Finding Home

by Kate Field

  She picked up her phone and switched on the torch function; she’d never been so grateful for Bea’s birthday gift. She picked her way to the front door, stepped outside, and shouted, ‘Stop! Don’t anyone move.’

  She had no idea why she shouted that; it was the first thing that came into her head. It was what the police shouted on TV shows, wasn’t it? No matter. It had an effect. She saw three tall figures beside the nearest caravan, and as she moved towards them, they grabbed their torches from the ground and ran away through the gate in the direction of the coastal path. They were fast. Mim would have no chance of catching them up.

  She dashed back into the bedroom and threw on some clothes and shoes with growing fury. Had they been trying to burgle the caravans? There was nothing in them of particular value except the televisions, but it was the principle of the thing; who would steal from a charity? She didn’t think they could have taken much as she hadn’t spotted them carrying anything, but if they’d messed up her pristine caravans she’d be livid.

  It was only when she stepped outside and turned back to close her caravan door that she noticed. The slim light from her phone lit up the side of the caravan and illuminated a squiggle of bright red paint that ran the entire length of the wall. She followed the veranda and found that all four walls had been daubed in the same way.

  For a moment, despair threatened to overwhelm her. A burglary would have been bad but televisions were easy enough to replace. This was devastating. This had undone hours of painstaking work. A huge number of potential donors were coming to the launch on Saturday, as well as the local press, and were expecting to see an attractive holiday park, ready to welcome families in need. What would they think now?

  She took a deep breath. There was no time for despair. They had two days and two nights to fix this. She didn’t know if it was possible, but she wasn’t going to give up without trying. Never mind the fact that it had taken them weeks to reach this stage. She wouldn’t lose hope until the first guests started to arrive on Saturday.

  She went back inside the caravan and dialled Corin’s number. She didn’t think he was going to answer until finally the call connected and she heard a scuffle as if he’d dropped the phone and a soft expletive.

  ‘Mim?’ His voice was husky with sleep, gravel in the usual smooth tone as he said her name. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘The spray painters have been back. They’ve attacked my caravan.’

  ‘Stay inside and lock the door. I’ll be right over.’

  She switched the torch back on and headed across the field to the caravan opposite hers. The glossy blue exterior was now decorated with a wiggly orange stripe that ran round all four sides, covering walls and windows. Something crunched under her foot and she noticed that the flowerpots had been smashed, and flowers and soil spread across the veranda. It was heartbreaking to see.

  She carried on exploring and found some relief. The yellow, grey, and lavender caravans were all untouched. The pink one nearest to hers, where she’d seen the intruders, had been sprayed in one corner but she must have interrupted the vandals before they could do more. A couple of aerosol cans had been abandoned on the ground.

  She turned as a wide beam of light fell on her.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Corin said. ‘I told you to lock yourself inside. You don’t know what might have been out here.’

  ‘I’ve faced a lot worse than three kids with aerosol sprays,’ she said, kicking the cans with her foot. ‘Do you think bored teenagers have been behind all the trouble? Have there been problems with local kids before?’

  ‘How do you know they were kids?’

  ‘I saw them when they were running away. They were tall and lanky, and fast. Too fast for me to catch them,’ she added with regret.

  ‘Did you confront them?’ Anger laced his words. ‘You should have phoned me as soon as you heard a noise. You could have been hurt.’

  ‘I’ve looked after myself for years. I don’t need you to start doing it for me.’

  Briefly, a strange tension seemed to hum in the darkness and the silence of the night, and then Corin sighed, as if letting go of whatever he had intended to say.

  ‘You are infuriatingly independent,’ he said. Mim laughed.

  ‘Sorry to disappoint you. I know you’re used to squealing women throwing themselves at you, but I’m a different sort of woman and come from a different world. I don’t need a hero.’ She shone her torch on the damaged area of the caravan. ‘I won’t refuse your help to fix this, though. This caravan isn’t too bad, but mine and the blue one have paint on all sides. Instead of fussing about me, let’s worry about how we’re going to sort this out in two days…’

  After a couple of hours’ sleep, Mim was up at five the next morning to start work on cleaning the caravans. Some brief internet research the night before had revealed that the sooner they set to work the better, and certainly within the first twenty-four hours before the paint dried. The forecasted warm, sunny weather was now unwelcome, as it would speed up the drying time. Every minute was crucial. Mim had been prepared to work through the night until Corin had pointed out with infuriating sense that they risked spreading the paint if they couldn’t see what they were doing.

  The sun hadn’t risen yet, but it was light enough to see and Mim inspected the caravans more carefully now. She didn’t know if it was better or worse than she’d anticipated. The garish graffiti paint made a glaring contrast with the soft pastel shades chosen for the caravans, like a streak of fresh blood on pale skin. The good news was that there was only a wavy line along each side, not a full drawing. The vandals who had done this were no graffiti artists.

  She was returning to her own caravan when Corin drove through the gates and parked on the drive. Mim wasn’t surprised to see him. They hadn’t arranged to meet but she’d expected him to turn up at some point.

  ‘You’re lucky I’m not still in bed,’ she said, as he got out of the car.

  ‘I know you better than that,’ he said, smiling. ‘Although I did wonder if you’d have worked through the night. Have you actually listened to my advice for once?’

  ‘Don’t let it go to your head. This was too important to get wrong.’ She followed him round to the boot of the car. ‘What have you brought?’

  ‘Anything that the internet suggested might prove useful. Buckets, towels, sponges.’ He began to empty the boot. ‘Microfibre cloths, cooking oil, baby oil. Mrs Dennis is going to be furious as I raided her supplies and took most of the spare towels from the house. The only thing I don’t have is nail varnish remover. I don’t suppose you have any?’

  ‘No.’ She held up her hands. ‘These hands are made for work, not decoration.’ She grabbed a bucket. ‘Shall we start with soap and water?’

  They filled up two buckets and agreed to start work on the back of Mim’s caravan, which was the least conspicuous place. Mim dipped the corner of the towel in the water and gingerly rubbed at a patch of the paint. Nothing happened. She tried again, rubbing harder. There was some evidence of colour transferring to the towel but no noticeable difference on the caravan wall. She tried a third time, with a fresh patch of towel.

  ‘Does that look any different?’ she asked Corin, pointing to the patch she was working on. He bent down beside her to peer where she was pointing. She caught a sudden whiff of fruity shampoo; his hair was damp from the shower and beginning to curl out from the nape of his neck as it dried. He tilted his head to look at her.

  ‘A little.’ He smiled. ‘Shall we try the baby oil next?’

  Mim was temporarily robbed of words by the unexpected image that flashed into her head as Corin continued to smile at her. She jumped up in relief when she heard another car approaching and peered round the side of the caravan.

  ‘It’s Bobby,’ she said. ‘Did you call him?’

  ‘I knew he wouldn’t mind an early start. We can call on the others when it’s a more civilised hour.’

  ‘This is going to take fore
ver, isn’t it?’ she said, doubt creeping in. ‘We’d need an army to have any chance of fixing it.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to find an army.’

  All very well for him to say but Mim was conscious that she wouldn’t be much use. She didn’t know anyone to call on other than Karen and Heather, and that would depend on Karen’s work shifts. Speaking of work… Mim checked her watch and groaned. She was due at the shop in a couple of hours. Would Janet give her some time off, as it was an emergency? She would have to ask, however unlikely it seemed. Janet wasn’t heartless, underneath the gruff surface. She’d understand the urgency, wouldn’t she?

  She was a couple of minutes late when she finally arrived at the shop. She ran across the street from the beach car park and saw a cross-faced Janet in the doorway, changing the sign to ‘open’. By the time Mim entered, she could hear Janet’s heavy tread clomping up the stairs. She followed her up and caught her settling down at her desk in the office.

  ‘You shouldn’t be up here,’ Janet said, swivelling in her chair as Mim burst in. ‘You’re already late. I’ll have to dock your pay. I hope you haven’t left the shop door unlocked.’

  Mim had, but didn’t think admitting it would help her cause.

  ‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ she said, ‘but there’s an emergency at Vennhallow. The caravans have been vandalised overnight. Some kids have sprayed paint all over them. Can you believe they’d do that?’ Mim looked for a flicker of sympathy but Janet’s face was impassive as usual. ‘We have to clean them before the charity launches on Saturday. We need as many people as we can find to help.’

  ‘I hope you’re not expecting me to help. I can’t do it with my legs the way they are.’

  ‘No.’ Mim smiled. She could imagine the reaction if she sent back Janet instead of returning herself. ‘I hoped you might let me have the day off and possibly tomorrow too if we need it. I could take it as holiday or work different days to make it up.’

  ‘It’s too short notice for time off. Who will cover the shop if you go? I’ve a busy day ahead.’

  ‘What about the morning then?’ Mim asked. It wasn’t ideal but it would be better than nothing. ‘I’ll come back at one and work the afternoon.’

  ‘That’s not convenient.’ Janet swivelled from side to side in her chair. ‘You need to sort out your priorities. What’s more important, your job or this charity nonsense?’

  ‘Nonsense?’ Mim repeated, surprised at Janet’s reaction. ‘It’s not nonsense to want to help people who are having a rough time in life. You can’t make me choose between earning a living and being kind.’

  ‘I’m your boss. I can do exactly that.’

  Janet spun her chair away from Mim, ending the conversation. As she did, she knocked the edge of her desk, and the screensaver vanished from the computer screen, revealing the document she was working on. It was a poster and the central message in large, red capitals read, ‘COAST LINE NOT KNIFE CRIME’. Mim gasped. Surely not…

  ‘It was you?’ she said. She couldn’t believe it. ‘You’re behind the attempts to sabotage the charity?’

  ‘What if I am? I’m not ashamed of it.’ Janet stared at Mim. She wasn’t embarrassed or defiant; there was no emotion in her face at all. ‘This is a good village for decent people. I’ve worked hard all my life to build up my business as a nest egg for retirement and I won’t have it ruined by this scheme. We don’t want layabouts coming here from those sink estates in the city, peddling drugs and flashing their knives around. It will drive the tourists away. I watch the news. I know what goes on.’

  ‘Those aren’t the people we’re going to help,’ Mim said. She was probably wasting her breath but she had to try. ‘This charity is for the people who work hard but who can still barely afford to eat, let alone take a holiday. It’s for the people who have had bad luck and lost their job, or who can’t work because of illness or through caring for an ill or disabled relative. There are all sorts of reasons why people might need a holiday.’

  ‘If they can’t afford a holiday then they need to work harder. I run three businesses to make ends meet and I’ve never had to beg for handouts. I don’t know what the Howards were thinking, setting this up in our village. They could afford to send these people anywhere on holiday. Why do we have to have them in our backyard?’

  Mim was too incensed to hold her tongue.

  ‘These people?’ she repeated. ‘These people are my people. I know what it’s like to work multiple jobs, to be so tired that you can barely stand up, and still worry about where the next meal is coming from or whether you’ll have a roof over your head the next night. I know what it’s like to have people judge you unfairly for things that aren’t your fault. When I was living in care—’

  ‘In care?’ Janet heaved herself on to her feet. ‘So that’s your story, is it? No wonder you didn’t have references. What was Corin Howard thinking of, vouching for you?’ She gave a scornful laugh. ‘What was he thinking with, more like! Hooked by a pretty face, was he? Hankered for something rough? Don’t get your hopes up for anything more. You’ll never be good enough for him.’

  ‘You’re a nasty old witch!’ Mim said. ‘You can stick your job. I wouldn’t work another second for you if you paid a million pounds an hour!’

  ‘You can’t quit. You’re fired,’ Janet shouted, but Mim was already halfway down the stairs, desperate to get away from the poisonous air of Janet’s flat.

  It wasn’t quite an army, but a platoon of volunteers had arrived at the caravan field by the time Mim returned. She could see many familiar faces, including Bill and Bea, Lia and Bobby, Ros, Howie, Paula… She stood by the gate, taking in the sight with mixed feelings. It was brilliant that all these people were here and after Janet’s words, it was reassuring to be reminded of all the good people in the world. But there was a shaft of sadness too. She’d thought of nothing else all the way back. She loved it here but now she had thrown away her job, how could she afford to stay?

  ‘Mim!’ Corin was standing on the veranda of her caravan, talking to Bill. She joined them and he smiled. ‘I knew you could handle Janet. Have you worked a miracle and persuaded her to give you the day off?’ His smile wavered. ‘Mim? Is something wrong?’

  Where to start? She took the easiest option.

  ‘It’s Janet,’ she said. ‘She was behind all this – the posters and the vandalism.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Corin frowned. ‘I know she can be grumpy but I wouldn’t have expected her to be malicious. I thought you said the vandals were young people.’

  ‘She must have persuaded or paid them to do it. There’s no doubt. I caught her preparing another poster. She wasn’t bothered about being found out. She wasn’t ashamed at all.’ Mim had never come across anyone so blinkered. Janet hadn’t even been willing to listen to what Mim said. She’d made her mind up and, as far as she was concerned, everyone else was wrong. ‘She doesn’t want penniless scum polluting her village and driving down the value of her business.’

  ‘Her village?’ Bill repeated. ‘Well, I’ll be blowed. Who the devil does she think she is? What did you say to that, love?’

  Mim grimaced.

  ‘Probably the wrong thing. I lost my temper and refused to work for her anymore. So now I’m unemployed and without a reference again.’

  ‘Good for you,’ Bill said unexpectedly. ‘We’d have been disappointed if you’d done anything else. I’m only sorry we persuaded you to take the job in the first place. Let me have a word with Bea and see what we can do.’

  He beetled off.

  ‘Janet said something else, didn’t she?’ Corin asked. ‘Come on, Mim. It’s not like you to hold back.’

  Mim couldn’t meet his eye. She had no intention of repeating what else Janet had said. It was far too embarrassing. She didn’t want to dwell on that part of the conversation or examine the fact that she’d only quit her job after Janet had said those things about Corin, not before. She shrugged and tried a smile.

  ‘Oh,
you know. Just a load of stuff implying that people with no money have no morals. It’s not very nice to be reminded of how worthless you are.’

  ‘Don’t say that. You’re worth a thousand of Janet.’ He reached out and touched her hand briefly, so that she looked up at him. His eyes were full of warmth, not the pity she’d expected. ‘A thousand times more than most people I know. Come on. Where’s the Mim who less than twelve hours ago was chasing away vandals and who was raring to fix these caravans? We only have forty-eight hours to go. We need her back.’

  ‘You’re good at this.’ Mim laughed, and the tension of the last hour drained away. ‘Don’t tell me. You were head boy at your posh school, weren’t you?’

  ‘There was no such thing at the sixth form college I attended.’ Mim looked at him, not sure whether to believe him. With his money and accent, he must have gone to a private school, mustn’t he? Corin smiled at her. ‘Don’t judge, Mim.’

  It was a long, hard day. They had decided to work on the damaged blue caravan first and even with several people working on each wall it was slow progress. After a process of trial and error, they had discovered that Lia’s nail varnish remover and some strange butter wax that Bill had found in his workshop were most successful in removing the paint, but it was tiring work rubbing at the damaged area without spreading it to the rest of the bodywork. Mim’s arm ached, and she was sure the muscles in her right arm would be twice the size of those in her left by nightfall.

  Reinforcements came and went during the day. Someone must have spread the word about the nail varnish remover, as a group of women turned up after the school run carrying half full bottles, although Ros had been sent on a mission to buy as much as she could. Parcels of sandwiches were passed round, but no one wanted to stop to take a proper break. By five o’clock, only Mim, Corin, and Bobby were still on site, and they worked on for another couple of hours until one caravan looked relatively clean.