isn’t going to sit about for months until she decides he can see them.’

  ‘He could just ask her.’

  ‘He says that won’t work.’

  ‘There must be easier ways of settling things.’

  ‘You’re right, there probably is. I’ll talk to him again later. We’ll be away for a week, then we’ll come back to Edinburgh.’

  ‘What happens after that?’

  ‘I don’t know; we haven’t thought that far ahead.’

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me either. I say again, you shouldn’t get involved, Kat.’

  I knew she was probably right, but I didn’t want her to put a downer on things, not now that we were about to set off on an adventure. I had this nagging doubt that perhaps I had some selfish reasons for the escapade, to inject some excitement into my mundane life, but I felt something special whenever I spent time with Nathan. Most of my life I’d felt inferior, uncomfortable, maybe even unequal, in my relationships with men. I always seemed to be the one compromising and making allowances. I could never just be myself around them. With Nathan things were different. It could be something to do with the way we met. Perhaps everything would change once he’d sorted his life out but for now he needed me, and I liked that.

  *

  At 7 a.m. Monday I spotted him standing outside WHSmith in Waverley station – our agreed meeting point – with a small rucksack on his back and a small silver case by his feet. I dragged my very heavy and very large suitcase behind me, the small castor wheels on it beginning to buckle. I’d probably packed too much. I always did.

  ‘Kat, you said travel light.’

  ‘This is me travelling light. You have no idea how hard it was to leave stuff behind.’

  ‘It looks like your whole wardrobe.’

  ‘This isn’t all my wardrobe, not even close. This is only the basics.’

  ‘Well, I suppose if we can’t get a camper van we can use your suitcase to hide the girls in.’

  At least he’d remained cheerful. ‘What platform do we need?’

  ‘Six.’

  ‘Okay, let’s go.’

  Five hours and two train changes later we left Oxford mainline station and hailed a taxi. Nathan helped me lug my suitcase in and gave the driver the address and postcode and we were on the final leg of our journey.

  The taxi eventually weaved into a run-down industrial estate and deposited us outside some large grey metal gates, strewn with razor wire and secured by a large chain and padlock. Attached to the left gate a large sign warned ‘Beware of the Attack Dogs’. Not the most welcoming of places, I had to say.

  An intercom had been screwed onto the fence. Nathan pressed the buzzer and waited. Eventually a male voice asked gruffly, ‘Yes, what is it?’

  ‘Err, we’re here to pick up a camper van?’

  ‘Have you made an appointment?’

  ‘Well, no … but we booked online and paid a deposit with a credit card.’

  ‘You’re supposed to make an appointment.’

  ‘Well, we didn’t know that, and we’ve come all the way from Edinburgh.’

  ‘You should have made an appointment. What would have happened if I’d been out?’

  Nathan looked to me and shrugged. ‘Err, I don’t know.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said the voice triumphantly. ‘That’s why the website asks you to make an appointment.’

  ‘Sorry, we didn’t read that bit. We’ve got a very big suitcase with us.’

  I heard a dramatic sigh through the hiss of intercom static. ‘That’s what everyone says. As for your suitcase,
we at Motorhome World don’t like large suitcases. They scratch the paintwork.’

  That made me wonder how clear the appointment malarkey could be if everyone said the same thing. I peered through the fence at the scrubby patch of land that encompassed Motorhome World. I couldn’t see any motorhomes at all, which struck me as strange. I would have thought that somewhere called Motorhome World would be packed full of the things. After a minute of silence Nathan pressed the intercom again.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We’re still here.’

  ‘I know, I’m just putting my shoes on. I’ll be with you in a minute.’

  ‘He’s just putting his shoes on,’ Nathan repeated.

  ‘I heard.’

  ‘I wonder why he’s got his shoes off?’

  ‘Maybe he’s got sore feet.’

  A few minutes later a large man with a sweaty complexion and greasy black hair ambled into view. Mr Sweaty, as I immediately named him, approached the gates and stopped a few feet short of the fence. He nodded as if coming to some monumental decision and leaned forward, opened the padlock, removed the chain and swung one of the gates open. We stepped inside, and he hurriedly closed the gate and padlocked it again. I shivered despite the warm afternoon sunshine and hoped Mr Sweaty wasn’t familiar with John Kramer of the Saw movie franchise. I could imagine him trapping us here and subjecting us to various lab-rat-type tests before systematically chopping off bits of our limbs. A strange scent drifted to my nose from the man, a mixture of sweat, cigarettes and aftershave or deodorant used liberally to try and mask the other two smells.

  He turned and walked away without speaking. We assumed that we were to follow him, the alternative being to stand and stare at the gate waiting for the attack dogs to show up.

  We trailed warily a few yards behind, mainly because my suitcase didn’t trundle very well on the rough tarmac. Eventually, he paused at the door of a run-down Portakabin with dirty windows. I still hadn’t spotted a single camper van. He smiled creepily and beckoned us inside. I had become more and more convinced that we would walk inside to find an accomplice ready and waiting in a hockey mask ready to fire up a chainsaw.

  Instead we found a paper-strewn desk with several stained coffee mugs perched precariously on the edge. Mr Sweaty sat down behind the chaos and indicated we were to sit in the chairs opposite.