Page 91 of The Dating Ban
“No, that’s fine. I’ve got this,” I lie with the confidence of someone who absolutely hasn’t got this. “Don’t you need to get to your cottage?” I throw in an extra-wide smile for reassurance.
“Okay… if you’re sure,” he says, not sounding convinced.
“Absolutely,” I reply with a chirp, turning to Lucy. “Right, Squirt, have a fab time with your dad.” I give her button nose a playful squeeze, earning a delighted giggle.
Theo’s mid-unloading my backpack and tent from the boot when a stocky man emerges from the shed, waving.
“You alright there, folks?” he calls out in a thick Irish accent.
“I’ve got a pitch booking for a week,” I reply, shielding my eyes from the sun.
“Grand,” he nods, stroking his ginger beard like it’s his pet cat. “Ivy Gillman, yeah?” He gives Theo a quick once-over and glances at the car.
“That’s right,” I confirm.
“I’m Mick. Welcome to Creggy Hill Campside. Your pitch is over there by the trees, but honestly, no one else is booked tonight, so take your pick. We are not that well known yet. Showers are over there,” he points to the small shack nearby, “and the toilet’s the same way. If you need anything after I leave, just use the phone by the door there.” He gestures to an ancient-looking handset hanging outside the shed.
Theo frowns at this. “Is that it?”
“Aye,” Mick replies with a shrug. “Most guests we’ve had so far came in campervans. Don’t get many with just a tent.” His eyes drop to my rolled-up shelter, which suddenly looks about as durable as a plastic carrier bag.
“I’ll be fine. I’ve got a cooker,” I say, clinging to my one bit of semi-reliable kit. Thank fuck for that sales assistant who convinced me to buy the gas cooker. Let’s just hope I can figure out how to use it.
Theo doesn’t look convinced. “Ivy, are you sure—”
“Absolutely, I’ve got it all under control,” I interrupt, letting out an awkward laugh. I steer him towards the car before I lose my nerve. If he lingers much longer, I’ll end up begging him to take me with him.
Mick grins at me, clearly amused. “Love, let me give you a hand with your bags.” He grabs the tent and my backpack, carrying them towards the trees.
“Right,” Theo says hesitantly.
I give him a reassuring pat on the chest, careful not to meet his eyes in case he spots the wobble in mine. “This is exactly what I need. You and Lucy go have a great time, and I’ll see you in a week when you pick me up.”
Theo studies me, then pulls out his phone. “There’s no reception here, Ivy. What are you going to do if something happens?”
I wave dismissively towards the phone by the shed. “I’ll use that. Stop worrying, Theo.”
“Promise me you’ll call if you need anything?” His voice is gentle now, almost pleading.
“Stop worrying,” I say again, more firmly this time, and wink before scooping up the sleeping mat. I twirl dramatically, waving at Lucy. “Have a fabulous time, you two!”
Lucy waves back, beaming. Theo just shoves his hands into his pockets, his expression like I’m marching off to war.
I can’t let him rattle me. I’m not the first woman to go camping alone. Look at that woman who walked that massive mountain trail in America—what’s-her-name? If she can do that, I can handle a week in Dorset.
“Need help with the tent, love?” Mick calls as Theo reverses the car onto the road.
“Nah, I’m good,” I reply with a grin I hope looks confident. “I practiced.”
“Fair play to ya’,” he chuckles, heading back towards the shed.
I take a deep breath, looking out at the rolling hills and feeling the sun on my face. The breeze is cool, carrying the fresh smell of grass and sheep.
“Let’s do this,” I mutter, hoping I believeit.
“What the fuck!” I hiss through gritted teeth. This is officially getting ridiculous. Back in my flat, it took me fifteen minutes to put this bloody tent up. Fifteen minutes. What I hadn’t accounted for, however, was the sheer force of nature out here in the wild. Namely, the wind, which has turned my tent into a flailing sail and me into an unwilling circus act.
First, the wind decided to snatch my tent bag and send it cartwheeling across the field, so I had to sprint after it like an idiot. Then, while I was wrestling with one end of the tent, the other end flapped up and smacked me in the face. I tried pinning it down with my backpack, only to realise I’d left the pegs in my backpack. Somewhere in all this chaos, a vicious wasp—bee? Whatever it was, it had wings and a vendetta—buzzed right into my personal space, nearly flying into my ear. I shrieked, flailed, and ran around the field like a maniac, arms flapping like I was signalling for rescue.
