Page 32 of Short Stack 3

“It is not. It is an aversion to walking anywhere that isn’t within easy reach of some shops and a Starbucks.”

“You mean there isn’t aStarbucks?” I say, aghast, and that sets him off again, so I ignore him, looking around as he comes to a stop. We’re in a cobbled yard next to a building labelled Reception. I see the sign for a shop and brighten, but after closer inspection, it seems to just stock cans and packets of food—none of which will be of any use to me and Ivo.

“I’ll check in,” he says, climbing out of the van.

I watch him move away, appreciating the sight of him, and then sigh. “The last time he mentioned checking in, it was to a five-star hotel in New York,” I say sadly to Bertie, who’s risen from his coma to perch in Ivo’s seat and look regally around as if he owns the site.

For a few minutes, I’m distracted by some rather spectacular memories, most of which involve being in bed. My reverie is interrupted when Ivo climbs back in.

“Are they full? Should we find a hotel?” I ask hopefully.

“Bad luck, darling. We’ve got a spot.”

He starts the van and drives away slowly. The site is small, with a winding road and pitches for caravans and motorhomes. It’s actually rather charming, with mature trees and pretty flowered bushes breaking up the pitches. It’s also very busy, with shiny motorhomes seemingly everywhere.

“There are so many people camping,” I marvel. “Who knew this was a thing?”

“Presumably, the caravan and motorhome clubs. Did you think I’d hired out the entire site for us, Monsieur Moneybags?”

“No, but it might have been nice. We could have changed pitch every five minutes.”

“I wouldn’t be too cocky. We haven’t actually set up a pitch at all yet. Still, a site just for us would have meant the loos would have been private.”

I go still. “Pardon?” I squeak.

He seems to try hard to repress it for a few seconds, but a snort escapes him. “We have shared bathroom blocks with showers and toilets.”

“Ivo, I thought I’d been a pretty amazing partner to you so far, but I’ve obviously done something wrong because you appear to be trying to kill me. We share a bathroom? With otherpeople?”

He nods, biting his lip.

“But I haven’t done that since the Scouts!”

“Henry, you make it sound like you had an illustrious career with the Scouts rather than leaving after an hour.”

“We met outside. No one alerted me to that possibility. Plus, the colour of the uniform wasn’t made for my hair.” I shakemy head. “Sharing a bathroom. That was only acceptable in my single, clubbing days.”

“We do not need to mentionthatagain.”

I hide my smile. His jealousy never gets old.

“Here it is,” he says. “This is our pitch.”

He parks neatly on a patch of gravel and gets out. I follow him, putting Bertie on his lead so he doesn’t try to run away back to London and civilisation.

The site he’s picked is actually very pretty. It has a grassy area set next to an old brick wall. An oak tree stoops over us, its leaves rustling in the breeze mysteriously.

“This is nice,” I say in a rallying tone, but he doesn’t hear me. He’s standing by the back of the van with his hands on his hips. “Alright?” I ask.

“Hmm? Oh yes, perfectly fine.”

With wonder, it dawns on me that Ivo hasn’t got a clue what to do now.

“I’ll just stay here with Bertie,” I say earnestly. “We’ll let you sort everything out. We’re in good hands, Bertie,” I tell the dog in a loud enough voice to rattle my beloved.

We stand in silence for a long few seconds, and then he grimaces and makes a gallic gesture that I’ve only ever seen his mother make. I’d observed her doing this at the end of her marriages, so it’s rather alarming.

“Pah,” he says. “We need the hook-up.”

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