Daisy’s Vintage Cornish Camper Van

by Ali McNamara

  ‘Tha – thank you,’ I tell her, looking from the window up into a pair of cornflower blue eyes.

  ‘Are you changing for Plymouth or St Felix?’ she asks, as I stumble to my feet and gather my things.

  ‘St Felix.’

  ‘Ah, lovely, that’s a wonderful part of the line. It runs right along the coast. You’ll have some gorgeous views along the way, especially on a beautiful day like this.’

  ‘Great, thank you,’ I mumble, as I make my way along the carriage behind her and lift my case – the last one – down from the luggage rack.

  ‘Holiday is it, dear?’ the lady asks, carefully climbing down from the train in front of me.

  ‘Er, no, not really – it’s a bit complicated.’

  ‘Matters of the heart, eh?’ she continues, as I follow her across the platform.

  ‘No, definitely not. Well…’ I think about Daisy. ‘Not in the way you mean anyway.’

  ‘Ah, matters of the heart come in many guises,’ she says knowingly, as we reach the guard.

  I’m not sure what to say so I just smile.

  ‘Well, have a lovely time, dear, whatever you’re going there for. St Felix is enchanting at any time of year.’ She walks straight past the guard, who doesn’t seem to notice her, and then as she enters the small ticket office she turns back. ‘Some might even say magical,’ she adds, before giving me the briefest of waves and disappearing around the corner.

  The guard reaches for my ticket. ‘St Felix, is it?’ he asks, looking at my case.

  I nod.

  ‘That’s Platform Three, just over there.’ He points to show me. ‘You the last?’

  ‘Yes, the lady and I were.’

  The guard looks at me strangely. ‘Okay, then… the next train will be along in four minutes. You’ve just time.’

  My fifth and final train journey is the easiest and by far the prettiest. I’m grateful the Cornish weather has been kind to me so I can appreciate the spectacular sea views as we travel the short distance down to St Felix, which looks picture postcard perfect as I get my first views of the little harbour town from the train window.

  Right, I think, as we arrive and I drag my case along the platform behind a few others doing the same. Now I’m actually here at last, I just need to find where I’m staying for the next few nights, then hopefully I can get this over with as quickly as possible and head home again.

  I glance up into one of the bluest skies I’ve ever seen.

  The things you make me do, Daisy. You’re not even here any more and I’m still following your orders!

  But I find I’m smiling as I leave the station and head down into the little town still dragging my case behind me. From what I’d seen so far, St Felix certainly wasn’t the worst place in the world I could have had to visit to collect this thing. In fact, from what I’d seen so far, it was exactly the opposite.

  Two

  I check into my room at one of the local pubs on the harbour front – The Merry Mermaid. A jolly woman with a beehive of red hair and vintage fifties clothing introduces herself as Rita and shows me up to my room – a light, bright double with a great view of the harbour from a comfy-looking window seat.

  ‘It’s a lovely room,’ I tell her, placing my suitcase and rucksack down on the floor in front of the bed.

  ‘One of our best,’ Rita says proudly. ‘You’re lucky we had a late cancellation or I’m afraid you might have been in one of our rooms without a sea view. Still beautiful, of course,’ she adds. ‘But this room is always booked up a long time in advance. We’re very busy.’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘Last minute break, is it?’ she asks, looking at my case.

  ‘No… not really.’ I hesitate. ‘I wonder actually if you might be able to help me? I’m looking for a garage, er…’ I scrabble about in my rucksack for a piece of paper. ‘Bob’s Bangers?’

  ‘Yes, my love, I know it. It’s on your way out of town. Just off the main road up on Duke Street.’ She looks puzzled. ‘But if you’re after one of Bob’s cars, you’re out of luck, I’m afraid. I happen to know he’s away at the moment.’

  ‘What?’ I exclaim a little too loudly. ‘But I rang a few days ago to check someone would be there. I’ve come such a long way for this.’

  Rita waits expectantly for me to continue, but when I don’t she offers, ‘Bob often gets someone in to cover if he’s away. Maybe that’s who you spoke to on the phone?’

  ‘Oh.’ I breathe a sigh of relief. ‘That must be it. He was quite insistent I come down to collect. I thought there might be some way to have it delivered, but he said no.’

  Again, Rita waits hopefully.

  ‘I’m here to collect a vehicle,’ I tell her.

  ‘Ah.’ Rita sounds almost disappointed, as though something else much more exciting was taking place. I get the feeling Rita knows a lot about what goes on in St Felix. ‘Well, I’m sure you’ll find it okay. Like I said, just off the main road.’ She looks around the room. ‘So I’ll leave you to it then if you’re happy. Let me know if there’s anything you want, my lovely, won’t you? My husband Richie and I are always on hand to help.’

  ‘I will do, and thank you, Rita, you’ve been very helpful.’

  After I’ve unpacked and settled in to my room it’s already getting late – too late to walk to a garage that would more than likely be shut for the day now – so I decide to take a stroll and discover more about this little seaside town that I’m staying in and that Daisy was so keen for me to visit.

  I walk back down through the pub, which is already busy serving early dinners to families with small children, and I head through the front door straight out on to the harbour.

  It’s early July so the light is still good as I walk along the harbour front, stopping to look occasionally in the many shop windows I pass. I’m pleased to see most of them aren’t selling the usual seaside fare of plastic windmills, rock and silly hats, but instead paintings, ceramics, and artistic bits and pieces.

  You snob, I hear in my head, as I imagine Daisy’s reaction to my thoughts. What’s wrong with a bit of seaside rock and a Kiss Me Quick hat?

  I shake my head and smile as I continue walking past the shops all the way to the end of the harbour wall, right out to a little lighthouse that stands at the far end. I pause for a bit, leaning on some iron railings to watch the waves crashing against the wall below me as they roll in towards the harbour. The tide must be on its way in, I think absent-mindedly, as I gaze down into the blue-grey water.

  After I’ve stood and allowed my thoughts to race for a few minutes – something that was never a good idea these days – I turn and retrace my steps, weaving my way back through the holiday-makers still out enjoying the evening sunshine. A waft of fish and chips laced with salt and vinegar pleases my senses, and I realise as I pass a third family eating them with wooden forks from white polystyrene cartons that I haven’t eaten for quite some time. In fact, I haven’t eaten much at all today. Walking on, I spy that it’s Mickey’s Fish Bar from which so many are enjoying food and I head over to join the queue winding out of its door.

  When I’ve paid for and received my delicious-smelling parcel, I look around for a bench on which to sit and enjoy my meal, but the lovely evening weather seems to have brought everyone out tonight and every single seat seems to be taken. So I wander a little further away from the crowds, and to my joy a seat suddenly becomes available as a family vacates a bench that looks directly out to sea. I rush over and sit down, delighting in the gorgeous view I’ll now be able to enjoy with my dinner. I’m surprised in the few minutes I’ve taken my eyes away from the sea how far it has progressed into the harbour, so that nearly all the boats that I saw earlier moored with huge chains are now bobbing about happily in water instead of looking like they’ve been abandoned on the sand.

  ‘Watch out for the seagulls!’ a young man walking a small dog warns, as he passes by behind my bench. I turn around to see him better, and as I do I hear flutterin
g by my ear. I turn swiftly to see a huge seagull hovering next to me, about to pounce on my newly opened meal.

  ‘Shoo!’ I call, swiping at it with my hand to see it off, but the seagull is undeterred.

  The man claps his hands, and his little dog barks. The seagull, realising his mission is impossible now I’ve re-covered my food, takes the hint and soars off into the evening sky again.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say gratefully to the man. ‘I should have known better.’

  ‘No worries at all. They’re devils for it around here. They’ve snatched many an unsuspecting holiday-maker’s treat away from them. Not just fish and chips – pasties, ice creams – they’re not picky. That’s partly why they’re so big. Keep your food covered and your wits about you, and you’ll be fine.’

  I smile at him.

  ‘Enjoy your chips,’ he says as a parting gesture, but his little dog has other ideas. She decides at that very moment to do her business right by my bench. ‘Oh lord, Clarice,’ he says, groping for a plastic bag in the pocket of his cord trousers. ‘Did you have to do it right here when this lady is having her dinner.’

  ‘It’s fine, don’t worry about it,’ I tell him, as I watch him expertly scoop the little mess up. ‘My friend had a Burmese Mountain dog. Now, when he goes that is trouble!’

  The young man knots the bag, then he pushes his glasses back up his nose where they’ve slid down while he bent over. ‘I can imagine. What on earth made your friend get a dog that big? Clarice is enough trouble and she’s only a small breed!’

  ‘Company,’ I say without thinking. ‘She was ill. I mean she didn’t get a dog that big because she was ill. She’d just always wanted one and we tried to do everything she wanted before…’ my voice trails off, ‘before…’

  The man nods hurriedly. ‘I completely understand. I’m sorry about your friend. Was she young?’

  ‘Yes, well, my age.’

  ‘Too young then,’ he says knowingly. ‘Makes you wonder sometimes, doesn’t it, what it’s all about?’ He looks out into the distance as though he’s searching for the elusive answer.

  ‘Yes, it does.’

  ‘Anyway, we should be on our way,’ he says suddenly, looking back at me again. ‘Enjoy your dinner. I’m sorry if we’ve disturbed you.’

  ‘No, not at all. Thank you for saving me from the mutant seagulls.’

  The man smiles. ‘It was my pleasure.’

  I can’t help but watch him as he continues on his way with his little dog trotting along happily beside him. How nice everyone seemed here. It made a change from London, where if you tried starting a conversation with a stranger they thought you were mad, sad or about to mug them.

  I try to eat some of my dinner, keeping an eye out for any errant gulls, but after my encounter I find I’m not that hungry after all and my mind is racing again.

  Why have I spoken about Daisy to a perfect stranger? I never usually spoke about her to anyone – I found it far too upsetting. I might not have said much, but what I had surprised me.

  I toss the remains of my dinner into a nearby bin, which annoys me – I don’t like waste – but thoughts of Daisy often put me off my food these days and I’d lost a fair bit of weight as a result, not that that was an issue for me. I’d been trying, usually unsuccessfully, to lose weight for years. Daisy and I were always trying the latest diet craze in an effort to become what we thought would be the perfect version of ourselves. Sadly, in the end, we both got our wish and lost far too much weight – Daisy due to her illness, and I due to worry and now grief.

  They say be careful what you wish for… It was not a weight-loss plan I’d recommend to anyone.

  Before heading back to the hotel for an early night, I decide to explore a little more of the town. No doubt a strange bed in a strange room tonight wouldn’t do anything for my insomnia so some fresh air first might be a good idea.

  St Felix, although busy, is quite a small town so it doesn’t take me long to look around. Other than the harbour, there are several beaches, which are still being frequented by holiday-makers even though it’s now getting late in the evening. The beaches are linked by narrow, winding, usually cobbled streets, and it’s one of those streets I now find myself on as I try to find my way back to the hotel.

  The aptly named Harbour Street leads down from the more modern part of town, which among other things has a small supermarket and a bank. Like so many of St Felix’s streets it is cobbled, but this one, instead of being full of holiday cottages and flats, is filled with shops – old shops – many of which I can imagine have sold the same types of goods for decades.

  In addition to more galleries and gift shops, Harbour Street boasts a post office, a beach shop and a rather cute-looking florist called The Daisy Chain. Nice, I think, pausing for a moment to look up at the sign. A bit further along is a bakery intriguingly called The Blue Canary, its window now empty of all the delicious cakes and bread I imagine it’s usually filled with in the daytime. Unlike the shops directly on the harbour, which have stayed open to make full use of the holiday-makers still wandering around the town, these shops are now closed for the day, but I decide I’ll definitely pop back tomorrow, especially to the bakery…

  I feel myself yawn. It’s been a long day and I’m now quite tired. For me, this doesn’t necessarily equate to the need for sleep, but I head back to The Merry Mermaid and up to my room in the hope that I might nod off early. I get into my pyjamas and decide to sit in the window seat for a bit, sipping the water I’d picked up from the supermarket earlier and gazing out at a spectacular blood-red sunset.

  ‘Daisy,’ I say out loud. ‘I’m still not sure about the reason you made me come all the way here. But I definitely see now why you loved this place so much.’

  I feel myself yawn for about the seventh time in the last five minutes so I close up the curtains, and ignoring the constant cry of the seagulls and the faint drone of a singer down in the bar of the pub, I climb into bed, assuming like always I’ll simply lie awake in the darkness trying to calm my overwrought mind.

  But the speed at which I fell asleep is not the only thing that surprises me when I awake the next morning – it’s the fact that I slept right through the night too.

  It’s the first time this has happened since Daisy left us.

  Three

  The next morning I’m up early, feeling surprisingly refreshed after my night’s sleep.

  I eat a hearty breakfast down in the bar of The Merry Mermaid with some of the other residents, and then I decide to head straight up to the garage; much as I was enjoying being in St Felix, the sooner I got this part over with the better.

  Like Rita had said I might, I find Bob’s Bangers easily, situated up a hill on the outskirts of the town. The large iron gates are, to my relief, unlocked and open to receive customers. So I wander through to find a neat, tidy yard with vintage vehicles for sale lined up all along one side of the fence that surrounds the garage.

  As I walk over to take a closer look at them, I realise what fantastic condition all the cars and vans are in. They’ve all been beautifully restored, and their shiny bonnets and chrome bumpers gleam in the morning sunshine.

  ‘That’s a real beauty, that one,’ I hear a voice behind me say, making me jump.

  I turn around and see a tall but youngish man in navy blue mechanic’s overalls wiping his hands on an oily rag. He’s looking not at me but at the car I’m standing in front of.

  ‘1964 MGB Roadster,’ he continues. ‘She’s in great condition. If you’re interested, we can take it out for a test drive?’

  ‘Oh no, I’m not here to buy a car. I’m here to collect one. Well, it’s a camper van actually.’

  The mechanic looks at me curiously for a moment, his green eyes scanning me up and down.

  ‘I did phone…’ I say, feeling most uncomfortable under his intense scrutiny.

  ‘Ah,’ he says, still looking at me peculiarly. There’s a distinct Celtic lilt to his voice when he speaks, t
he lightness of which is at complete odds with the look he’s giving me. ‘That would be you now, would it?’

  I nod.

  ‘Hmm…’ he says, looking at me again, this time with his head tilted slightly to one side.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ I ask, feeling myself starting to bristle. ‘Only I’ve come ever such a long way for this. All the way from London.’

  ‘London, really?’ he says, not sounding all that impressed. ‘Now that is a long way.’

  I narrow my eyes at him.

  ‘Australia, now, that would be a long way to come,’ he says, thinking about this. ‘Or America maybe? But London, nah, not so much.’

  Is he deliberately being rude? Or is he just a bit simple? I couldn’t decide.