CHAPTER 35
We left the Farmyard in light rain, heading north again through the maze of roads and lanes towards Aberystwyth. I wondered where we would end up on this circuit, knowing only that it would probably involve some time with Graham.

“Dad?”

“Aye, duck?”

“We going back to that do in Cumbria?”

He looked across me to Mam, who grinned, shaking her head as she said the single word “Chaps!”. I was a little puzzled, so Dad, after a snort, explained.

“Mam’s shorthand, duck. Says it all, really. You know what chaps are? Not men, the other sense?”

“Bloody stupid arseless leather trousers!”

“Yup, that’s them. No protection to your soft bits if you slide down the road, and you end up with a wet bum if it rains. That’s not how they started out, though. They were for cowboys and that, to save their legs when they had to ride through thorn bush, stuff like that. Chaparral, they call it. Then it got all fashionised. You gave Sam a present, didn’t you?”

“What? Oh! The hat. Yeah. I can pay for that, if you want”

“Don’t be daft, duck. It’s all family money, anyway”

That word would always warm me, but Dad hadn’t finished.

“I was listening, duck. Remember how and why you sold the idea to him? Not how cool it would look, how all the boys on big bikes had them, but shade, rain down his neck. Reality, that what was what you gave him. Like chaps. Right, Mam?”

“Yeah, love! Deb, that other meaning?”

“Men?”

“Indeed! Now, there are chaps who wear chaps because of what they do, and there are chaps who wear chaps because they think it makes their little chaps bigger”

It was my turn to laugh, and she waited patiently till I had finished.

“Posers, Deb love. Willy wavers. Not the sort of people we want to know. Chaps, yeah? No, we will not be going back to that one, and I don’t expect it will be going for that many seasons. Some chap will piss off another chap, and that will be the end of it. What we might do is set up by the seaside. Get the straights in, as well as the lads who want a ride out. Grab their cash, love, without having to sleep near them. Sound like a plan?”

It did, and in the end, it worked out well, as the weather stayed drier by the sea than it did inland, where it hammered down for days.

My new but provisional driving licence was waiting in a post office in Whitehaven, and after a quick stop at a garage, we had L-plates. Dad fastened them to both van and trailer, grinned and handed me the van key.

“Maryport marketplace please, driver!”

The next few months were a real bright spot in my life. We worked our way up through Scotland and yes, it rained horrendously as we crossed Beattock Summit, but the Red Moss Inn still held an open fire, and after we had covered the usual spots between the two big cities, Dad decided we needed to go further, “Just this once”, and we ended up in a field near Port Appin. God knows how we managed to get there; there was more than one climb, including the one from Bridge of Orchy, that left the van struggling, and some of the traffic was just stupid in its volume, especially in Glen Coe, but we got there in the end. To no great surprise on my part, Dad had a name from Carol, a Buddhist from Wolverhampton who was doing his best to live in sympathy with the land, or some such set of beliefs, and he had a field with a view of the sea, and some hard standing where Dad could tweak the clutch from the Commer in between doing several maintenance jobs for Carol’s friend, who may have wished to live in sympathy with et cetera, but seemed to see nothing wrong in using a few pieces of more modern machinery.

More modern than a sickle or a horse-drawn plough, but that wasn’t saying much. Dad was in his element, leaving Mam and me to explore the country around us. Carol’s friend, who called himself Lobsang, but had apparently begun (this) life as Derek, had a couple of bicycles in a shed. After Dad had fettled them, Mam and I set out on what felt like epic voyages around Appin. I loved it. A narrow strip of green fields lay between the brown of the higher ground that hemmed it on either side, and together with the gentle waves of the sea loch and the purple of the surrounding hills, it was as close to paradise as anyone could wish.

Apart from the evening midges, that is.

All things have to come to an end, though, and we were back on the road, the van sounding a little better even when it was me doing the driving. Day by day we worked across the outskirts of Edinburgh, before ticking all my favourite boxes for that stretch, including fish and chips from Eyemouth. This time, Duncan wasn’t at the counter, his place taken by a younger man.

“You’ve been here before, aye? I recognise your van. Traders or on some expedition thing?”

Mam was the one at the counter, and simply nodded.

“Traders”

I recognised the unspoken signals: would this turn into a rant about ‘tinkers’, or stay polite?

“Aye, well, you’ll be wanting to stop in by Berwick, then. At Highfields. Got a country fair thing on, using the land before the new development starts. Get some good trade there, you will”

He paused, staring at me.

“Got you now. You’re Duncan’s mates, aren’t you?”

Mam relaxed her grip on my hand.

“That we are, love. How is he?”

“Not so well, Missus. Had a heart attack a month ago, and they have him in the Infirmary. Doing OK, but they say he needs to go up to Embra for a bypass thing. Operation. He’d be glad of a visit, I’m sure. I recognise you two now, or at least this one. You were only a wee thing when I first saw you, lassie. You’re looking well now. Skate, wasn’t it?”

Once again, I saw the network that binds people together. It turned out that Iain was one of Duncan’s cousins, running his own shop up in St Abbs, and had stepped in for Duncan when he had been taken ill. Family, humanity, working together; dharma, as Carol would say. We took our food, and with it Iain handed over a note for Duncan, so that he would remember he was never alone.

Rosie, Gandalf, Nigel, Graham, Carol, my own family. I was so much luckier than I had ever realised, and I found myself thinking back to poor Benny, or that odd kid Bowles, as well as all those buried in a garden in Carlisle, and I knew my plans for my later life were absolutely right.

We dropped in at the infirmary, just Mam and I, while Dad kept the stall earning at Highfields. Iain’s note made Duncan smile, as did my appearance, and after a number of bad jokes about the effects on his heart of being visited by two such attractive young ladies, we took our leave with smiles and gentle hugs. Duncan looked so grey, shrunken to nothing in his hospital bed, but there was a smile for us as we left.

I never saw him again.

We capped off the season with five days at Graham’s, where I alternated lying in the dunes with instruction from him and Dad on driving the larger vehicles on site. It was hard work, but I seemed to have a knack for it, and as usual their patience was amazing. Graham made most of the bad jokes, for once.

“Aye, Ken, and if she strips this gearbox, at least you are there to fettle it! I ought to charge you hiring fees. By the hour, the day, or the clutch plate?”

Happy days indeed.

Two more years went by like that, the last two years of what I thought of as my gypsy days. Two more years of freedom and warmth, three to a bed in the Commer or comfy in my own little tent as Mam and Dad took the chance to make love together, which I never felt as exclusion. Family life and love together, just as Iain had stepped in for Duncan, as Sam would always be there for his sister even if he might sometimes need a hint.

Iain had shown me that essential fact: that those ties and bonds remained, whatever the distances involved. Wherever Mam and Dad travelled, they would be mine and I theirs, forever.

I held onto that thought as I stood at the counter in the Cannock offices of Warwick and Mayhew. The receptionist was immaculate, her hair back-combed to a staggering volume, her lippy far too bright.

“Can I help you?”

“I have an appointment. Deb Wells”

“Is it for the office girl job? Cause that’s been filled”

“No. It’s for lessons”

“Sorry, but we don’t do driving lessons for cars. We just do heavy goods vehicles. You could try Jackson’s, down on Newhall Street. They use Minis, so it would be easier for you”

Fuck you, love. Fuck you sideways, you and that fluff on your head. I dug into the wallet I kept chained to my belt.

“There’s my licence, love. I passed it years ago. I have an appointment for starting HGV training, so if you wouldn’t mind…”