Daisy’s Vintage Cornish Camper Van

by Ali McNamara

  I look at him suspiciously. ‘That’s very perceptive – even for you.’

  Malachi shrugs. ‘What can I say – luck of the Irish.’

  ‘You’re the second person today to say that to me. It must be catching.’

  ‘So – have you decided yet?’

  ‘Have I decided what?’

  ‘What you want to call her, of course – it’s very important and could set the tone for the whole project.’

  I sigh and look at the rusty old vehicle in front of me. Malachi seems to have repaired the door that fell off yesterday, but because its paint has been rubbed against it’s shinier and cleaner than the rest of the van, and I can see more clearly the shade of red that lies underneath. The sticker is still in the window, and it’s as I stare at it that it hits me.

  ‘Daisy,’ I say, almost to myself.

  ‘Did you say “Daisy”?’ Malachi prompts.

  I nod. ‘I’m naming her after my best friend.’ I gaze steadily at the vehicle in front of me. ‘Yes, I think that name will suit a camper van, but more importantly I think my Daisy would have approved.’

  ‘Daisy the Second it is then,’ Malachi says, looking at the van. ‘What do you think of your new name, Daisy?’

  But Daisy II is silent in her reply. Just like my Daisy always is now when I speak to her.

  After a bit I leave Malachi and Ralph with Daisy II, with Malachi promising to start work on her later this afternoon. Then I walk back into town and grab a sandwich, which I eat outside in the sunshine while thinking about everything that has happened since arriving in St Felix.

  It was strange, I’d only been here a couple of days and I already felt like I’d been here for ages. I’d made a few acquaintances – I could hardly call them friends – and I had somewhere more permanent to stay than a hotel room. All in all this trip was turning into something quite unexpected and something quite delightful at the same time.

  When I finished my lunch, I set off in the direction of Noah’s Ark. It’s just where Jess had described – a little way up a street that extends off Harbour Street. From the outside the shop looks smart and well kept. The signage above the door is painted in a pretty Wedgwood blue with ornate white writing, and the two big bay windows either side of the entrance are spotlessly clean. Through them I can see carefully placed vintage items, antiques and objets d’art, all arranged into neat window displays.

  I open the door, and just like the flower shop a tiny bell tries to ring above my head, but instead of making a clear chiming sound, it sort of purrs a little in its casing.

  There are a few people already browsing the many items inside, so I close the door behind me and decide to take a look around. I hardly know where to start, there are so many things squeezed into the space, but even though there are items spilling from display cabinets and piled high on wooden tables, I get the feeling that everything is a lot more organised than it appears and no doubt perfectly catalogued too.

  ‘Hello!’ I hear a cheery voice call from behind a heavy-duty shop counter, the like of which you might have found seventy years ago in a pharmacy or a haberdashery store.

  I turn to see Jess popping her head around an even older-looking ornate cash register. ‘You made it!’ she cries happily. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Very interesting. You have a lot of stuff in here.’

  ‘We certainly do, and Noah insists we catalogue every single thing!’ She rolls her eyes. ‘Takes flippin’ ages.’

  I smile – I thought as much. Noah seemed far too methodical and particular to run a chaotic, disorganised business.

  ‘What are you whining about this time, Jess?’ Noah asks good-naturedly, as he appears through an open door at the back of the shop. He’s wearing cords again, a cream shirt with a fine check and the addition of a khaki green cardigan. ‘Oh, hullo again,’ he says, his pale blue eyes lighting up behind his glasses when he spots me. ‘How nice to see you.’

  ‘I thought I’d pop by and have a look around. Also, I came to say thanks. I moved into Snowdrop Cottage this morning. It’s perfect.’

  ‘Yes, Jess was telling me earlier. I’m pleased everything has worked out for you.’ Noah takes off his glasses and gives them a polish on his cardigan. ‘So is there anything we can help you with? Have you seen anything that takes your fancy?’

  Jess giggles behind the till, and Noah blushes.

  ‘Not yet, no,’ I say, pretending I hear nothing amusing in his words. ‘I’ll take a look around, shall I, and let you know?’

  ‘Yes, yes, you do that,’ Noah says hurriedly. ‘I’ll just be over here if you need me.’ He turns quickly and almost knocks over a large vase in his haste, but luckily he manages to catch it in time and steadies it from falling.

  I see Jess grin.

  I take a brief wander around the shop. I’m not really an antiques person – I prefer more modern up-to-date fixtures and fittings for my small flat, so I really didn’t expect to find anything in Noah’s shop that would interest me. Apart from the eighties, which Jess had so succinctly informed me yesterday were now definitely vintage, the past wasn’t somewhere I was keen to hang out. Daisy had always been the antiques nut, and would often drag me around fairs and shops wherever we went. The trouble was she never really knew what she was looking for, but according to her that was half the fun.

  As I suspect, I don’t find anything that interests me, but I’m surprised at just how big Noah’s place is. Aside from the main shop there are several smaller rooms that lead off it, all equally packed with vintage china, paintings, furniture and collectibles.

  ‘Thanks for letting me look around,’ I say politely to Noah before I leave. ‘You have a very interesting shop.’

  ‘Nothing you found interesting, though?’ Noah says, sounding a little disappointed.

  ‘Ana likes the eighties,’ Jess pipes up from the other side of the shop, where she’s hanging a cluster of small prints on the wall.

  ‘The eighteen eighties?’ Noah asks. ‘I think we do have some Victoriana; it’s in one of the back rooms. I can show you if —’

  ‘No! The nineteen eighties, you ’nana.’ Jess grins.

  ‘Oh.’ Noah blushes again. ‘Of course. My apologies.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ I say lightly. ‘It’s an easy mistake to make. I doubt you have much call for nineteen eighties things in here – probably a bit too modern for you.’

  ‘On the contrary, if it’s collectable, we sell it. I don’t turn my nose up at any decade if it’s an area of the past that people enjoy remembering.’

  ‘That’s good to hear,’ I say, smiling at him. I pause for a moment. ‘I like what you said just now, the way you described it.’

  ‘About people remembering?’

  I nod.

  ‘That’s how I see what we sell – a way of people remembering but also enjoying the past. There are a lot of memories in the things we sell here as they were all special to someone once.’

  We look at each other for a few seconds, then Noah hastily looks down at the desk. He brushes some imaginary dust away with his fingers.

  ‘Well, let me know if you come across anything in the next few weeks, won’t you?’ I say, sensing this is a good time to leave. ‘From the eighties, I mean.’

  ‘Of course,’ Noah says, looking at me again. ‘I certainly will.’

  ‘Right. Goodbye, Jess!’ I wave across the shop at her. ‘Bye, Clarice,’ I say to the little dog snoozing in her basket behind the desk. I look at Noah again.

  ‘Call again, won’t you?’ he says in practised fashion.

  ‘Yes.’ I nod briefly, then I head quickly towards the door. The bell tries to ring above my head again and I look up at it.

  ‘It’s broken!’ Noah calls from across the shop. ‘Has been for some time. I need to get it fixed.’

  I just smile and close the door behind me.

  But as I’m about to walk away I can’t help but hear Jess reprimanding Noah. ‘Call again, won’t you?’ she says, r
epeating what Noah has just said. ‘What sort of a chat-up line is that? No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend!’

  As I hurry away down the street, I wonder why that piece of information should make me feel quite so happy?

  Nine

  I’ve only been here a few days, but already I’m getting used to the ever-changing weather conditions in St Felix.

  The rest of the afternoon swings between showers and sunshine, and at one point there’s a beautiful vibrant rainbow arcing over the sea.

  I view this phenomenon from the balcony of Snowdrop Cottage when I’m taking a break from work. I’d finally got my laptop set up and my head down, and I’d found myself being quite productive throughout the afternoon and unusually creative as I worked on my latest assignment.

  I take a picture of the rainbow on my phone, but find myself wishing that I had a decent camera with me with which to photograph the wonderful scene. Just as I’m gazing down at the photo I’ve taken, my phone rings in my hand making me jump.

  Malachi’s name flashes on the screen.

  ‘Hi, Malachi,’ I say, answering. ‘How are you?’

  ‘What are you up to at the moment?’ he asks bluntly, dispensing with formalities.

  ‘Not much, just taking a break from work. There’s a beautiful rainbow outside my window. Can you see it from where you are? It’s just starting to fade a little here.’

  ‘What do you want me to do, run out and hide me crock of gold at the end of it?’ Malachi asks, and I know he’s grinning when he says this.

  ‘Ha, ha, very funny. I just thought it was pretty, that’s all.’

  ‘Ah, a rainbow is more than just pretty. It’s full of meaning.’

  ‘What sort of meaning?’

  ‘That depends on where your belief lies. It means different things to different people. The Buddhists believe one thing, the Chinese another, and so on. But rainbows are always a sign of good things to come. Even Noah knew so.’

  ‘Noah?’

  ‘Yes, Noah,’ Malachi says slowly as if he’s addressing a child. ‘You know Noah… The one with the ark? In the Bible… Book of Genesis? Saved-the-animals-from-the-flood Noah?’

  ‘Yes, of course I know that Noah.’ I berate myself. For a moment I’d thought he’d meant antique shop Noah.

  ‘Ah, did you think I meant Noah from the pub? Knight-in-shining-armour Noah? Is he on your mind a lot recently?’

  ‘No, of course I didn’t,’ I lie. ‘And he’s hardly a knight in shining armour. He wears a cardigan.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with that,’ Malachi says. ‘Some of the greatest scholars and scientists the world has ever produced wore cardigans.’

  ‘Did you want something, Malachi?’ I sigh. ‘You did ring me.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I’ve found something – in Daisy the Second.’

  ‘What sort of something?’ I ask, thinking he’s going to say rust or something even worse.

  ‘Some postcards.’

  ‘Postcards? Why are you telling me this? Just dump them. I’m sure that’s not the only rubbish you’ll find in there while you’re doing it up.’

  ‘I think you might want to see these particular postcards.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They’re not just any postcards. They’re a bit old.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘At least come and look at them before I throw them out, will you?’ he insists. ‘Or shall I bring them down to you?’

  ‘No, it’s okay, I could do with a break. I need to pop out to get some food before the shops close tonight anyway. I’ll call in on you on my way to the supermarket.’

  ‘Grand, see you in a bit.’ He hangs up.

  I sigh. If Malachi needs me to come and look at every little thing before he discards it from that vehicle, I’ll be spending more time up at the garage than here in Snowdrop Cottage.

  But the evening air is pleasant as I make my way up the hill towards the garage. There’s a burnt orange sky over the sea as the sun begins to think about going down, so again I take a photo with my phone, and again I wish I had a better camera.

  The CLOSED sign is on the gates as I make my way up to the garage, but Malachi has left one of the gates unlatched so I can enter.

  I head immediately around to the back where I find Malachi sitting on an upturned bucket with his face turned to the sun. Ralph lies happily next to him also basking in the evening’s rays.

  ‘I see you’re busy!’ I call. Ralph barks and comes bounding over, and Malachi opens his eyes slowly, blinking a couple of times to get his focus.

  ‘Everyone needs to relax occasionally,’ he says lazily. ‘Even you, Ana.’

  I choose to ignore his dig.

  ‘So where are these postcards you want me to look at?’

  ‘Calm down,’ he says, standing up and stretching. ‘They’re in the office. Wait there and I’ll get them.’

  I sit down on the bucket and stroke Ralph while I wait for Malachi to return from the office. The side door of the camper van has been slid open and I can see where Malachi has already begun to clear and remove some of the worn interior.

  The red leather seats that once would have carried the previous owners on their many journeys are now tattered and torn, and the brown Formica surfaces of the tiny kitchen units have definitely seen better days. There is a hole in the living area where a small refrigerator might once have stood, and the rings on the little gas cooker are dirty and covered in grease. An indiscriminate stain on the well-worn carpet could be from anything at all and the whole spectacle makes me feel quite sad as I gaze upon it.

  ‘You are a sorry sight,’ I murmur to the van as I stroke Ralph. ‘I bet someone really loved and cared for you once. I wonder how you ended up in this state.’

  ‘Here we are,’ Malachi says, returning. ‘What do you think to these?’

  He passes me a few slightly tattered postcards.

  ‘They’re old postcards, so?’

  ‘Why don’t you read them before you pass judgement,’ Malachi says, looking keenly at them. ‘You might find something interesting.’

  I look down at the three in my hand. They’re all fairly typical seaside postcards: one shows a beach, the second a long white pier and the third some cliffs with seagulls soaring above them. I turn them over and read the first one aloud:

  ‘My Darling Frankie,

  I’m staying on the Norfolk coast for a few days with Rose.

  The weather is simply gorgeous, and the sun has shone every day.

  I saw a man riding a tricycle along the street yesterday, and it so reminded me of you, and the year you rode one around the town just to get everyone talking!

  Oh, how we laughed that summer.

  Forever yours,

  Lou x’

  I look at Malachi. He nods at the next postcard.

  My Darling Frankie,

  What do you know? Rose and I are down in Eastbourne, not that far from you.

  I have an exhibition on here right now, so I’m hanging around trying to eavesdrop on what people are saying about me… So far it has all been good!

  As we passed the junction for Brighton I so wanted to turn Rose’s steering wheel and come to visit you. But I don’t know what you’d say if I turned up on your doorstep after all these years… Maybe one day I’ll be brave enough to.

  Forever yours,

  Lou x

  ‘It’s the same person!’ I exclaim. ‘What are the chances?’

  ‘Read the next one,’ Malachi encourages. ‘It’s the best of the three.’

  My Darling Frankie,

  I miss you so much since you went away. I knew I would be sad when you left, but I had no idea it would be this painful. Mother and Father have no idea of my feelings; I’m sure I have hidden them very well. In fact, I’ve hidden my sadness from everyone.

  I think it’s only George who truly understands, but then animals always do, don’t they? I’m sure he misses you terribly as well.

  I truly hope one day I will be able to sh
are my feelings with you in person again.

  Until then, I’ll be

  Forever yours,

  Lou x

  ‘This is pretty amazing,’ I say, looking in more depth at the cards. I hadn’t really noticed before, but the seaside pictures vary more than I’d originally realised. They are not only from different seaside towns but different decades too. ‘There’s a postcard here that looks fairly modern,’ I tell Malachi, holding up the card from Eastbourne, ‘but this one must date from… maybe the sixties or seventies?’ I wave the one from Norfolk at him. ‘And then this card from St Felix is much older, possibly the thirties or even the forties!’