The One Plus One

16. Tanzie

Nobody really wanted to get back in the car. The novelty of spending hours in a car, even one as nice as Mr Nicholls’s, had worn off pretty quickly. This, Mum announced, like someone about to give an injection, would be the longest day. They were all to make themselves comfortable and make sure they’d been to the loo because Mr Nicholls’s aim was to drive almost to Newcastle, where he had found a B&B that took dogs. They would arrive at around 10 p.m. After that, he had calculated that with one more day’s driving they should arrive in Aberdeen. Mr Nicholls would find them somewhere to stay close to the university, then Tanzie would be bright and fresh for the maths competition the next day. He looked at her hopefully. ‘Unless you think you’ve got used to this car enough for me to go above forty now?’

She shook her head.

‘No.’ His face fell a bit. ‘Oh, well.’

He caught sight of the back seat then and blinked. A couple of chocolate buttons had melted into the cream leather seats, and although Tanzie had picked away at them as best she could there was definitely a brown mark. The footwell was covered with mud and leaves from where they had been walking around the woods. Norman’s drool had traced snail trails everywhere. At home she could wipe his jowls with a cloth, but trying to do it in the car made her feel sick. Mr Nicholls saw her looking and gave a half-smile, like it really didn’t matter, even though you could tell that it probably did, and turned back to the wheel.

‘Okay then,’ he said, and started the engine.

Everyone was silent for about an hour, while Mr Nicholls listened to something on Radio 4 about technology. Mum read one of her books. Since the library had closed, she’d bought two paperbacks a week from the charity shop but only ever had time to read one. Sometimes, if Mum was doing extra shifts, Tanzie would find her in the morning lying there with her mouth open and a book propped on her pillow. Because she was not very good at understanding simple equations, their whole house was now full of tattered paperbacks that she swore she was about to read.

The afternoon stretched and sagged, and the rain came down in thick, glassy sheets. They drove past endless rolling green fields, through village after village, moving restlessly in their seats and pulling rucked shirts from the small of their backs. All the villages had started to look pretty much the same after Coventry. Tanzie gazed out of the window and tried to do maths problems in her head but it was hard to focus when she couldn’t do workings out on a pad. It was about six o’clock when Nicky began shifting around, like he couldn’t get comfortable.

‘When are we next stopping?’

Mum had nodded off briefly. She pushed herself upright abruptly, pretending she hadn’t, and peered at the clock.

‘Ten past six,’ Mr Nicholls said.

‘Could we stop for some food?’ said Tanzie.

‘I really need to walk around. My ribs are starting to hurt.’ Nicky’s legs were too long for even this car. His knees were folded up against Mr Nicholls’s seat, and he looked like he was being squashed into the corner by Norman, who lay across him, his big pink tongue lolling out through his teeth.

‘Let’s find somewhere to eat. We could divert into Leicester for a curry.’

‘We’ll be fine with sandwiches.’

Nicky groaned quietly.

‘Do you guys eat nothing but sandwiches?’

‘Of course not. But sandwiches are convenient. And we don’t have time to sit down and eat a curry.’

‘I love curry,’ Nicky said mournfully.

‘Well, perhaps we’ll have one in Aberdeen.’

‘If I win.’

‘You’d better, small fry,’ said Nicky, quietly. ‘If I eat another stale cheese sandwich I’m going to start curling up at the edges.’

Mr Nicholls drove through a small town, then another, and followed the signs to a retail park. It had begun to get dark. The roads were thick with Saturday-evening traffic and beeping cars filled with football supporters, celebrating a match involving teams nobody had ever heard of, their faces joyous, pressed against the windows. The Audi crawled through it all, its windscreen wipers beating a dull, insistent tattoo, then finally stopped outside a supermarket and Mum climbed out with a loud sigh and ran in. They could see her through the rain-lashed window, standing in front of the chiller cabinets, picking things up and putting them down again.

‘Why doesn’t she just buy the ready-made sandwiches?’ muttered Mr Nicholls, looking at his watch. ‘She’d be back out in two minutes.’

‘Too expensive,’ said Nicky.

‘And you don’t know whose fingers have been in them.’

‘Jess did three weeks making sandwiches for a supermarket last year. She said that the woman next to her picked her nose in between shredding the chicken for the chicken Caesar wraps.’

‘And none of them wore gloves.’

Mr Nicholls went a bit quiet.

Jess emerged several minutes later with a small shopping bag, holding it over her head as she ran the short distance to the edge of the kerb.

‘Five to one it’s own-brand ham,’ said Nicky, watching. ‘Plus apples. She always buys apples.’

‘Own-brand ham is two to one,’ Tanzie said.

‘Five to two it’s rubber bread. On special.’

‘I’m going to go right out there and say sliced cheese,’ said Mr Nicholls. ‘What odds will you give me on sliced cheese?’

‘Not specific enough,’ said Nicky. ‘You have to go for Dairylea or cheaper own-brand orange-coloured slices. Probably with a made-up name.’

‘Pleasant Valley Cheese.’

‘Udderly Lovely Cheddar.’

‘That sounds disgusting.’

‘Grumpy Cow Slices.’

‘Oh, come on now, she’s not that bad.’

Tanzie and Nicky started laughing.

Mum opened the door, and held up her carrier bag. ‘Right,’ she said brightly. ‘They had tuna paste on special. Who wants a sandwich?’

‘You never want our sandwiches,’ Mum said, as Mr Nicholls drove through the town.

Mr Nicholls indicated, and pulled out onto the open road. ‘I don’t like sandwiches. They remind me of being at school.’

‘So what do you eat?’ Mum was tucking in. It had taken only a matter of minutes for the whole car to smell of fish. Tanzie thought Mr Nicholls was too polite to say so.

‘In London? Toast for breakfast. Maybe some sushi or noodles for lunch. I have a takeout place I order from in the evening.’

‘You have a takeaway? Every night?’

‘If I’m not going out.’

‘How often do you go out?’

‘Right now? Never.’

Mum gave him a hard look.

‘Well, okay, unless I’m getting drunk in your pub.’

‘You seriously eat the same thing every day?’

Mr Nicholls seemed a bit embarrassed now. ‘You can get different curries.’

‘That must cost a fortune. So what do you eat when you’re at Beachfront?’

‘I get a takeaway.’

‘From the Raj?’

‘Yeah. You know it?’

‘Oh, I know it.’

The car fell silent.

‘What?’ said Mr Nicholls. ‘You don’t go there? What is it? Too expensive? You’re going to tell me it’s easy to cook a jacket potato, right? Well, I don’t like jacket potato. I don’t like sandwiches. And I don’t like cooking.’ It might have been because he was hungry, but he was suddenly quite grumpy.

Tanzie leant forwards through the seats. ‘Nathalie once found a hair in her chicken Jalfrezi.’

Mr Nicholls opened his mouth to say something, just as she added, ‘And it wasn’t from someone’s head.’

Twenty-three lampposts went by.

‘You can worry too much about these things,’ Mr Nicholls said.

Somewhere after Nuneaton Tanzie started sneaking bits of her sandwich to Norman because the tuna paste didn’t really taste like tuna, and the bread kept sticking to the roof of her mouth. Mr Nicholls pulled into a petrol station that squatted by the side of the road, a UFO that had just landed.

‘Their sandwiches will be awful,’ said Mum, gazing inside the kiosk. ‘They’ll have been there for weeks.’

‘I’m not buying a sandwich.’

‘Do they do pasties?’ said Nicky, peering inside, and his voice was full of longing. ‘I love pasties.’

‘They’re even worse. They’re probably full of dog.’

Tanzie put her hands over Norman’s ears.

Mum glanced at Nicky and sighed.

‘Are you going in?’ she said to Mr Nicholls, rummaging around in her purse. ‘Will you get these two some chocolate? Special treat.’

‘Crunchie, please,’ said Nicky, who had cheered up.

‘Aero. Mint, please,’ Tanzie said. ‘Can I have a big one?’

Mum was holding out her hand. But Mr Nicholls was staring off to his right. ‘Can you get them? I’m just going to pop across the road,’ he said.

‘Where are you going?’

He patted his stomach and he suddenly looked really cheerful. ‘There.’

Keith’s Kebabs had six plastic seats that were bolted to the floor, fourteen cans of Diet Coke arranged in its window, a neon sign that was missing its first b, and a rum baba that looked as though it had been there for several decades. Tanzie peered through the window of the car, and watched Mr Nicholls’s walk become almost jaunty as he entered its strip-lit interior. He stared at the wall behind the counter, then spoke to the man, who gestured towards some trays behind a glass screen, then pointed to a huge hunk of brown meat turning slowly on a spit. Tanzie considered what animal was shaped like that, and could only come up with buffalo. Maybe an amputee buffalo.

‘Oh, man,’ said Nicky, as the man began to carve, and his voice was a low moan of longing. ‘Can’t we have one of those?’

‘No,’ said Mum.

‘How much do you think they are?’

‘Too much.’

‘I bet Mr Nicholls would buy us one if we asked,’ he said.

Mum snapped, ‘Mr Nicholls is doing quite enough for us. We’re not going to scrounge off him any more than we already have. Okay?’

Nicky rolled his eyes at Tanzie. ‘Fine,’ he said moodily.

And then nobody said anything.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Mum, after a minute. ‘I just … I just don’t want him thinking we’re taking advantage.’

‘But is it still taking advantage if someone just offers you something?’ Tanzie said. She was really, really bored of eating cold food out of plastic bags. And she had the feeling that, if they asked him, Mr Nicholls would buy them one.

‘Eat an apple if you’re still hungry. Or one of the breakfast muffins. I’m sure we’ve got a few left.’ Mum began rummaging around in the plastic bag again. Nicky raised his eyes silently. Tanzie let out a sigh.

Mr Nicholls opened the car door, bringing with him the smell of hot, fatty meat. He was grinning as he sat down. His kebab was swaddled in white, grease-stained paper, and shredded green salad bushed from both sides of the meat, like Kitchener’s moustache. Two twin bungee ropes of drool dropped immediately from Norman’s mouth. ‘You sure you don’t want some?’ he said cheerfully, turning towards Nicky and Tanzie. ‘I only put a bit of chilli sauce on.’

‘No. That’s very kind, but no thank you,’ said Mum, firmly, and gave Nicky a warning look.

‘No, thanks,’ Tanzie said quietly. It smelt delicious.

‘No. Thank you,’ said Nicky, and turned his face away.

‘Right. Who wants another sandwich?’ said Mum.

Nuneaton, Market Bosworth, Coalville, Ashby de la Zouch, the signs passed by in a steady blur. They could have said Zanzibar and Tanzania for all Tanzie knew of where they actually were. She found herself repeating Ashby de la Zouch, Ashby de la Zouch, and thinking it would be a good name to have. Hi – what’s your name? I’m Ashby de la Zouch. Hey, Ashby! That’s so cool! Costanza Thomas was five syllables too, but it didn’t have the same rhythm. She considered Costanza de la Zouch, which was six, and then Ashby Thomas, which sounded flat by comparison.

Costanza de la Zouch.

The car slowed for a traffic jam that seemed to be caused by nothing, and they had to double back once when Mr Nicholls took a wrong turning. He seemed a bit distracted.

Costanza de la Zouch.

They had been back on the open road for 389 lampposts when Mr Nicholls said he had to stop the car. Usually it was one of them who asked to stop. Tanzie kept getting dehydrated and drinking too much, then needing a wee. Norman whined to go every twenty minutes, but they could never tell if he genuinely needed one or was as bored as they were and just wanted a little sniff around. Mum was reading again, with the passenger light on, and Mr Nicholls kept shifting around in his seat, until finally he said, ‘That map … is there a restaurant or something up ahead?’

‘You’re still hungry?’ Mum looked up.

‘No. I – I need the loo.’

Mum went back to her book. ‘Oh, don’t mind us. Just go behind a tree.’

‘Not that kind of loo,’ he muttered.

‘Oh.’ Mum picked the map out of his glove compartment. ‘Well, judging by this, Kegworth is the nearest town. I’m sure there’ll be somewhere you could go. Or there might be a services if we can get to the dual carriageway.’

‘Which is closest?’

Mum traced the map with her finger. ‘Hard to say. Kegworth?’

‘How far?’

‘Ten minutes?’

‘Okay.’ He nodded, almost to himself. ‘Ten minutes is okay.’ He said it again, and his face was weirdly shiny. ‘Ten minutes is doable.’

Nicky had his ear-buds in and was listening to music. Tanzie was stroking Norman’s big soft ears and thinking about string theory. And then suddenly Mr Nicholls swerved the car abruptly into a lay-by. Everyone lurched forward. Norman nearly rolled off the seat. Mr Nicholls threw open the driver’s door, ran round the back, and as she turned in her seat, he crouched down by a ditch, one hand braced on his knee, and began heaving. It was impossible not to hear him, even with the windows closed.

They all stared.

‘Whoa,’ said Nicky. ‘That’s a lot of stuff coming out of him. That’s like … whoa, that’s like the Alien.’

‘Oh, my God,’ said Mum.

‘It’s disgusting,’ Tanzie said, peering over the back shelf.

‘Quick,’ said Mum. ‘Where’s that kitchen roll, Nicky?’

They watched as she got out of the car and went to help him. He was doubled over, like his stomach was really hurting. When she saw Tanzie and Nicky were staring out of the back window, she flicked her hand like they shouldn’t look, even though she had been doing the exact same thing.

‘Still want a kebab?’ Tanzie said to Nicky.

‘You’re an evil sprite,’ he said, and shuddered.

Mr Nicholls walked back to the car like someone who’d only just learnt how to do it. His face had gone this weird pale yellow. His skin was dusted with tiny beads of sweat.

‘You look awful,’ Tanzie told him.

He eased himself back into his seat. ‘I’ll be fine,’ he whispered. ‘Should be fine now.’

Mum reached back through the seats and mouthed, ‘Plastic bag.’ Tanzie handed over hers. ‘Just in case,’ she said cheerfully, and opened her window a bit.

Mr Nicholls drove really slowly for the next few miles. So slowly that two cars kept flashing them from behind and one driver sat on his horn really angrily as he passed. Sometimes he veered a bit across the white line, like he wasn’t really concentrating, but Tanzie registered Mum’s determined silence and decided not to say anything.

‘How long now?’ Mr Nicholls kept muttering.

‘Not long,’ said Mum, even though she probably had no idea. She patted his arm, like he was a child. ‘You’re doing really well.’

When he looked at her, his eyes were anguished.

‘Hang on in there,’ she said quietly, and it was like an instruction.

And then, about half a mile further along, ‘Oh, God,’ he said, and slammed the brakes on again. ‘I need to –’

‘Pub!’ Mum yelled, and pointed towards one, its light just visible on the outskirts of the next village. ‘Look! You can make it!’

Mr Nicholls’s foot went down on the accelerator so that Tanzie’s cheeks were pulled back in G-force. He skidded into the car park, threw the door open, staggered out and hurled himself inside.

They sat there, waiting. The car was so quiet that they could hear the engine ticking.

After five minutes, Mum leant across and pulled his door shut to keep the chill out. She looked back and smiled at them. ‘How was that Aero?’

‘Nice.’

‘I like Aeros too.’

Nicky, his eyes closed, nodded to the music.

A man pulled into the car park with a woman wearing a high ponytail and looked hard at the car. Mum smiled. The woman did not smile back.

Ten minutes went by.

‘Shall I go and get him?’ said Nicky, pulling his ear-buds from his ears and peering at the clock.

‘Best not,’ said Mum. Her foot had started tapping.

Another ten minutes passed. Finally, when Tanzie had taken Norman for a walk around the car park and Mum had done some stretches on the back of the car because she said she was bent out of shape, Mr Nicholls emerged.

He looked whiter than anyone Tanzie had ever seen, like paper. He looked like someone had rubbed at his features with a cheap eraser.

‘I think we might need to stop here for a bit,’ he said.

‘In the pub?’

‘Not the pub,’ he said, glancing behind him. ‘Definitely not the pub. Maybe … maybe somewhere a few miles away.’

‘Do you want me to drive?’ Mum said.

‘No,’ everyone said at once, and she smiled and tried to look like she wasn’t offended.

The Bluebell Haven was the only place within ten miles that wasn’t fully booked. It had eighteen static caravans, a playground with two swings and a sandpit, and a sign that said ‘No Dogs’.

Mr Nicholls let his face drop against the steering-wheel. ‘We’ll find somewhere else.’ He winced and doubled over. ‘Just give me a minute.’

‘No need.’

‘You said you can’t leave the dog in the car.’

‘We won’t leave him in the car. Tanzie,’ said Mum. ‘The sunglasses.’

There was a mobile home by the front gate marked ‘Reception’. Mum went in first, and Tanzie put the sunglasses on and waited outside on the step, watching through the bubbled-glass door. The fat man who raised himself wearily from a chair said she was lucky as there was only one still available, and they could have it for a special price.

‘How much is that?’ said Mum.

‘Eighty pound.’

‘For one night? In a static?’

‘It’s Saturday.’

‘And it’s seven o’clock at night and you had nobody in it.’

‘Someone might still come.’

‘Yeah. I heard Madonna was having a swift half down the road and looking for somewhere to park her entourage.’

‘No need to be sarky.’

‘No need to rip me off. Thirty pounds,’ Mum said, pulling the notes from her pocket.

‘Forty.’

‘Thirty-five.’ Mum held out a hand. ‘It’s all I’ve got. Oh, and we’ve got a dog.’

He lifted a meaty hand. ‘Read the sign. No dogs.’

‘He’s a guide dog. For my little girl. I’d remind you that it’s illegal to bar a person on the grounds of disability.’

Nicky opened the door and, holding her elbow, guided Tanzie in. She stood motionless behind her dark glasses while Norman stood patiently in front of her. They had done this twice when they’d had to catch the coach to Portsmouth after Dad had left.

‘He’s well trained,’ Mum said. ‘He’ll be no trouble.’

‘He’s my eyes,’ Tanzie said. ‘My life would be nothing without him.’

The man stared at her hand, and then at her. His jowls reminded Tanzie of Norman’s. She had to remember not to glance up at the television.

‘You’re busting my balls, lady.’

‘Oh, I do hope not,’ Mum said cheerfully.

He shook his head, withdrew his huge hand, and moved heavily towards a key cabinet. ‘Golden Acres. Second lane, fourth on the right. Near the toilet block.’

Mr Nicholls was so ill by the time they reached the static that it was possible he didn’t even notice where they were. He kept moaning softly and clutching his stomach and when he saw the word ‘Toilets’ he let out a little cry and disappeared. They didn’t see him for the best part of an hour.

Golden Acres wasn’t gold and didn’t look anything like even half an acre, but Mum said any port in a storm. There were two tiny bedrooms, and the sofas in the living room turned into another bed. Mum said that Nicky and Tanzie could stay in the one with twin beds, Mr Nicholls could go in the other and she would have the sofa. It was actually okay in their bedroom, even if Nicky’s feet did hang over the end of his bed and everywhere smelt of cigarettes. Mum opened some windows for a bit, then made up the beds with the duvets and ran the water until it came hot because she said Mr Nicholls would probably want a shower when he came back in.

Tanzie opened all the cupboards, which were made of chipboard, one after another, shut the floral curtains, and inspected the chemical loo in the bathroom, then pressed her nose to the window and counted all the lights in the other static caravans. (Only two seemed to be occupied. ‘That lying git,’ said Mum.)

While they waited for Mr Nicholls to come back, she studied the map from his car, running her fingers along the routes. ‘We’ve got plenty of time,’ she said. ‘Plenty. It’ll be fine. And look! More quiet time for you to revise.’ She sounded as if she was actually reassuring herself.

She had put her phone on to charge for precisely fifteen seconds when it rang. She started and picked it up, still plugged into the wall.

‘Hello?’ She sounded like she thought it might be Mr Nicholls, calling from the toilet block for more paper again. ‘Des?’ Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, God. Des, I’m not going to make it back in time.’

A series of muffled explosions at the other end.

‘I’m really sorry. I know what I said. But things have gone a bit crazy. I’m in …’ She pulled a face at Tanzie. ‘Where are we?’

‘Near Ashby de la Zouch,’ she said.

‘Ashby de la Zouch,’ Mum repeated. And then, her hand in her hair, ‘Ashby de la Zouch. I know. I’m really sorry. The journey didn’t quite go as I planned and our driver got sick and my phone ran out and with all the … What?’ She glanced at Tanzie. ‘I don’t know. Probably not before Tuesday. Maybe even Wednesday. It’s taking longer than we thought.’

Tanzie could definitely hear him shouting then.

‘Can’t Chelsea cover it? I’ve done enough of her shifts … I know it’s the busy period. I know. Des, I’m really sorry. I’ve said I –’ She paused. ‘No. I can’t get back before then. No. I’m really … What do you mean? I’ve never missed a shift this past year. I – Des? … Des?’ She broke off and stared at the phone.

‘Was that Des from the pub?’ Tanzie liked Des from the pub. Once she had sat outside with Norman on a Sunday afternoon, waiting for Mum, and he had given her a packet of scampi fries.

At that minute, the door to the caravan opened, and Mr Nicholls pretty much fell in. ‘Lie down,’ he muttered, pulled himself briefly upright, then collapsed onto the floral sofa cushions. He looked up at Mum with a grey face and big hollow eyes. ‘Lying down. Sorry,’ he mumbled.

Mum just sat there, staring at her mobile.

He blinked at her, registering the phone, and muttered, ‘Were you trying to reach me?’

‘He’s sacked me,’ Mum said. ‘I don’t believe it. He’s bloody sacked me.’