Daisy’s Vintage Cornish Camper Van

by Ali McNamara

  ‘Yup, I most certainly do.’

  ‘Why?’

  Malachi laughs. ‘Why not?’

  ‘But where do you keep all your stuff?’

  ‘In Pegasus.’

  I look inside the van now. Like the outside it’s pretty much spotless. There are dark green leather seats, which like Daisy-Rose’s red ones match the exterior paintwork perfectly, a little kitchenette with a cooker, fridge and sink, and in the back I can see folded down and already made up with a fluffy duvet a large, comfy-looking bed.

  ‘There’s a Portaloo inside there too, in case you’re wondering,’ Malachi says, watching me. ‘I don’t like to get caught short.’

  ‘I wasn’t wondering actually. But where do you keep all your things – your bits and pieces?’

  ‘Do you mean clothes?’

  ‘Well, yes, and other things.’

  ‘What other things do I need?’

  ‘I don’t know – toiletries, personal possessions, that kind of stuff.’

  Malachi jumps up and climbs into the back of the van. He slides a cleverly hidden drawer out from under the bed area. It’s filled with neatly folded jeans and T-shirts. Then he slides open a tiny cupboard built in to the pale wooden units, and in it I can see a few toiletries, books and cooking utensils.

  ‘You want to see my underwear too?’ he asks, reaching for another handle.

  I hurriedly shake my head. ‘But still, it’s a very minimal way to live.’

  ‘In comparison to… you, I suppose? I bet you brought more stuff to St Felix in one suitcase than I have in this van.’

  ‘Not at all.’ I choose not to tell him I’m expecting several internet deliveries from various clothes shops over the next few days to top up what I consider a meagre supply of outfits for my extended stay.

  ‘I like it.’ Malachi climbs down from the van again. ‘It suits me, and my way of life. I like to keep things simple and Pegasus helps me to do that. Now, have you eaten yet? Ralph and I were going to barbecue some sausages tonight. You are most welcome to join us as long as you don’t eat Ralph’s share.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know…’

  ‘Come on, you haven’t even talked to me about these postcards yet?’

  ‘Well, okay then. I guess a barbecue might be quite nice this evening.’

  ‘Quite nice? Ralph, this lady has quite obviously never tasted our barbecued sausages. They’re heaven sent – aren’t they, boy?’

  Ralph barks his agreement.

  ‘Exactly! Now you sit down here.’ Malachi pulls a folded-up camping chair from the back of the van and assembles it for me. ‘And admire the wonder in front of you, and then when the sun goes down you can enjoy the wonder of Malachi’s home cooking!’

  Eleven

  The smell coming from the disposable barbecue that Malachi has produced from the camper van is delicious. He also produces two bottles of beer from his mini-fridge, and while we wait for the sausages to cook we amiably drink our beer while watching the sun go down over St Felix Bay, me on the picnic chair, Malachi perched on the step of the camper van.

  ‘You see,’ Malachi whispers, ‘isn’t this glorious?’

  ‘I never said it wasn’t, did I?’

  ‘You could do this all the time when Daisy-Rose is complete.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Why not? What could be better than this – fresh air, fabulous views, great food and freedom?’

  ‘I’ll give you the fresh air and fabulous views, but I’ll reserve my judgement on the food until it’s cooked.’ I smile. ‘But I have to admit it does smell good.’

  ‘You wouldn’t like the freedom of travelling around in a van then?’

  ‘Er… no.’

  ‘But why – it’s the best thing I ever did. I’m not tied down to any one place, and I can go where I like when I like.’

  ‘It might suit you to live this bohemian life, but it’s not for me.’

  Malachi leans forward and turns a couple of the sausages over on the barbecue with a fork.

  ‘Tell me something you’d miss?’

  ‘A comfortable bed for one.’

  Malachi grins. ‘I’ll have you know my bed is super comfy – you can try it if you like?’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it. Hot running water then?’

  Malachi shrugs. ‘Plenty of showers at campsites. There is actually a portable gadget that you can buy now that’s supposed to give you a warm shower at the end of the day – it uses solar panels to heat the water.’

  ‘No, not for me, thanks. I prefer my showers to be private affairs.’

  ‘How very disappointing.’ Malachi’s eyes sparkle as he glances at me. ‘I’ve always found the best showers to be shared ones…’

  ‘And what about space?’ I continue hurriedly, before my cheeks flush too red. ‘You might be able to live like this, but I certainly wouldn’t be able to.’ The camper van was lovely like this on a pleasant summer’s evening, all open and inviting, but what if it was raining and you were shut up inside with all the doors and windows closed? I shudder; being trapped in that tiny space didn’t bear thinking about.

  Malachi doesn’t appear to notice my anxiety. Instead he gestures out in front of him at the horizon. ‘You can’t get more space than that – it’s infinite.’

  I look out at the view again. I couldn’t argue with him.

  ‘It suits a certain type of person,’ I begrudgingly agree. ‘But I’m not one of them.’

  ‘By a certain type, you mean me, I suppose?’ Malachi stands up and climbs into the van, returning with two plates, some cutlery and the bowl of salad he’d prepared earlier. ‘Bread?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  He leans back inside the door and lifts a bread-board with a knife and a crusty loaf balanced on it back outside on to the tiny table I’d assembled while Malachi was lighting the barbecue.

  ‘Help yourself!’ he announces, gesturing to the spread. ‘Most of the sausages are done to perfection, even if I do say so myself.’

  We gather our food and then sit back down again.

  ‘What do you think?’ Malachi asks after a few minutes.

  ‘You were right, it tastes lovely, thank you.’

  ‘Just lovely – not amazing, astounding or divine?’

  ‘You can barbecue a sausage, I’ll give you that.’ I wink at him.

  ‘Praise indeed!’ Malachi breaks off a piece of sausage and gives it to Ralph, who gobbles it down gratefully and then immediately goes back into begging mode. ‘So, you were telling me before about why this lifestyle suits me and not you.’

  ‘Was I?’

  ‘I think so. Tell me more.’

  I think for a few moments. ‘It’s just you’re that type, aren’t you?’

  ‘And what type is that?’

  ‘You’re quite chilled and relaxed. You don’t need material possessions to make you happy, or career success. Having a lifestyle like this is what makes you happy.’

  ‘You almost sound envious.’

  ‘Perhaps I am, a little.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. I sometimes feel like I’ve never found my place in life.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘A comfortable place. I don’t mean a physical place – like a town or a house or something – I mean a place in life that I feel content with, that I’m happy to be in. Does that sound weird?’ I take a swig from my bottle of beer, feeling slightly embarrassed.

  ‘Not at all. People pay a lot of money these days to find themselves. They’re not really finding themselves, they’re finding a version of themselves they feel happy to be for a while.’

  I think about this.

  ‘We all change through our lives, and what you’re happy to be when you’re twenty is unlikely to be what you’re happy being when you’re older.’

  ‘That’s very true.’

  ‘I’m sure what you wanted when you were twenty is not what you want in life now, is it?’

  ‘I’
m not sure I’ve ever known what I really wanted.’

  ‘Come on, everyone has some dreams or goals – there must be something either now or in the past you yearned for.’

  Again, I take a moment to think. ‘I always knew I wanted to work in design.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I liked it at school.’

  ‘Design or art?’

  ‘Art, I guess.’

  Malachi nods.

  ‘When I was young my goals were all about getting qualifications so I could go to art college – GCSEs first, then A-levels, then my degree.’

  ‘Nothing else?’

  I smile. ‘Other than losing a couple of dress sizes, I wanted to see Wham! in concert!’

  ‘Wham!?’ Malachi looks puzzled. ‘You’re not that old, are you?’

  ‘No, my friend and I were a bit different – we loved the eighties when everyone else was loving Windows computers and MSN chats.’

  ‘Is this friend Daisy?’ Malachi asks gently.

  ‘It is. Was. Yes, Daisy.’

  ‘What about after you’d qualified as a graphic designer and you’d started working – then what?’

  ‘Career progression was my only goal. That and the weight thing – still!’ I smile, but Malachi remains solemn.

  ‘Only your career?’ he asks. ‘What about your personal life?’

  I hesitate. There is something else, but I’m not sure I should tell Malachi.

  ‘Is it to do with Daisy?’ he asks perceptively.

  I nod. I play for time by giving a grateful Ralph another piece of sausage. Malachi silently continues to eat his food while he waits for me to elaborate. ‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,’ he says eventually, when I don’t speak. He puts his knife and fork down on his plate. ‘We can just sit here silently eating sausages for the rest of the night. I realise they do require a certain reverence to enjoy them at their best.’

  He stands up and removes the last of the sausages from the barbecue. He puts them on a clean plate and rests them inside the van out of Ralph’s reach. ‘They’ll be even better when they’re cold,’ he says, lifting his beer and sitting down again.

  I’m grateful to him for trying to put me at my ease. ‘You see the thing is…’ I try, then I hesitate. ‘You see it’s like this…’

  Malachi simply waits. ‘Another beer?’ he asks, as he finishes the last of his.

  I nod hurriedly and do the same to mine, while Malachi gets up and reaches into the camper van fridge.

  ‘I always wanted what she had,’ I suddenly blurt out, as if Malachi’s head buried in the little fridge made telling him easier.

  Malachi calmly removes his head from the fridge and his body from the camper van. He takes the tops off both beers and passes me one.

  ‘What did Daisy have?’ he asks, sitting down on the step again.

  ‘She had everything,’ I say, as words escape from my mouth in a sea of liberation. ‘From the minute I met her she had it all. She was pretty and funny, and she knew how to talk to people. She never had any problem getting boyfriends, and she was always invited to all the parties. She was even good at schoolwork – she did much better than I did in our exams.’

  Malachi nods. ‘Didn’t you go to parties then, or have boyfriends?’

  ‘Yes, but I only got invited because I was Daisy’s friend.’

  ‘And the boys?’

  ‘I always got the ugly ones, after Daisy got first pick.’

  Malachi looks at me with disapproval. ‘If I’d said that about women I’m sure you’d have had something to say about it. Were the boys really that bad?’

  ‘I guess not. It just felt like I always got second choice.’

  ‘That’s not always a bad thing. I remember in my courting days I was often considered the ugly one.’

  I open my eyes wide. ‘Hang on just one minute. Firstly, how could you ever be considered the ugly one? If you’d been my second choice I’d have been extremely happy.’

  Even in the dim light, I’m sure I detect a warm flush on Malachi’s cheeks.

  ‘I’m very pleased to know so,’ he says quietly.

  ‘And secondly,’ I hurriedly continue before it gets awkward. I’m already regretting my last words – it must be the beer. ‘What do you mean in your courting days? Who calls it “courting” any more, and even if you do, why don’t you do it any longer?’

  Malachi stands up and stretches. ‘I think Ralph might need a walk,’ he says, looking at the dog currently fast asleep on the rug that he had been sitting on earlier.

  ‘He’s sound asleep! Stop trying to change the subject. You made me talk about stuff that makes me uncomfortable, now it’s your turn.’

  Malachi doesn’t sit back down again; instead he leans up against the side of the van.

  ‘Why do you think I travel around in this on my own?’ he asks.

  ‘I don’t know. You said you liked it.’

  ‘I do, most of the time, but it can be quite lonely sometimes. Sometimes I miss having a permanent place to call home.’

  ‘Why don’t you find one then?’

  ‘Easier said than done now, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Why?’ I wonder if Malachi doesn’t want to settle down, or if he can’t afford to. I hope I haven’t put my foot in it. I didn’t want to upset him.

  But Malachi simply looks up into the clear night sky. ‘Do you ever wonder what’s up there?’ he asks.

  ‘Planets?’ I suggest, wondering if he was going off on one of his tangents again.

  ‘That’s what they’d have you believe.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Those that doubt.’

  I’m not sure what to say. This was Malachi doing that thing he did so well – not making a lot of sense.

  ‘Doubt in what?’

  Malachi opens his mouth to answer, but suddenly the loudest clap of thunder I think I’ve ever heard crashes over our heads, and from nowhere large raindrops start pelting from the sky.

  ‘How is that even possible?’ I cry, as a wind suddenly whips up too, and we hurriedly gather all the things from outside the van and stash them inside. ‘It was a clear sky only moments ago.’

  But Malachi is strangely silent as we close the back of the van with Ralph inside and climb into the front seats.

  ‘Anything is possible, Ana,’ he says as he starts up the engine. ‘Anything, if you know what I do. Now, I’d better drive you back to your cottage before we cause any further freak weather conditions that can’t be explained.’

  Twelve

  Malachi drives me back to the cottage. We don’t talk any more about the weather or indeed ourselves, instead we talk about his camper van and how the refurbishments he’s done on it might compare to the ones on Daisy-Rose.

  ‘We never talked about the postcards,’ I say, as Malachi pulls up at the cottage. ‘We got a little side-tracked talking about me!’

  ‘You say that like it’s a bad thing.’ Malachi switches off the engine and turns to look at me. ‘So what’s the issue with the postcards?’

  ‘I think there’s a significant number missing. If I had those I’m sure I could find Lou and return them all to her. I’ve learned a lot about her already just by reading the first cards.’

  ‘You’re determined to do this, aren’t you?’

  I nod.

  Malachi thinks for a moment. He stares out of the windscreen into the now darkened street.

  ‘Deltiology,’ he says, without explanation.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Deltiology – it’s the name for the study and collection of postcards. It comes from the Greek word deltios, which means “writing tablet” or “letter”.’

  ‘Does it now. And just where are you going with this?’

  ‘Postcards are the third most popular collection hobby after stamps and currency.’

  ‘Are you simply trying to impress me with your knowledge?’