forecourt a group of men were hanging around an old green Land Rover. In the background I could see a couple of motorbikes and a Toyota pickup truck. A man in blue overalls was lowering a heavy hose from the tanker into a fuel tank in front of the pumps, and the men at the Land Rover were watching him. At the back of the tanker, a generator was quietly chugging away.
“There’s Vince,” said Abbie, looking over at the group of men.
I didn’t know which one she meant, but I already knew I wasn’t going to like him.
They all looked as bad as each other.
“What are they doing here?” Cole said.
I thought he was asking Abbie about the men at the gas station, but when I glanced over at him I realized he wasn’teven looking at them. He was looking instead at a gathering of trailers in a wasteground field near the spindly woods on the other side of the road.
“They’re gypsies,” said Abbie.
Cole glanced at her. “I kind of guessed that.”
“Oh, right,” she said, slightly embarrassed, “of course. Sorry.” She looked over at the camp. “I don’t really know anything about them. They’ve been living there for about six months now.”
Cole just nodded, staring at the camp. It was set back from the road, away to our right, at the end of a rutted track. There were eight trailers in all, parked in a ragged semicircle, and the rest of the field was dotted with cars and trucks—BMWs, Shoguns, pickups, vans. The camp was quietly busy. There was a little kid playing with a dog, a bonfire smoking in the wind, a piebald pony tethered by a trough…
I liked it.
It made me feel good.
I heard a car starting up, and when I looked over at the gas station I saw the Land Rover pulling out of the forecourt and heading up the road toward us. From the way Abbie was watching it, I guessed the driver was Vince. He was a big man. Heavy-headed, like a farmer. His face was ruddy and his hair was thick and brown.
Abbie turned to Cole. “Are you sure you don’t want a lift?”
“No thanks.”
The Land Rover pulled up beside us. Vince rolled down the window and slowly gave Cole a good looking over. When he was done with that, he turned his attention to me. He didn’t seem too impressed.
“It’s all right, Vince,” Abbie explained quickly as she walked toward the car. “They’re Rachel’s brothers—Ruben and Cole.”
Vince looked at her.
She smiled tightly. “It’s OK. They’re just…”
Her voice trailed off as she realized that she didn’t actually know what we were doing here. Vince frowned at her for a moment—none too pleased—then he looked around and nodded gruffly at Cole. Cole held his gaze and nodded back. Vince glanced at me, this time trying to appear sympathetic, but it didn’t work.
The truth was still plain to see: He wanted to say the right thing about Rachel but he didn’t know how to do it, and he wanted to know what we were doing here but he didn’t want us to know it.
He looked back at Cole again. “You staying in Plymouth?” His voice was deep, burred with a West Country accent.
Before Cole could answer him, Abbie opened the passenger-side door and climbed up into the Land Rover.
“They’re thinking of staying the night at the Bridge,” she told Vince.
A flicker of surprise crossed his face as he looked at her. She looked away and fastened her seat belt.
Vince said to Cole, “The Bridge ain’t up to much.”
Cole shrugged. “Neither are we.”
“I don’t know if they’ll have any rooms…” He glanced over his shoulder as a clanging sound rang out from the gas station, followed by a lazy laugh. I looked down and saw the man in blue overalls holding his hand as if he’d bashed it on something. The others were pointing and laughing at him. As Vince turned back and put the Land Rover in gear, his face seemed suddenly welcoming. “Jump in the back if you want,” he said to us. “I’ll give you a lift down the Bridge. If they don’t have any rooms you can come
“There’s Vince,” said Abbie, looking over at the group of men.
I didn’t know which one she meant, but I already knew I wasn’t going to like him.
They all looked as bad as each other.
“What are they doing here?” Cole said.
I thought he was asking Abbie about the men at the gas station, but when I glanced over at him I realized he wasn’teven looking at them. He was looking instead at a gathering of trailers in a wasteground field near the spindly woods on the other side of the road.
“They’re gypsies,” said Abbie.
Cole glanced at her. “I kind of guessed that.”
“Oh, right,” she said, slightly embarrassed, “of course. Sorry.” She looked over at the camp. “I don’t really know anything about them. They’ve been living there for about six months now.”
Cole just nodded, staring at the camp. It was set back from the road, away to our right, at the end of a rutted track. There were eight trailers in all, parked in a ragged semicircle, and the rest of the field was dotted with cars and trucks—BMWs, Shoguns, pickups, vans. The camp was quietly busy. There was a little kid playing with a dog, a bonfire smoking in the wind, a piebald pony tethered by a trough…
I liked it.
It made me feel good.
I heard a car starting up, and when I looked over at the gas station I saw the Land Rover pulling out of the forecourt and heading up the road toward us. From the way Abbie was watching it, I guessed the driver was Vince. He was a big man. Heavy-headed, like a farmer. His face was ruddy and his hair was thick and brown.
Abbie turned to Cole. “Are you sure you don’t want a lift?”
“No thanks.”
The Land Rover pulled up beside us. Vince rolled down the window and slowly gave Cole a good looking over. When he was done with that, he turned his attention to me. He didn’t seem too impressed.
“It’s all right, Vince,” Abbie explained quickly as she walked toward the car. “They’re Rachel’s brothers—Ruben and Cole.”
Vince looked at her.
She smiled tightly. “It’s OK. They’re just…”
Her voice trailed off as she realized that she didn’t actually know what we were doing here. Vince frowned at her for a moment—none too pleased—then he looked around and nodded gruffly at Cole. Cole held his gaze and nodded back. Vince glanced at me, this time trying to appear sympathetic, but it didn’t work.
The truth was still plain to see: He wanted to say the right thing about Rachel but he didn’t know how to do it, and he wanted to know what we were doing here but he didn’t want us to know it.
He looked back at Cole again. “You staying in Plymouth?” His voice was deep, burred with a West Country accent.
Before Cole could answer him, Abbie opened the passenger-side door and climbed up into the Land Rover.
“They’re thinking of staying the night at the Bridge,” she told Vince.
A flicker of surprise crossed his face as he looked at her. She looked away and fastened her seat belt.
Vince said to Cole, “The Bridge ain’t up to much.”
Cole shrugged. “Neither are we.”
“I don’t know if they’ll have any rooms…” He glanced over his shoulder as a clanging sound rang out from the gas station, followed by a lazy laugh. I looked down and saw the man in blue overalls holding his hand as if he’d bashed it on something. The others were pointing and laughing at him. As Vince turned back and put the Land Rover in gear, his face seemed suddenly welcoming. “Jump in the back if you want,” he said to us. “I’ll give you a lift down the Bridge. If they don’t have any rooms you can come
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