I slip Larry’s lead on just in case, and we head to the neon glow of the entrance. A small crowd of people is outside having a smoke, and the cloud whooshes up into the air as the automatic doors open.
Inside, it becomes clear that there is some kind of group staying here – the lobby is full of German teenagers, lounging on the sofas and chattering away giddily. I approach the front desk, and the harassed woman on duty does her best to smile as I stand waiting.
“Do you have a room for one?” I ask, as soon as she’s ready. “Well, one person and one dog.”
She peers over the counter at Larry, who does his very best ‘please take pity on a poor wee mongrel’ face. It does make her smile, but it doesn’t change much.
“We have one single room left,” she says, after consulting her computer. “But I’m sorry, we don’t accept dogs. You could leave him in your car and pop out to check on him?”
I recoil in horror at the very thought. Larry trusts me, and easy-going as he is, there’s no way I’d even consider leaving him on his own in a car park for a night. I mean, he might get dog-napped.
“No. Thanks anyway, but we’ll leave it…” I reply, walking forlornly away, back out into the night.
I take Larry for a stroll around the bushes to do his business, and go back to the car. I could, of course, just sleep here – I’ve done it before, and it’s no big deal, not really. There’s enough room, and it would only be for one night, hopefully.
I am turning the issue over in my mind when my phone pings. Out here in the big bad world, phone signals are not an issue.
I open the message and smile when I see it’s from Priya.
“Sorry I wasn’t around when you got in touch,” the note says, “but just wanted to say hi, see how you’re doing, and say we’re back from our hols and at home again. We went to France, but I was a lot better behaved with kids in tow than when we went! Hope your trip around the country is going well, that you’re seeing some amazing places, and living your very best life. Or whatever – gosh that sounds corny doesn’t it? Anyway. Lots of love from your petite chou-merde xxx!”
It makes me laugh, the way she signs off. Maybe, underneath the kids and the jobs and the life experience, we’re all still a little bit crazy after all.
I try to reply, but I don’t really know what to say. I have seen some amazing places, but am currently in a parked car at the edge of a motorway, surrounded by lorries, smokers and drunk German teenagers. I’m not sure that counts as anybody’s best life.
I look at some of the pictures I took down at the beach this morning, find one of Larry rolling in the sand, legs akimbo, the sun and the sea behind him. I send it to Priya, along with the message: “I seem to have been adopted by a stray dog called Larry the Lamb.”
She replies immediately with a bunch of emojis and the words: “That is AWESOME! Where is that place??? How long are you there for? I am well jell!”
I explain that I was only there for one night, and that I’m on the road again, to which she replies: “Yeah. That makes perfect sense. Find paradise and swap it for a motorway! Have you lost your mind, Ells-Bells?”
I can almost hear the sarcasm dripping from her words – she was always a master of mockery – and wonder if she’s right. I see one of the teenagers vomiting next to an overflowing dustbin and decide that she is – this is insane. Why am I here? Why am I considering sleeping in my car when there is a perfectly gorgeous hotel room waiting for me in Starshine Cove? Why am I being so stupid?
“Probably have lost my mind,” I reply. “Maybe I need to go and look for it.”
“Don’t forget to check down the side of the sofa,” she says, then adds the words: “Gotta go. Feeding time at the zoo and the kids are still in holiday mode. Stay safe and stay in touch xxx”.
I close down the chat, and turn around to look at Larry.
“Priya thinks we should probably go back,” I explain to him. “And Priya is a psychiatrist, and knows about this shit. What do you reckon? Think there’ll still be room at the inn?”
He wags his tail, farts, and looks shocked by the noise. I take that as a yes.
ChapterEleven
I manage to arrive the traditional way this time, and it is almost ten by the time I pull up in the car park. I sit for a few moments, seeing the lights shining from the mullioned windows, imagining the warmth of the room, the crowded bar, the sounds of laughter and chatter. I grit my teeth, feeling as though I’m about to run some sort of gauntlet of forced sociability. It’s strange how I have ended up like this, so removed from the rest of the world, so reluctant to engage with normal human interaction – I’m a doctor, for goodness’ sake, my whole job is about dealing with people.
Except, I know, that this is completely different. Working in drop-in centres in London isn’t exactly a social life. I see people as patients, I see them at strange and usually difficult times in their lives, and I see their symptoms, not the whole of their existence. I know they are wives, husbands, mums, dads, sisters, friends, not just patients – but for me to do my job properly, it actually helps to compartmentalise, to keep all of that separate. I’m not totally sure when it started leaking into the rest of my life, but it has.
I take a deep breath, let Larry out of the car, and go inside. I see that although it is busy, it is not crowded. There is music playing, Smokey Robinson telling me he has the tears of a clown.
A quick scan tells me none of the locals I’ve already met are there, but I do receive a few inquiring looks, which tells me they are probably from the area, and that they recognise either me or the weresheep. I plaster a non-committal smile on my face, aiming for polite-but-discouraging-contact, and head to the bar. I need to get the key, and get out, I think. Simple.
Jake is there, and tonight he is wearing a plain white cotton shirt, opened a few buttons at the collar, that somehow makes him look even more exotic. He looks up from the glass he is cleaning, and raises one eyebrow. Okay. Maybe not that simple after all.
“Hi,” I say lamely, “I’m back!”
“I see that,” he replies, his mouth quirking up at the corner.
