“So I’m good to go?” I ask, trying to ignore the stray strand of disappointment that intrudes on my thoughts.
“You’re good to go.”
We say our goodbyes, and I stand with Larry, watching as both the van and the bright pink Fiat 500 disappear up the road.
Good to go, I think. Well, Connie can’t have it both ways – if we’re going to listen to the signs and interpret everything as an act of fate, this is a pretty clear one. This is destiny telling me to take a hike.
I go inside, and find Jake and Miranda chatting behind the bar. She’s wearing a different-coloured T-shirt but with the same slogan, and I suspect she must have bought a batch of them. She smiles and heads through to the back, saying something about refilling the ketchup bottles.
Jake leans forward on the bar, resting his arms on the wood, giving me a nod of greeting. He is back to being sensible Jake now, out of the starshine. Sensible, but still insanely good looking. It makes perfect sense that his mum was Italian – you can see it clearly once you know.
“Morning,” he says politely. “Everything okay? The mechanic called in.”
“Yeah, I just saw him. The car’s sorted. I’m good to go.”
“That’s…good news? If you want to go, at least. The room was booked out for a week, if you wanted to stay for a few more days…”
It is tempting. The thought of that pretty room, of this kind man, of that beach just on my doorstep. It is tempting, but it is also unsettling, and I suspect that staying any longer will simply make it harder when I have to move on. Better to rip off the plaster, as they don’t teach you in medical school but everyone knows.
“Thanks, but I don’t think so. I’m a bit scared of staying for a whole week in case there really is naked karaoke on a Friday…”
“Well, I can’t speak for what goes on in Connie’s own home, but that’s not a village-wide event, I promise. But I understand. I really do. And anyway,” he adds with a sudden full-wattage grin, “you can always come back if you change your mind.”
I nod, and thank him, and ask if I can settle the bill.
“No bill,” he says firmly. “First night’s on the house.”
“Really?” I ask, smiling. “Are you sure you used to be a successful property developer?”
“Yeah. But people can change, can’t they?”
I think back to a younger me. To my days at uni. To that backpacking trip with my pals that now feels like it didn’t even happen. To a time when I was carefree and passionate and had the world at my feet.
Yes, people can change – but not always for the better.
ChapterTen
I pack my few belongings quickly, and stand gazing out of the window for a few moments before I leave. It really is a beautiful view, but somehow I know I might be more comfortable with a view of the rear end of a lorry, or a traffic jam. Maybe this is the problem with finding your happy place – even if you find it, you’re still stuck being yourself when you get there.
I sneak away without saying goodbye to anyone, which I know is a bit of a dick move, but I can’t bear the thought of all the fuss. I know Connie will try and tempt me to stay, offering me cake-based bribes and trying to persuade me to rest up a little longer. I know Larry will curl up with Lottie, and George will twinkle his eyes at me. I know that Jake will give me one of his small smiles and won’t apply any pressure at all, which will somehow feel even worse.
I decide, as I set off, that I will write them thank-you notes once I am back in the real world. That is as much as I have to give right now.
Larry seems perfectly happy with the new arrangement, settling down on the backseat of the car, and not even complaining as I sing along to Oasis songs on the radio during a Britpop special. I have the voice of tone-deaf angel, so I appreciate his tolerance.
We drive around aimlessly, stopping off wherever it seems called for, having rest stops and wee stops and sanity stops along the way. I end up going all the way along the coast and into the next county, Devon, and feel a small thrill as we pass the county sign. For some reason I always get excited when I do that; I think it’s a hangover from family holidays, when shouting out that you’d seen a sign or a horse or the sea or a cow was the ultimate triumph.
Part of me just wants to keep going, to drive through the day and the night until I reach Cornwall, until I stand at Land’s End and then wonder where to go from there – it is a pretty final destination. But I remind myself that I have Larry now, and that I need to give Dr Wong a day or so to see if she can locate his owners. I make an agreement in my own mind that if I haven’t heard from her in the next 24 hours, we are free – I have pulled off the amazing Scruffy Dog Heist, and we will run away together, like Bonnie and Clyde but with less bank jobs and bullets and death.
After a walk along the riverside, we head back in the direction we came from, but keep it fresh by taking different roads. I know, I’m out of control.
We call in at Charmouth beach, where Larry runs around off his lead and I have an ice cream and we totally fail to find any of the fossils which the place is famous for. We stop off at a donkey sanctuary, which doesn’t end well as I seem to have accidentally found the one living creature that Larry isn’t keen on. We visit a countryside estate that has its own art galleries and jewellery makers and rare-breed pigs, and by evening, we arrive at a pretty little market town called Bridport, where I am hopeful that we’ll be able to find somewhere to stay.
My hopes are soon dashed, though – because it is the height of the summer season, and I have a dog these days, which complicates everything. I sit outside in the beer garden of a pub in the evening, calling round various dog-friendly lodgings, repeatedly being told that sadly they are fully booked.
In the end, I give up, and hit the road again. I re-join the busy A-roads, and we battle our way towards the nearest motorway in the hope that we can find a suitable place to rest our heads. In my experience so far, there’s always a spare room somewhere near a motorway.
It is dark by the time we reach a new-build hotel down a slip road from the traffic, and the scent of the sea is long gone. It has been replaced by the more familiar odour of exhaust fumes and fast-food wrappers and diesel.
