Although it is chilly outside, here in the van there is no air and I begin to feel a little stifled. I rest my head against the plywood which lines the van. Although my mind is clear and I know this is all a bit of fun on Joanne’s part and I know we are going to get out of here soon, my body is offering a different interpretation.
I’m conscious that my heart rate has picked up and I can feel sweat gathering under my arms. I concentrate on breathing in slowly through my nose and control the out-breath from my mouth. Techniques I have had to learn since Darren’s death.
I stopped seeing the counsellor about six months ago and this is probably the first time I have felt under duress since then. It’s the small space of the van that is getting to me. I don’t know what it was about finding Darren that caused this claustrophobia, but it’s certainly a symptom. My counsellor suggested it could be something as simple as the closing of the front door behind me that day, the sense of being shut in a house and then dealing with the devastation before me. My mind has somehow connected the two things.
I eye my rucksack on the floor of the van. In the side pocket is my little box of pills. I have recently found another way to deal with the panic attacks. Neither Andrea nor Zoe know about the pills. In fact, no one does. Not even my GP.
‘You OK, Carys?’ Andrea’s concerned voice filters into my thoughts.
I sit myself upright and take another deep breath as I open my eyes. I turn and smile at her. ‘Yeah. Just finding it not quite so fun now.’
Andrea nods. ‘Typical of Joanne to take it one step too far.’ She leans forward and bangs on the partition.
‘What’s up?’ comes the voice through the small cut-out hole.
‘How much longer?’ shouts Andrea over the noise of the engine. ‘This is taking the piss now.’
‘Patience, ladies, patience,’ comes the reply. ‘We’re nearly there.’
The speed drops and the van takes an unexpected turn to the left. The ground noise changes. It sounds like we are on an unmade track. I can hear stones pinging up against the wheel arches every now and then, and the van rolls and lollops more as if navigating potholes and dips in the surface.
I close my eyes again, resigning myself to the fact that shouting and getting stressed isn’t going to get us there any quicker. I make a conscious effort to take my thoughts to a more positive place. It’s easier said than done. I think of Seb and my heart lifts as I bring his face to mind. His fair skin and almost translucent blue eyes. I smile as I remember him telling me why he has his hair cut so short.
‘It’s to stop any of the bad guys being able to get a grip on me, should I get into a tussle,’ he had said, referring to his job as a detective with the Met. Once I had made a suitably impressed response, he’d broken into a broad grin before continuing: ‘I can’t lie. It’s really because, if I let my hair grow, it turns into a mass of curls; looks like pubes.’ We’d both laughed for a long time at this imagery. I think that was the moment I realised how much I enjoyed being with Seb and relished spending my free time with him. I miss him when he isn’t there and want him in my life more. However, my next thought is of Alfie, which should be a positive one. But it’s not.
Before I can visit this further, the van slows down. There’s a change of gear and the engine noise lowers. We grind to a halt; a small jolt indicates the handbrake has been applied and then the engine is cut.
The driver’s voice comes through the gap. ‘Could all passengers disembark. This service will now be terminated.’
‘Finally,’ says Andrea.
The side door opens and we emerge from the bowels of the van, blinking as daylight floods our pupils. The driver jogs over to the croft and opens the front door, places the blue bag containing our phones inside. He closes the door and jogs back to the van.
‘Enjoy your weekend, ladies,’ he calls, jumping into the van. We watch as the vehicle makes a U-turn and then disappears down the track.
I look at Andrea and Zoe, who return the look with equal bewilderment. ‘Well, that was the strangest holiday transfer I’ve ever experienced,’ says Andrea. The fun has worn off and we take a moment to study the building in front of us.
It is a stone cottage made up of a ground floor and a first floor. A solid oak door is centred in the stonework, flanked by windows each side. In the roof, there are two dormer windows and on the side of the building is a single-storey extension which, judging by the lighter colour of mortar between the stonework, was probably added at a later date.
‘So, here we are,’ I say needlessly. ‘I suppose we’d better go in. I assume Joanne is already here.’
‘I wouldn’t bank on anything right now,’ says Andrea. ‘Maybe that’s her surprise.’
‘What?’ says Zoe, frowning.
‘The surprise is, she’s not here,’ says Andrea.
I pick up my rucksack. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’ I give my friend a nudge with my elbow. ‘Come on.’
Before we take a step, the front door swings open and Joanne appears in the doorway. Her brunette bobbed hair, immaculate as ever, frames her petite features. She opens her arms wide. ‘You’re here!’ She trots over and hugs each of us in turn, the blue phone bag in one hand. ‘And all in one piece. I hope you enjoyed your journey. What did you think?’ Joanne looks expectantly at each of us.
‘Loved it!’ says Zoe, injecting possibly rather too much enthusiasm into her voice.
‘Yeah, loved it,’ says Andrea, her lack of enthusiasm balancing out Zoe’s excess.
‘Put it this way,’ I say. ‘I’m glad we’re here now. I hope the return journey is rather more orthodox.’
‘Oh, don’t be worrying about the return journey.’ Joanne flaps her hand in the air. ‘You’ll love that too.’
‘That’s what I was afraid of,’ says Andrea. ‘Jesus, let’s get inside. I’m freezing my tits off here.’
‘What do you expect in that flimsy fleece? I hope you’ve brought a warmer jacket with you.’
‘This has to be your best surprise ever,’ says Zoe, hooking her holdall on one shoulder and slipping her free arm through Joanne’s.
‘Maybe not ever. Just to date,’ replies Joanne. ‘You have no idea what other surprises I have in store for you three.’ Joanne leans into Zoe and squeezes her arm. She then looks around at myself and Andrea, and I don’t miss the little glint in her eye. ‘Let me show you to your rooms. I have some lunch ready for you and then we can crack open our first bottle of wine.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ I say, following on behind. I look over my shoulder at Andrea. ‘Come on, misery. This isn’t an audition for the seven dwarfs, you know.’
‘If it is, then Andrea gets the part, hands down,’ calls Joanne. Her laughter echoes around the porch roof.
Andrea pulls a face, which only makes me laugh too.
Inside the croft, the small entrance hall with an oak staircase and a red quarry-tiled floor greets us. Years of feet travelling the surface have worn the shine from the centre of the tiles but the edges have managed to retain some of their former gloss. I look through the doorway on my left. It’s the living room, with two big comfortable sofas either side of a large brick fireplace. A wooden chest sits between the two pieces of furniture, acting as a coffee table. The floorboards in this room have been sanded and varnished, giving a more modern feel to the room, and a black-and-white hide is spread out in front of the