‘What, and yours?’
‘Yeah. She’s… well, you’d really have to meet her to get it.’ I swallowed a mouthful of pudding with a liberating feeling of defiance. ‘But let’s not talk about her.’
‘Okay, you pick a conversation topic.’
‘Tell me about you then, dark and mysterious man,’ I said, smiling. ‘Are you allowed to just drive around the country drawing? Thought you had to have a visa or something.’
‘Not for Ireland. Anyway, I’ve got British and Irish passports.’
‘Really? How come?’
‘My mam’s English.’ He glanced warily around the pub. ‘Although I like to keep it quiet, obviously.’
‘Cheekiness. Where’s she from?’
‘Hackney. She moved to Ireland when she was tiny though. Lives up in Scotland now.’
‘Ha!’
‘What do you mean, ha?’
‘You’re a cockney.’
He drew himself up. ‘How dare you. I am as full-blooded an Irishman as you’ll meet today.’
‘I knew it was all an act. I knew I’d seen you earlier at the bar.’
‘Seen me what?’
‘Doing the Lambeth walk.’
‘I don’t even know what the Lambeth walk is.’
‘I bet soon as you’re back in the camper, you’ll be guzzling jellied eels and having a knees-up round the old Joanna.’
‘The old what?’
‘And I spotted those Chas and Dave albums hidden in the sofa earlier, by the way.’
Jack grinned. ‘Okay, you’ve got me there. I do love Chas and Dave.’
‘Who doesn’t?’
‘See, I knew sticky toffee would do the trick,’ he said, laughing. ‘If you’re teasing me about East End folk duos, you must be feeling better.’
‘I am.’ I smiled at him. ‘You’re good at this, aren’t you? Cheering people up. After the day I’ve had, I never thought I’d be able to laugh again.’
‘When the stormclouds gather, pudding. Ancient Irish proverb.’
‘Ancient cockney proverb.’
‘Oi. Less of the backchat, my girl, or I might rethink my offer of a sleepover.’
I frowned. ‘Sleepover?’
‘Well, yeah. I’m not going to let you walk the streets, am I? You might get eaten by a feral Herdwick. Vicious feckers, the sheep round here.’
I hesitated. When he said sleepover, did he mean sleepover or did he mean, you know… sleepover? I mean, I did trust him, but… well, he was still a stranger. And a man.
He smiled, reading my expression. ‘No ulterior motive, I promise. I’ll put a camp bed up in the awning for me. And if you want to stay a few days while you make a plan, you can. I’ll look after you.’
‘Why though?’
‘Because you’ve got no money and nowhere to go and I’m not a complete bastard.’ He glanced at my sore palms. ‘And not to be personal, but I’m not sure your mental state’s any too stable right now either. I don’t want to leave you alone.’
‘I’m not your problem.’
‘I’m making you my problem. Just until you get back on your feet.’
The sense of relief that there was someone in my corner, someone who wanted to help, was palpable. The feeling that it wasn’t just me against the world any more surged through me like warm caramel.
‘Thank you,’ I said in a small voice. ‘I’ll pay you back for all this. Just as soon as… as something happens. I don’t know what, but something.’
‘Nothing happens but what we make happen.’ He pushed his plate away and stood up. ‘And tomorrow is the first day of making the rest of your life happen, superhero Kitty Clayton. Come on.’
So this was my wedding night. Walking by the banks of a star-spangled lake with an almost complete stranger who’d just offered to save me from a life of vagrancy. It wasn’t the one I’d dreamed of, but it was certainly interesting.
‘Is it far?’ I asked Jack.
‘Just a half-mile from here.’ He glanced down at my wellies. ‘How far have you walked in those things today?’
‘Dunno. Quite a way.’ I could feel blood pooling in one of the toes, but that was nothing compared to the pain in my poor burnt hands.
‘Can you make it?’
‘I’ll cope.’
But the series of physical and emotional shocks I’d suffered that day were starting to catch up with me. As was the glass of wine I’d had in the pub. I stumbled dizzily against a rock, and clutched at Jack for support.
‘Here.’ He put his arm around my shoulders, and I relaxed against it gratefully.
As we walked, Jack pulled my body towards him so our sides were touching. He smiled as we passed a pair of elderly walkers, and they smiled back with a simper that told me they thought we were what we must have appeared to everyone just at that moment: the picture of a happy young couple. Sandy bounded ahead of us, for all the world like a big fat puppy herself rather than the dignified matron you’d expect her to be at this stage in her pregnancy.
‘You always this touchy-feely with girls you’ve just met?’ I asked, glancing at the arm curled around my shoulders.
‘Not since I got that restraining order one time.’ He shrugged. ‘You were looking a bit like you needed the support. I can stop if it makes you uncomfortable.’
‘No, please don’t.’ I looked up at him. ‘Is it funny that I trust you? Twenty-four hours ago I wouldn’t have known you in the street.’
‘And yet today you’ve run into me twice within a forty-mile radius,’ he said. ‘Guess I must be written into your stars, eh?’
I held a hand to my head. I’d been cold earlier, but now I was sweltering. It was obviously one of those springs where the thermostat just couldn’t make up its mind. My brow was coated in beads of sweat.
‘You don’t really believe in all that stuff, do you?’ I asked Jack. ‘Stars and that? Sounds daft to me.’
He shrugged. ‘Not exactly. Still, sometimes things seem to happen that were too important not to happen. Call it coincidence or fate or whatever you like, but I’m a big believer in grabbing what life throws at you and wringing it dry.’
‘Interesting turn of phrase, wringing life dry. Kind of bleak for a carpe diem.’
‘Yeah, I’m a poetic son of a bitch,’ he said with a grin. ‘You know, in another life I could’ve been Bono.’
I shuddered. ‘Thank God we’re in this one then. I’m having a bad enough day as it is.’
We walked in silence for a while. I snuck a look at Jack. His mouth was haunted by a little smile, staring dreamily at Sandy trotting ahead of us with her engorged tum nearly scraping the ground. He was leaning his weight on me slightly, as if having me at his side was the