Daisy’s Vintage Cornish Camper Van

by Ali McNamara

  ‘Be right back.’

  I sit down on a small pile of tyres while Malachi goes off to make us coffee, and I stare at Daisy-Rose.

  Even though Malachi doesn’t seem to have done all that much structural work on her yet, and she is still missing some major parts of her ‘anatomy’, Daisy-Rose does look a little happier as she stands calmly in the yard today waiting for the next part of her transformation.

  ‘It must be because you’ve had a little clean, eh?’ I ask her. ‘Has that made you feel a bit better?’ And then I feel my cheeks flush. Why was I talking to a motorised vehicle? I must have been spending too much time with Malachi!

  But Lou had seemed totally besotted with this vehicle, and she’d talked about her in the postcards like she was an old friend. Daisy-Rose had accompanied Lou everywhere, in what I suppose must have been quite a solitary existence once she started to paint professionally. Lou certainly never spoke to Frankie about having any other friends; she talked about occasionally going to galleries and to exhibitions of her paintings, but I got the feeling she was a bit of a loner at heart, and other than her constant yearning for Frankie was actually quite happy that way. Perhaps Daisy-Rose was her only true friend?

  ‘What ya thinking about?’ Malachi asks, emerging from the garage with two mugs in his hands. ‘I hope instant is all right. We don’t have any fancy frothing machines here.’

  I’m reminded of Noah with his coffee machine and I smile. ‘Instant is just fine, thank you. I was just thinking about Daisy-Rose and Lou, and all the places they went together. It’s like the van was Lou’s best friend in all the years she had her.’

  ‘Maybe she was. They say these camper vans all have their own personality, that’s why people love them so much.’ Malachi turns a bucket upside down and sits opposite me.

  ‘Is Pegasus your best friend then?’ I ask jokily.

  ‘The van Pegasus?’

  ‘Yes, of course the van! I didn’t mean the flying white horse, did I?’

  Malachi shrugs. ‘You might have. No, Pegasus isn’t my best friend. Ralph here is.’ He pats his dog, who rolls over in the sun and looks at him enquiringly.

  ‘Really?’ I ask, surprised at this. ‘I mean, you hear people say that their dog is their best friend, but do you really think that?’

  ‘I do. Why is that so odd to hear? We’ve been everywhere together, haven’t we, boy? We’ve been in all sorts of weird and wonderful situations, and we’ve always come out of it unscathed.’

  ‘Unscathed is an odd choice of word. Makes me think you’ve been up to no good together!’ I grin, but Malachi is thoughtful with his reply.

  ‘Nope, quite the opposite, in fact,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘Always good. At least we try to make it that way.’

  I’m about to ask him more when he says, ‘Why do you find it so odd that I have a dog as my best friend and Lou had a camper van? Just because your best friend was a human – that’s seen as normal, I suppose?’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘And normal is always good?’

  ‘Er… not always, but in this case at least I could talk to my best friend.’

  ‘I can talk to Ralph.’

  ‘He doesn’t answer back though.’

  Ralph barks. Malachi grins.

  ‘In a way you can understand,’ I insist.

  ‘Says who?’

  I shake my head. There was no point arguing with him about this. ‘Okay, but don’t even try to tell me that this van here talked back to Lou.’

  ‘Why are you so obsessed with people talking back, answering your questions, boosting your self-confidence?’

  ‘I am not.’

  ‘Did Daisy boost your self-confidence? Was she always telling you that you looked nice, or you’d done well, or everything would be okay?’

  I stare down into my coffee – he’d mentioned Daisy’s name.

  ‘No,’ I say quietly.

  ‘Really? Think about it.’

  I should have told him it was none of his business. I’d only known Malachi a few days, and he was asking me questions that I wouldn’t have answered for anyone, but there was something about him that I trusted: an openness, a sincerity. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I knew that however I answered he wouldn’t judge me.

  ‘Daisy looked after me,’ I offer. ‘I mean she looked out for me.’

  ‘Sure it wasn’t your first answer?’

  ‘Maybe a little. But she was always the confident, successful one… she always knew best about everything. I could only hope to be like her.’

  Malachi sits quietly. He rhythmically strokes Ralph, running his long fingers over his short pale coat, and for the briefest of moments I wonder what it would feel like to feel those long fingers running over me.

  I jolt myself sharply from that thought. ‘Daisy was my best friend,’ I say, standing up. I put my coffee cup on the ground. ‘And I won’t have anyone sullying my memories of her.’

  I prepare myself to leave, and then realise I’m hesitating because I expect Malachi to do something to prevent me.

  I look at him, but he still has the same serene, calm expression on his face as he gazes up at me.

  ‘Aren’t you even going to apologise?’ I ask.

  ‘Why would I do that? I haven’t said anything wrong. You’re the one who’s about to storm off because you don’t like your own reaction to my question, not because of anything I’ve said to offend you.’

  I stare at him. Infuriatingly, he was right.

  ‘How do you do that?’ I sigh, sitting back down again on the tyres.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Twist things around. Have you been a psychiatrist or a therapist or something like that in a previous life? They do that sort of thing – analyse what you say and turn it to their advantage.’

  Instead of giving me his usual quick flippant answer, Malachi considers this.

  ‘A therapist…’ he says, like he’s running through a list in his mind. ‘Nope, I don’t think so.’

  He grins, and I shake my head.

  ‘Talk about maddening!’ I say, lifting my cup of coffee back up off the ground. I take a sip, and I’m pleased to find it’s still warm enough to drink.

  Malachi grins. ‘You’re not the first to say that.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’

  ‘Any time you want to talk about Daisy, you just let me know,’ Malachi says, with an unusually earnest expression on his face. ‘We’re always here to listen, aren’t we, Ralph?’

  Ralph looks up at him and yawns.

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ I tell him, genuinely meaning it. ‘Now, hadn’t you better be getting back to work?’

  Malachi shakes his head. ‘Slave driver,’ he says, climbing up from his bucket and stretching.

  ‘Oh, I’m tough all right,’ I say, finding my eyes drawn to Malachi’s biceps. As always his overall sleeves are rolled up, and I can’t help but watch how they tighten then relax while he stretches.

  ‘But not as tough as you think,’ Malachi says, and he holds his hand out to pull me up.

  I take it, and as I do I feel it again, the same thing that I had on Saturday night when I got out of his van.

  Something very odd but very pleasant surges right through me whenever I touch Malachi, and it’s something I’ve never felt before.

  Brighton University campus, 2006

  ‘You’re doing what?’ I’d exclaimed, as Daisy had sat and calmly told me about her plans. ‘You… you can’t just throw it all away.’

  ‘I’m not throwing it all away, Ana, I’m following my heart.’

  ‘But hearts can be wrong,’ I’d said weakly. I knew I was fighting a losing battle. When Daisy made her mind up about something, that was it, and neither I nor anyone else could budge her.

  ‘Not this time. I love Peter, and he loves me. We want to make a future together.’

  ‘But what about your education, your career? We’ve both worked so hard to get here, Daisy.’

&nbs
p; ‘I can still have a career if I go and live in Scotland with Peter. It’s only until he finishes his architecture course, and then we’ll probably move back down south again. Maybe I can pick up where I left off?’

  But we both knew that was never going to happen.

  Part of me was appalled that Daisy was giving up her place at university, but part of me was a tiny bit – no, make that a lot – jealous. She’d found love, real love, and a person she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. I was pleased for her, really I was, even though I knew that our friendship would never be the same again.

  Daisy had found someone who was more important to her than me, and there was nothing I could do but get used to it.

  Sixteen

  I leave Malachi working on Daisy-Rose, and I make my way back down into the town, intending to go back to my cottage and do some work. I’m just heading down Harbour Street, dodging in between the holiday-makers dawdling along the cobbles, when my phone rings.

  I feel my heart lift when I see Noah’s name on the screen.

  ‘Hi, Noah.’

  ‘Hello! You knew it was me?’ He sounds pleased.

  ‘Yes, I added your name to my phone yesterday, remember?’

  ‘Oh – oh right. Yes, of course.’ He clears his throat. ‘I have a little bit of news for you… about the postcards?’

  ‘Wow, already, you move fast!’

  ‘Yes… er… it’s not amazing news, but it’s a start. I have a friend – well, more of a colleague really – who runs postcard fairs. There’s a large one being held in Truro, and there will be a dealer there who specialises in Cornish postcards – it’s a bit of a long shot, I know, but it’s all I have right now I’m afraid.’

  He sounds so apologetic that I feel quite sorry for him. It was obvious Noah desperately wanted to help.

  ‘When is the fair?’

  ‘Tomorrow and Wednesday.’

  ‘Oh, I thought it would be over a weekend?’

  ‘These sorts of fairs usually are, but this is very specialist – it’s targeted at dealers rather than the general public – that’s why I thought it might be worth a shot.’

  ‘Great. How do we get there? I – I mean how do I get there?’ I hurriedly correct myself.

  ‘I could drive you if you like?’ Noah suggests, trying to sound casual, and I can just imagine how uncomfortable this is making him. ‘I know the way, and correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think you have a vehicle here, do you, until your camper van is fixed?’

  ‘No, I don’t, you’re right. If you’re sure?’

  ‘It would be my pleasure,’ Noah says, sounding as though he’s smiling at the other end of the phone. ‘Shall I pick you up at your cottage at say nine a.m. so we can get a good start. It would be best to get there nice and early if we can.’

  ‘Nine would be lovely. Thank you so much for this, Noah, I really appreciate it.’

  ‘Like I said, it’s my pleasure. See you tomorrow at nine then.’

  I end my call to Noah and find he’s not the only one smiling. I knew this was a really long shot, but it was the first one I’d had so far. I wasn’t sure why reuniting these cards with their owner had become so important to me, but it had, and now I’m determined to give it the best go I can.

  The promising start to the weather doesn’t last long, and by lunch-time dark clouds have blotted the sun’s best attempts to shine. As the rain begins to splatter against the French windows, I find myself quite happy to spend the rest of the day in the comfort and dry of the little cottage. I had plenty of work to be getting on with, and now I was going to be heading up to Truro tomorrow with Noah, the more I got done today the better.

  Malachi phones me in the afternoon to ask me about paint for Daisy-Rose.

  ‘I can’t quite find the exact colour of red,’ he complains. ‘It’s annoying because I want this refurb to be as close to the original as possible.’

  Malachi and I had discussed what Daisy-Rose might look like when she was finished, and we’d both been in agreement that we wanted to restore her to her former glory. He had seemed relieved when I’d agreed to this, and when I’d asked him why, he said he thought I might want to paint her in all sorts of ‘weird and wonderful colours and patterns’ because of my design background. I just wanted Daisy-Rose to be returned to the sort of condition she was in when Lou had first owned her – it seemed like the right thing to do.

  ‘Malachi, it’s fine,’ I reassure him now. ‘Stop fretting. Are we talking darker, like a maroon, or brighter, like a pillar box red or even a scarlet?’

  ‘Oh no, not that different,’ Malachi insists. ‘The shade I’ve found is very similar to the original Rose, only it’s a metallic burgundy rather than the original matt.’

  ‘Will anyone other than you actually notice?’ I ask, not for the first time today smiling at the end of a phone. I was so pleased about Noah’s lead on the postcards that this just seemed like such a minor problem.

  ‘Probably not, no,’ Malachi admits.

  ‘Would I have noticed if you hadn’t told me about it?’

  ‘I highly doubt it,’ Malachi replies dejectedly.

  I felt bad as he was obviously trying very hard with this restoration. The postcards had been taking up so much of my thoughts that I’d forgotten why I was actually here in St Felix in the first place. And Daisy-Rose was going to be mine when she was finished. Perhaps I should show a bit more interest?

  ‘So you’ve got the red sorted. Now, what about the cream?’ I ask, hoping to convey the level of interest that Malachi obviously wanted to hear from me.

  Daisy-Rose had originally been split into two colours: a deep red that made up her bottom half, and a warm creamy colour covering her top. This was particularly attractive at the front, where the cream dived into the red in a beautiful curve, with the letters VW circled in silver across the middle of the two.

  ‘The cream is not a problem,’ Malachi replies, and I’m relieved to hear his voice returning to his usual upbeat tone. ‘It’s a pretty standard shade for refurbs on vehicles of that age.’

  ‘Great… well, I’m sure whatever red you choose will look wonderful on her. You’re doing an amazing job, Malachi.’

  There’s a slight pause and the line goes silent.

  ‘Are you still there?’ I ask, wondering why he hasn’t replied.

  ‘Yeah, I’m still here. I was just thinking.’

  ‘About?’

  ‘Two things actually – the first is that you’re calling Daisy-Rose she and her now.’

  ‘Am I? I hadn’t noticed.’ That wasn’t strictly true – I had noticed my feelings towards the camper van starting to change. Whereas to begin with all I saw was a battered, rusting old vehicle that was going to cost a lot of money to repair, now I was beginning to see the possible attraction of this vintage van when Malachi had completed his renovations.

  ‘Yup! It’s a huge step forward from when you were calling her it. She’s obviously starting to work her magic on you…’

  ‘So, what’s the second thing you were thinking about?’ I ask hurriedly.

  ‘You’re sounding very chipper today – something must have happened. What is it?’

  Malachi was always so perceptive.

  ‘Nothing much,’ I reply, trying to play it down. ‘Noah thinks he might have a lead. We’re going to a postcard fair tomorrow in Truro to see if we can find anything out.’

  ‘Are you now? How very cosy…’

  ‘Hardly. I’m sure a postcard fair in an old church hall will likely be quite cold and chilly actually.’

  ‘Ho ho, very funny! I hope you have a wonderful time. Just you remember who suggested you ask Noah in the first place?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, what would I do without you, Malachi?’

  Malachi goes strangely silent again.

  ‘You don’t need to worry about that for a while yet,’ he eventually says in a quiet voice. ‘Just appreciate me while you can.’

  Seventeen

&nbs
p; Noah pulls up outside Snowdrop Cottage at exactly 9 a.m. the next morning.

  ‘Good morning,’ he says, as I climb into his Land Rover next to him. ‘How are you feeling today?’

  ‘Hopeful,’ I reply honestly, ‘but realistic too. I don’t know how much we’ll be able to find out but I’m looking forward to trying.’