Page 33 of Jenny James Is Not a Disaster
“Well, maybe this is your chance to revisit it. This is hardly real life, is it? You’re taking a vacation from real life. And doing something you love, something you’re obviously good at, is far from silly.”
“Thank you, Yoda. And you? Is this a vacation for you as well?”
I know, of course, that this is a way of life for him—but he is usually alone. Is the fact that we are with him changing things for him as well?
“Again, I don’t know, Jenny. Having you two with me... yes, it makes everything feel different. More fun. More... happy, I suppose. But I also know it’s not permanent. I know you’ll find your feet again, and we’ll part ways, and I’ll... well, I’ll probably go back to doing what I was doing before.”
He doesn’t exactly sound sad as he says this—more resigned. As though he knows that’s what he deserves. We are both at such strange junctions in our lives.
I look around, at the majestic hills and the lush trees and the dome of silence that seems to surround us, and acknowledge that he has a point. “It’s not permanent, is it? It’s still so warm as well. It’d actually be nice to sleep outside.”
“You can. I have groundsheets, sleeping bags. I’ve done it myself a few times. You wake up coated in dew and with a few newinsect friends, but it’s a pretty special experience. What do you say? It’d make a good entry on your new blog!”
I snort with laughter, but nod my agreement. When I was younger, I did this a lot, and since then I have spent a few nights in tents with Charlie, but I have never gone full wild camper since he was born. Perhaps this is the time to try again. I might as well cram in as many new experiences as I can before I have to face up to the reality of boring things like jobs and houses, and finding one of each.
I carry on writing, wondering as I type each word whether Charlie and Luke are right, or if they’re just being kind—indulging me in this childish pursuit. I decide that I should just continue doing it while it’s bringing me pleasure, which is a luxurious way of viewing anything at all, and one usually associated with the consumption of chocolate éclairs.
Before too long, Luke emerges with arms full of equipment. He spreads it all out, setting up a sheet and a bag on each side of the table.
“Charlie says he might join in, so I told him where the stuff was.”
“Another amazing hidden storage unit?”
“Yes. Under my bed. I now call it Larry.”
“We really should have a name for the motorhome, you know...”
“That’s true. It’ll come to us, I’m sure. I might not stay out the whole night, but I’ll join you for a while. Still writing?”
“Just finishing,” I say, closing down the laptop. It is almost eleven and I am exhausted. “I was just describing that stone circle we called at on the way, Castlerigg. It was pretty amazing, but...”
“Pretty full as well? Yeah. I reckon those places are best seen very early in the morning or later at night. Because few things don’t say mystic quest as well as coachloads of pensioners in sun hats.”
He is, of course, right, and I vow to go back there and do it when it is quiet, so I can get a better handle on these ancient folk and their stone shenanigans.
I head inside the van and do my ablutions, check in with Charlie, who is now firmly cozied up with Betty, and get into my PJs. There is a slightly awkward moment when Luke and I have to slide past each other on my way out and his way in, and he emerges with a bottle of fine-looking whisky and two glasses.
“Nothing like a nightcap under the stars,” he says as we both settle into our sleeping bags.
I have my nice notepad and a gel pen by my side in case I get hit by sudden inspiration. I have become a proper prima donna.
“Ha! That sounds like the start of a blog post if ever I heard one!” I reply, scribbling it down.
“See? You’re a natural. Now, I know you’re probably already thinking that you don’t need that sleeping bag, that it’s too warm, but take it from a man who’s made the same mistake—you do. If you drift off to sleep outside it, you’ll wake up cold and in the grasp of a nightmare at three. Then all of this silence won’t be pleasant, it’ll be horrifying.”
He passes me a glass, and I take a sip. It is smooth but fiery, sliding down my throat with reckless ease.
“So, first brandy, and now this. Do you have a secret liquor cabinet called Clive I don’t know about?”
“It’s not a secret, but it is in my bedroom. Help yourself whenever you feel the need. I don’t have it on display in case I come across like an alcoholic in charge of a large vehicle. That’s never a good look.”
I have noticed that he is very careful with the booze, which is probably for the best when you have a magical mystery tour to face the next morning. I wonder briefly about how difficult itwould be to upgrade my license so I could help with the driving, then remind myself that we won’t be together for that long. Just a week or two, we said, didn’t we?
But as I lie back and look up at the night sky, I simply can’t imagine what might come next. How this could ever be allowed to end. The heavens are pure black, dotted with more stars than I have seen in one place for a very long time. Even in our old home, the nearby town had an effect; here, there are no big settlements in the vicinity, no road lights, nothing to pollute the view. It is like being covered with a vast and dazzlingly beautiful blanket, all made of twinkles. It feels like I could float off into it, and I place my hands on the warm grass to ground myself.
“Amazing isn’t it?” Luke says, noticing my reaction. “Easy to forget how big the world is sometimes.”
“I know. It’s... well, I think maybe it’s changing me a bit? This whole ‘being in the big world’ thing,” I say hesitantly.
