Runaway Bride: A laugh out loud funny and feel good rom com. Mary Baker Jayne
hob, worksurface and sink, with a bank of pine cupboards underneath. The floor was chequerboard-patterned, with a hole in the middle for slotting in a table. I couldn’t imagine how anyone could call the little tin can on wheels a permanent home.
Still. Life without fences. Lucky bastard.
‘So how do you make a living then?’ I asked Jack. I was struggling to think of any job that could fit with the nomadic lifestyle he seemed to lead. Unless he hadn’t been kidding about the human trafficking.
He jerked his head behind him. ‘Take a look, I’m not precious. My portfolio’s inside the sofa. Lever on the side of the seat’ll swing you round.’
He pulled over while I unfastened my seatbelt, and I turned the passenger seat to face the inside of the camper.
I picked my way around Sandy’s bed to the sofa. When I lifted the cushion to get to the storage space, I found a large portfolio case on top of a puddle of awning canvas.
‘Be gentle,’ Jack said when he heard me rustle the sheets inside. ‘I haven’t had those scanned yet.’
I laid the papers on top of the sofa, touching them as delicately as if they were bone china.
There were reams of them: gorgeous hand-drawn illustrations of a little pair of marionettes, a girl and a boy. In each, they were in a different scrape – dangling upside down in a tree, stealing biscuits from a jar on the kitchen shelf. A little dog like a skinnier Sandy lurked at the edge of each adventure, a sort of signature. They seemed familiar somehow…
My eyes widened as realisation hit. It said a lot for the foggy state of my brain that I hadn’t recognised them right away.
‘Oh my God!’
‘Tilly and Billy,’ Jack said. ‘You know them?’
‘Course. My stepsister’s little boys love Tilly and Billy. When I read them bedtime stories they always ask for…’ I paused while it sank in. ‘Bloody hell, you’re that Jack Duffy?’
‘Er, I am, yeah.’ I could see the back of his neck pinkening. ‘Didn’t expect it to mean anything to you, to be honest. I’m only really a big name among the under-fives.’
‘This is unbelievable,’ I muttered. I wished I could ring Laurel and tell her, but my mobile, along with my handbag and the shards of my hopes and dreams, was back at Butterfield Farm where I’d left it.
Jack laughed. ‘It’s sweet you’re so starstruck. Most people over three foot just shrug.’
I went back to join him in the front and he started the engine again.
‘I can give you a signed book for your nephews if you want,’ he said. ‘I mean, if you think they’ll be bothered. Kids don’t set as much store by that sort of thing as adults.’
That was one thing I’d been trying not to think about. God knew when I’d see Toby and Sam again. Or Laurel, or Nan.
‘Thanks. That’d be nice,’ I managed to mumble.
I couldn’t hold back the tear that had forced its way to the front of my eyeball. It slid down my cheek, and I dashed it quickly away. But Jack had already spotted it.
‘What is it you’re running away from, Kitty?’ he asked gently.
‘What makes you think I’m running away?’
‘I’m not thick. Taking lifts from strangers, inappropriate clothing, no bag. No money either, I’m guessing?’
I flushed. ‘No. I didn’t take anything when I—’
I bit my tongue.
‘Sorry,’ Jack said. ‘I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it. I’m worried about you, that’s all.’
‘You don’t even know me.’
‘I know you’re distressed. That you’re on your own, and without a penny to your name apparently. Whatever happened to you today, it must’ve been pretty traumatic.’
‘Well. Weddings are always traumatic, aren’t they?’
He blinked. ‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously.’ I gave a bleak laugh. ‘Today’s my wedding day. This is my wedding dress. And my fetching wedding wellies. It was on a farm, we had this whole quirky hayride-themed thing.’
‘Jesus, Kitty! That’s… God.’ He shook his head in shock. ‘So, what, you’re running away from home?’
‘That’s about the size of it, yeah.’
‘But you’ll have to go back eventually, won’t you? You can’t run forever.’
I glared darkly at a little Fiat bobbing along ahead of us. ‘I’m never going back. Trust me on that.’
‘What happened?’
‘Please don’t ask,’ I said, my voice strangled. ‘I mean, thank you. I am grateful for the lift and I know you’re just trying to be nice and everything, but I really can’t. Not now.’
‘But you’ve come away with nothing. Have you got a bank card on you? Anything?’
‘No. But I’ll be fine. Just get me to my aunty’s, please.’
‘Can I do anything to help?’
He meant it too. I could hear it in his voice, see it in the concern etched into his face. It was funny – I mean, I’d only met him an hour ago – but I couldn’t help trusting him.
And why not? Why not trust a stranger as well as anyone? He’d been kind to me. He’d sounded like he understood – and what’s more, like he cared – when I’d told him what I was running from. He’d even managed to make me laugh a few times, on what was without competition the single most miserable day of my life. On the other hand, I’d known Ethan for ten years when he’d solemnly promised to love and cherish me till death, and he hadn’t even been able to make it to the end of the reception without a metaphorical knee to the groin.
My world was so different, suddenly. I wouldn’t be sleeping next to Ethan tonight, as I had done for the best part of a decade. Wouldn’t be feeling his safe, treacherous arms around me. Wouldn’t be going back to the house we’d shared. If I had my way, I’d never set eyes on either house or Ethan again. How was it possible my life could change so drastically in just a few short hours?
‘That bastard,’ I muttered to myself. Every time I thought about Ethan, the shock and disgust hit me afresh.
Jack blinked. ‘Pardon?’
‘Sorry,’ I said, with an apologetic grimace. ‘Just thinking out loud.’
‘So can I help? Whatever I can do, Kitty.’
‘Yeah.’ I mustered a smile. ‘You can talk about something completely different the rest of the way. Something fun. Something… not about me. Please.’
‘That’s what you need?’
‘I need to keep my mind off it till I’m alone, or I might go insane. Just talk to me, Jack.’
‘Here then. Something that’ll make you smile.’ He made a clicking noise and in the mirror I saw Sandy’s ears prick up. ‘You in the mood for a performance, girl?’ he called out.
Sandy didn’t answer – because dogs can’t talk, obviously – but Jack seemed to take her silence as a yes. He fired up the CD player and skipped to the third track.
I raised one eyebrow. ‘The Neighbours theme?’
‘Yeah. She’s a funny dog, this is one of the only songs she’ll perform to. Right, Sand, after three.’
He counted her in and I laughed as the two of them performed an impromptu duet for me, Jack on vocals and Sandy on hound-dog backing.