Runaway Bride: A laugh out loud funny and feel good rom com

‘Dunno. Quite a way.’ I could feel blood pooling in one of the toes, but that was nothing compared to the pain in my poor burnt hands.

‘Can you make it?’

‘I’ll cope.’

But the series of physical and emotional shocks I’d suffered that day were starting to catch up with me. As was the glass of wine I’d had in the pub. I stumbled dizzily against a rock, and clutched at Jack for support.

‘Here.’ He put his arm around my shoulders, and I relaxed against it gratefully.

As we walked, Jack pulled my body towards him so our sides were touching. He smiled as we passed a pair of elderly walkers, and they smiled back with a simper that told me they thought we were what we must have appeared to everyone just at that moment: the picture of a happy young couple. Sandy bounded ahead of us, for all the world like a big fat puppy herself rather than the dignified matron you’d expect her to be at this stage in her pregnancy.

‘You always this touchy-feely with girls you’ve just met?’ I asked, glancing at the arm curled around my shoulders.

‘Not since I got that restraining order one time.’ He shrugged. ‘You were looking a bit like you needed the support. I can stop if it makes you uncomfortable.’

‘No, please don’t.’ I looked up at him. ‘Is it funny that I trust you? Twenty-four hours ago I wouldn’t have known you in the street.’

‘And yet today you’ve run into me twice within a forty-mile radius,’ he said. ‘Guess I must be written into your stars, eh?’

I held a hand to my head. I’d been cold earlier, but now I was sweltering. It was obviously one of those springs where the thermostat just couldn’t make up its mind. My brow was coated in beads of sweat.

‘You don’t really believe in all that stuff, do you?’ I asked Jack. ‘Stars and that? Sounds daft to me.’

He shrugged. ‘Not exactly. Still, sometimes things seem to happen that were too important not to happen. Call it coincidence or fate or whatever you like, but I’m a big believer in grabbing what life throws at you and wringing it dry.’

‘Interesting turn of phrase, wringing life dry. Kind of bleak for a carpe diem.’

‘Yeah, I’m a poetic son of a bitch,’ he said with a grin. ‘You know, in another life I could’ve been Bono.’

I shuddered. ‘Thank God we’re in this one then. I’m having a bad enough day as it is.’

We walked in silence for a while. I snuck a look at Jack. His mouth was haunted by a little smile, staring dreamily at Sandy trotting ahead of us with her engorged tum nearly scraping the ground. He was leaning his weight on me slightly, as if having me at his side was the most natural thing in the world rather than a novelty just a few hours old.

‘Okay, so if we’re going to be roomies for a couple of days I think we’ll need a few ground rules,’ he said after a bit.

‘Um, okay.’ He didn’t seem like a man to live by rules much, with that whole free spirit vibe he had going on, but if he was willing to spare me a kip in a bus shelter I’d agree to whatever he wanted.

Within reason, obviously.

‘Rule one: no questions,’ he said. ‘If you don’t want to tell me why you won’t go home, I promise not to ask. And vice versa for me. All right?’

‘Suits me.’

‘Rule two: no feeling sorry for yourself. First step to sorting your new life out is drawing a line under the old one.’

‘It’s not that easy though, is it?’

‘I know. But if you make yourself look forward and not back, it’ll get easier every day. Trust me.’

I smiled. ‘How’d you get so wise, Jack?’

‘I’m part wizard,’ he said. ‘Okay, rule three: don’t squeeze the toothpaste from the top of the tube.’

‘Why?’

He shrugged. ‘It’s just annoying.’

‘Toothpaste… I haven’t got a brush,’ I mumbled absently.

My head was throbbing, and the dizziness seemed to be getting worse too. I forced my eyes to focus on a fixed point, trying to keep steady, and leaned heavily against Jack for support. Surely we were nearly there by now.

‘I’ve got a spare, still in the packet. It’s all yours.’

‘Is that it then?’ I said. ‘No more rules?’

‘No.’ Jack’s voice was quieter now. ‘Just one more. Rule four: no running away. Not without telling me where you’re going.’

That seemed an odd one.

‘Any reason?’

‘Just want to know you’re safe.’ He flashed me what looked like a slightly forced smile. ‘And like you said, you are getting pretty expert at it.’ He nodded to a pair of stone gateposts. ‘Here’s the campsite.’

***

‘Home sweet home,’ Jack said when we reached his van. ‘Told you it wasn’t that small.’

It’d certainly expanded since the last time I’d seen it. The roof had popped up, accordion-like, to give it standing room, and a little green awning jutted out at the back like a Victorian bustle. Another awning against the side practically doubled the living space, adding a second room.

Jack unzipped the flap and I followed him in. There was a camping table and chair with a little LED lantern in the centre, and a Stephen King book he must’ve been in the middle of turned face down. When he opened the door of the camper, I noticed that what had earlier been a sofa had folded down into a bed, extending out into the back awning so it didn’t encroach too much on the kitchen area. A pair of curtains could be drawn across to give a bit of privacy.

‘Your room, Madame,’ he said, nodding to it. ‘Just let me sort out Sandy’s dinner then I’ll show you around the rest.’

Jack opened one of the kitchenette cupboards and took out a box of dog biscuits. He filled a double bowl with biscuits and cold water, then put it down for Sandy.

‘She’s got a good appetite, hasn’t she?’ I said, watching her wolf it down. ‘Still, I suppose the pups are in there having their tea too.’

‘Nah, she was always a pig.’ He gestured around the little space. ‘So, this is where the magic happens, as they say. There’s storage in the overhead compartments and sofa, plus the big cupboard and a rack outside for cases.’ He pointed up at the accordion roof. ‘So’s a big lad like me doesn’t give himself a hunchback.’ He knelt down to the bank of pine kitchenette cupboards. ‘Half-sized fridge, gas bottle under the hob, storage cupboards for cans. And that’s it really. Small but perfectly formed.’

‘How old is it?’

‘1967 T2 – classic of her era, this old lady.’ He looked around with obvious pride. ‘The shell’s probably all that’s left from the sixties now though. It wasn’t a camper then.’

‘Right.’ I frowned. ‘What was it, a giant roller skate?’

‘People carrier. Microbuses, collectors call them. Then in the ’80s some bright spark decided to gut it and turn it into this.’

‘Did you have to do much to it?’