The Cornish Cream Tea Bus. Cressida McLaughlin
smile almost slipped at this last point, because that was worrying her far more than the state of Gertie’s engine or how many panels needed replacing. What on earth was she going to do with a vintage, double-decker bus, when she worked in a café in Ross-on-Wye and her main skills were baking and eating? ‘I’ll think of something,’ she said brightly. ‘One step at a time, Dad. Fix Gertie, and then decide what to do with her.’
She put the key in the ignition and a satisfying thrum reverberated, like a heartbeat, through the bus. The engine was working, at least. She cranked the heating up to max – she didn’t want her fingers to fall off before she’d polished the metalwork – then turned on the radio.
‘Gold’ by Spandau Ballet filled the space, and Charlie took her dad’s hands and pulled them up in the air with hers. She forced them into an awkward dance down the aisle, bumping into seats as they sashayed from the front of the bus to the back, and sang along at the top of her voice. Soon they were both laughing, and her dad let go of her hands so he could clutch his stomach. She dinged the bell and tried to get her breathing under control. When Vince looked up, Charlie could see the familiar warmth in his eyes that she had been worried was gone for good.
It was impossible not to feel cheered in Gertie’s company. Hal had been convinced there was something a little bit magical about her, and while Charlie had always argued that it was Hal who inspired the laughter on his tours, at this moment she wondered if he was right.
They could do this. No question. Despite all that had happened to her over the past few months, she knew she could restore Gertie to her former glory. What came next wasn’t so certain but, as she’d said to her dad, they could only take one step at a time. Right now, they needed to focus on bringing the bus back to life.
They worked all morning, and even though Charlie knew the bits they were fixing were only cosmetic, and a small part of her worried that when Clive came round he would tell them that the engine was too old, or there was too much rust in the chassis, or any one of a number of things that meant Gertie would not outlive Hal, she felt so much better for doing it. The radio kept them buoyed, and at one point her dad even whistled along to a Sixties tune, something that, only a day before, Charlie and her mum would both have thought impossible.
The simple act of working on Uncle Hal’s bus was taking the edge off their grief. It reminded Charlie how much she had loved spending time with him, a lot of it on board this very bus, and how big an influence he’d been on her. That didn’t have to stop just because he was no longer physically with her. Hal would be part of her life for ever.
It was after one o’clock when Vince announced he was going to get sandwiches. Charlie ordered an egg mayo and bacon baguette and, once her dad had strolled out of the garage with his jacket done up to his neck, she climbed to the top deck of the bus. She sat above the cab – her favourite position as a child because she could pretend she was driving – even though, inside the garage, the view was less than inspiring. As she did so, she felt the letter in her back pocket. Hal had left it for her in his will, and it had been folded and reopened so many times the paper had begun to wear thin along the creases.
It no longer made her cry, but the words still affected her deeply. He had never married, had never had a family of his own, so she had been like a daughter to him. Losing him had been a huge blow – his cancer diagnosis a mind-numbing shock followed quickly by practicalities as his condition worsened and he needed more care – but at least she had been able to spend time with him, to let him know how much she loved him and how much he had shaped her life. And she would always have his letter. It was bittersweet, but so much better than the irreversible cut-off of losing someone suddenly.
She was still lost in thought when she heard a woman calling her name, followed by a high-pitched yelp. Charlie ran down Gertie’s narrow staircase and out of the open doorway.
‘How are you doing?’ Juliette asked. Before Charlie had time to reply, Marmite raced up to her, his extendable lead whirring noisily, and put his tiny front paws on Charlie’s shins. Charlie scooped the Yorkipoo puppy into her arms and closed her eyes while he licked her chin. However miserable some aspects of life had been recently, Marmite never failed to bring a smile to her face. He was six months old, and more of a terror with every passing day.
‘OK, I think,’ Charlie said. ‘But don’t look at the outside, come and see what we’ve done inside. Dad’s getting someone to take a proper look at her, and in the meantime we’ve been giving her a polish. He’s just gone to get lunch.’
‘I know,’ Juliette said, unclipping Marmite’s lead and following Charlie onto the bus. ‘I saw him on my way here. He’s getting me a sandwich, too.’
‘So you can stay for a bit, before you go back to Cornwall this afternoon?’
Juliette nodded. ‘It’s been so good seeing everyone. But I’m still not sure, Char, how you’re really doing. What’s going on up here?’ She tapped Charlie’s forehead. ‘You’re putting on this amazing front, but I need to know before I go home that you’re OK.’
‘I’m fine,’ Charlie said. ‘This morning has helped a lot. Dad was concerned that Gertie wouldn’t be salvageable, but just look at her! She might need a bit of work under the bonnet, some patching up, but it’s given me hope.’
Juliette surveyed their morning’s work, the metal uprights gleaming, the walls clean, the seats vacuumed to within an inch of their lives. ‘She looks great, Char, almost as good as new. But I’m not as convinced about you. Since I’ve been back you’ve been so busy, working at The Café on the Hill, helping with the catering for the funeral. You haven’t stopped, even for a day. You should be taking some time out.’
Charlie groaned. ‘Why does everyone think that’s best for me? Keeping busy is what helps in this kind of situation.’ She led Juliette to a seat halfway down the bus. Some of the chairs were sagging dangerously, but this one, she had discovered earlier, was still fairly firm.
‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ Juliette said after a minute. Her voice was low, her slight French accent always adding a seriousness to her words, though in this case it was probably intentional.
Charlie remembered the first time she had heard Juliette speak, on a packed train from London to Cheltenham; she’d been chatting with someone on the other end of her mobile, and had occasionally slipped into French. Charlie had been sitting next to her, and after Juliette had finished her call and offered some expletives in both languages, Charlie had asked her those same words: Are you OK? Juliette had been reserved, embarrassed that she’d been entertaining the whole carriage, and so Charlie had told her how she’d had a no-holds-barred telephone row with her then-boyfriend in a hotel doorway, not realizing that a wedding party were waiting to get past her into the ballroom, and how some of the guests had looked quite shocked when she’d finally noticed that they were watching her.
She’d made Juliette laugh, and by the time the train had pulled up in Cheltenham, they had swapped numbers and agreed to meet up. That had been almost seven years ago, and their friendship was still strong despite Juliette’s move to Cornwall two years before, with her boyfriend Lawrence. Charlie was still touched that Juliette had come back for Hal’s funeral, staying for a couple of weeks to catch up with friends in the area. She had been on Gertie countless times when she’d lived in Cheltenham, and Charlie hadn’t asked her if she was OK.
‘I’m not doing too badly,’ she said now. ‘I’ve been getting on with stuff, which is better than wallowing in the empty flat, or at Mum and Dad’s. Dad’s so cut up about losing Hal. Today is the first time I’ve seen him smile in what feels like for ever.’
‘I know you’re worried about Vince, but you have to think about yourself, too.’ Juliette put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Because it isn’t just Hal, is it? It’s only been a couple of months since you and Stuart … finished. And you’re in the flat, hosting viewings, unsure where you’re going to go once it’s sold. I know you don’t want to go back to living with your parents, and you can’t live on Gertie, as tempting as it is.’ She laughed softly.
‘That’s