I am very keen indeed to get away from here but Melissa is staring down at the water as though this was some sort of official burial. I even wonder whether I should offer to say a few words. But I quickly decide against this. She is upset and we are both very tired. For the first time I have the thought that she might have wanted to save that man.
I do hope she isn’t going to be consumed by the guilt. I hate to see her looking like this. There is really nothing to be gained from feeling like that.
She stares down at the water and, although she isn’t crying, she seems to have aged since yesterday. No doubt I have too, but I have less to lose.
‘Melissa?’ I say gently and touch her arm. She flinches, as though she has been scalded, and regards me as though I am a stranger. ‘I really think we should go, don’t you?’
She nods dumbly and swipes her face with the sleeve of her jumper.
‘I’m still okay to drive,’ I say hurriedly.
She doesn’t even protest.
In the van, I put the heater onto its maximum setting, but at first it just blows icy air into the cabin, so I turn it down again. We can’t leave straight away because the windows are fogged and it always did take a long time for them to clear. I remember Terry used to complain about it all the time.
Oh Terry, what would you think of me now? I wonder and get rather a thrill from this thought.
It really is unpleasant in this van. I’m never going to be able to see unless these windows clear. With a huff of irritation, I wind down the side window and then emit a small shriek because the man we saw a little while ago is standing right there, inches away.
He peers in at us. All we can do is goggle, mouths agape.
His eyes are an odd gold colour, like a cat’s. A tufty beard sprouts from a long chin and a hand-rolled cigarette dangles from his lip. He sucks on it and a strange, sweetish smell drifts into the car.
I don’t think I have ever been at such a loss for words. Is it all over for us? Did he see what we did?
I force myself to act normally and try to move my resisting mouth into both words and a faint smile.
‘Morning,’ I say.
At the sound of my voice, Bertie, who had been sitting on my lap for a short cuddle, pops up and greets the man with a fierce wagging of the tail.
‘Good morning, ladies,’ the man says in a surprisingly well-spoken voice, albeit one that is a little slurred. ‘And look at this little fella! May I stroke him?’
The way he speaks simply does not match his scruffy, hippy appearance. I would be checking my purse was still in my bag if I ended up next to this young man on a bus. I nod, stiffly, and he reaches in a bony white hand, with about ten leather bracelet things around a thin wrist, to stroke Bertie’s head with surprising gentleness.
‘What’s his name?’ he says, cooing at my delighted dog, who turns onto his back in order to receive more love.
‘It’s Bertie! I think he likes you!’ I say, brightly, although I fear I may be a tiny bit shrill.
I glance at Melissa. She is focused on the man with the rictus expression of someone in pain. I feverishly search my brain for some form of explanation for why we are here. But what possible reason could there be?
‘Good to see someone else here,’ says the young man, taking the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger in a way that also ill-fits his rather plummy accent. He takes a deep drag and blows the smoke out in a pungent gust that makes me cough. ‘Some of the best fishing in Dorset here, if you know where to look.’
‘Yes, I believe so,’ I say weakly. I still can’t think of any reason why we would be sitting in this car park at 6.30 in the morning.
‘We’ve been visiting family,’ I say in a gush. ‘Thought we’d have a break and admire the river.’ I’m cringing as I say this.
To my enormous surprise, he holds out the cigarette towards me.
‘Goodness, no thank you!’ I say with a small laugh. Imagine the germs, even if I did smoke.
To my astonishment, Melissa’s thin, pale arm snakes past me and she takes the cigarette from the man, still without saying a word. She takes it to her lips and draws deeply, then does it again, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.
I can’t believe it has taken me so long to understand what is happening. Really, what is Melissa thinking? Not only has this young man seen us, but her DNA is now all over that marijuana cigarette.
I clear my throat loudly.
‘Well, we had better be going,’ I say, trying to remain cheerful-sounding even though fury is coursing through me like the hot drink I have been craving for hours.
Melissa hands the nasty thing back to the young man and smiles weakly as he grins at her.
Honestly.
‘Bon voyage,’ he says. ‘Oh and one other thing …’
My breath catches. ‘Yes?’
‘Your rear light is smashed. Did you know?’
‘Yes,’ I say on a long out-breath of relief. ‘I plan to get it seen to when I’m home.’
‘Good idea,’ he says. ‘The filth’ll pull you over for that.’ And with this he slaps the roof of the van, making us both jump. Then he swaggers off, drumming out some unknown rhythm on the leg of his baggy jeans.
Melissa scrunches sideways in the seat, her back almost facing me. It feels as though she is trying to get away from the interior of the van, but maybe that is just the tiredness showing again.
Wordlessly, we drive out of the car park and onto the narrow road that runs past the big house. I think she is trying to sleep but when we reach the main road, I crane my neck to look and see that her eyes are open. She stares glassily ahead like a very tired, beautiful doll. Her pale skin is shadowed under the eyes and I get the odd notion that I would like to press my fingers there to cool and soothe her. This flusters me because it’s such a strange thing to think. I give myself a little shake and try to concentrate on the road.
It is difficult though, as sunlight spears through the windscreen and jabs my eyeballs. I pull down the sun visor but it only helps a little bit.
The traffic is much thicker now, of course. I find that I can just about cope if I stretch my eyes wide and blink as much as possible. But the truth is that any exhaustion I felt before is nothing to what I’m experiencing now. The thought of reaching the M3 makes all the adrenaline that has sloshed around my poor body all night curdle like stale milk. I’m really not sure that I can go any further without a nap.
But how will I break this news to Melissa? She might insist on driving and that frightens me even more. I clear my throat and decide to brave it.
‘I really am very tired, I’m afraid,’ I venture. ‘I’m not sure either of us should be driving unless we can have a small rest first.’
‘Yes,’ she says, to my astonishment. ‘I think we should stop at the next services and see if there is one of those Travelodge Inns or whatever they’re called. Even if it’s for a few hours. I want a shower.’
It’s all I can do not to exclaim. I never expected her to agree. But I’m not sure it will be that easy.
‘The only thing is, I’m sure we’ll need some sort of identification to check in. And that’s not a good idea. And also, what about Bertie? I can’t leave him in the van.’
I’m mulling over this conundrum as the first sign for the dreaded M3 appears ahead. Melissa yawns noisily before replying in a strangled voice.
‘Look it’s not the bloody Ritz,’ she says. ‘It’s the sort of place salesmen go for a quick afternoon shag, so I’m sure it will be fine. And you can sneak the dog in under your coat or something.’
Wincing at her terminology once again, I say nothing and Melissa speaks again.
‘I am so desperate to wash. I feel so—’