Page 23 of Jenny James Is Not a Disaster
When I was a teenager, I often felt lonely—my brother was older and not interested in me, we lived in an isolated place, and, in time-honored tradition, I didn’t feel like my parents understood me. I had friends, but my real escape was my own imagination—I’d spend hours disappearing into it, writing my stories, doodling, making up spectacular events that might come along and transform my life. In later years, I’ve channeled a lot of that into imagining Charlie’s future life and into planning luxury fantasy holidays—but maybe now it’s time to let myself indulge a little. I think, also, I am acknowledging the fact that my life is made up of blank pages waiting to be filled. In less than a week, I have lost my job, lost my home, lost most of my possessions. As chances to recreate yourself go, this is top-level stuff. I feel strangely hopeful as we arrive at the motorhome, ready to embrace the unknown—or, at the very least, give it a friendly handshake and see where we go from there.
Charlie has been low-key excited about it all for the last few days, and I think this trip has given him something to focus on. He has chatted to his father about it, and Rob was full of enthusiasm—he is a man who has never truly settled down, so I’m not surprised. He’s been in Paris for two years, which is the longest he has lived in any one place since he left. Charlie hasn’t actually seen him for a decade, although they are in regular contact. It’s been a hard balance to find—not villainizing Rob in a way that would be unfair to Charlie, but also making it clear to Charlie that his father’s absence from his life isn’t his fault, that he shouldn’t feel any sense of rejection. He doesn’t seem racked with daddy issues thus far in life, so I hope that all these years of biting my tongue have been worth it.
We are dropped off in a cab at around 6:00 p.m. and plan to stay in the van overnight as a practice run. Assuming neither of us runs from it screaming, “I can’t take this—I feel like I’m trapped in a cave!” we will hit the road tomorrow. Yeehaw.
We find Luke inside, wearing his trademark Levi’s and well-washed rock T-shirt, cocooning mugs and plates in bubble wrap.
“Fellow travelers!” he says, holding a mug aloft. “The shutdown begins... Come on in.”
We don’t have a lot with us—the bedding and one small bag each—but it feels like we are overwhelming the living area.
Luke lifts up the banquette seat to reveal a large cupboard space beneath.
“I cleared this one out,” he says. “Thought you guys could use it for your things. This also pulls out into what will be your bed, Jenny. And, Charlie—you’re up top, I believe?”
“Yeah... can I go and see? Not gonna lie—insanely excited about living in a tiny man-cave with a ladder.”
Luke grins and points the way.
We both watch as Charlie clambers up the ladder with long limbs, Betty jumping up and yipping as he goes. I hear him squeal when he reaches the top, his feet disappear, and he shouts, “Awesome!”
“Okay, while he’s up there exploring—that should keep him busy for at least five minutes—how about I fill you in on some logistics?” Luke says.
I nod, and he gives me a tour of the vehicle, explaining as he goes how to operate the water pump and heater, how to use the weird toilet and the separate wet-room shower, how to use the kitchen appliances, and where all the various essential items are kept. There is a lot to take in, and I think I switch off after the first instruction.
“Um... I probably won’t remember all that, you know,” I say as he walks me outside to show me where the charging plug is and to give me a crash course in how the water tank works. I swear he calls something a whale, so in my mind the tank immediately becomes known as Moby Dick.
“I know,” he replies, smiling. “And you don’t need to. It’ll all sink in, bit by bit. We might have a few disasters along the way, but such is life...”
“What kind of disasters?” I ask, looking up at him. “Because you might be joking, but I am a disaster magnet right now. If there is a disaster lurking within a ten-mile radius, it will come flying toward me.” He glances over at the wreckage of the cottage and nods. Hard to argue the point.
“Well. Like I said, I’m an adrenaline junkie... but seriously, we’ll be fine. There is a thing you can do with the electrics on sites that can be pretty fun—all to do with using faulty appliances or the wrong voltages. It usually just trips out your own place, but I have been on sites where it’s knocked us all out. Hence the torches. Then there’s the tried-and-tested favorite of forgetting about Fiamma rails—the things that hold up the awnings—and them getting bent out of shape or even blown off in bad weather. It’s pretty easy to not notice you’ve left a skylight open, and once you’re driving along at speed, they can get into trouble. Then there’s the more mundane stuff—like running out of propane when you’re cooking, getting lost, getting stuck...”
I feel myself pale slightly as he lists these potential pitfalls, convinced that I will tumble spectacularly into every single one of them.
“The main thing to remember,” he says, reaching out and laying a reassuring hand on my shoulder, “is to try to enjoy yourself. Don’t think about the potential problems—think about the freedom, thefun, the wide-open spaces. And hey, if you don’t like it, I can just drop you off at the nearest service station!”
I am momentarily distracted by the touch of his skin against mine and realize that he hasn’t listed at least one of the possible disasters: all three of us living together in a space that is used to accommodating one man and one small dog. That will be a challenge for each of us in different ways, I suspect—I haven’t lived with a man for a very long time and even then not for long; Charlie has only ever shared a home with me. And Luke? Well, I realize, I don’t actually know—he lives like this now, but I assume he didn’t always. He said he had a big job and a different life and presumably all the trappings—house, car, maybe even wife.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I ask seriously. “You chose this lifestyle because you wanted to be alone, I presume.”
“I did,” he replies, nodding. “And that is a story for another day—or maybe a night, sitting out under the stars with a campfire and a guitar and a bottle of wine. But I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it. I’m not the sort of person who does things they don’t want to.” Our eyes meet, and nothing I see in his expression contradicts what he has said. I have to accept it and go into this whole adventure with an open mind.
“Okay, fine... though I might get you to sign some sort of disclaimer... Can I drive, by the way?”
“Probably not. It’s too big; you need a special addition to your license. But I’m okay with driving—I’m used to it. It’ll be nice to have company. The big decision is where we drive to. I came here from the south coast, I spent spring and the early part of summer in Kent and Essex. Where next... well, that’s the fun part!”
“What’s the fun part?” says Charlie, emerging from the motorhome. His hair is tousled and his cheeks are red; he has beenhaving a good time, and all of the childlike glee makes him look a lot younger. “Did I miss the fun part? Because, I tell you, that little bed up there is pretty wild... I opened the skylight, is that okay?”
“That’s fine,” replies Luke.
“As long as you remember to close it before we set off,” I add wisely. I wink at Luke and add: “See? I was paying attention!”
“I never doubted it. What’s the name of those rails again?”
“Hmm... it begins withF, and I’m quite tempted to improvise here...”
“Don’t swear, Mum,” intercedes Charlie. “You’ll set a bad example.”
