‘Er… yes,’ said Trevor without diverting his gaze to either her or the menu. ‘Cheeseburger and chips and a large coffee please.’
The waitress started scribbling on her notepad and then paused. ‘Chips?’ she said as if the word was completely foreign to her.
‘Oh, er, fries I mean.’
‘Regular, large, or super?’
‘Small,’ said Trevor and stood up when he saw the heavily sprung door to the ladies’ toilet swing shut behind Sandra.
‘We don’t do small. We only do regular, large, or—’
‘Super. Yes. – Make it super then,’ Trevor called out over his shoulder as he strode towards the exit.
Outside in the car park, he broke into a run and pulled the spare set of van keys from his pocket.
* * *
Sandra got to the exit, via the empty table, just in time to see the van turn left onto the main road.
‘Shit, shit, shit,’ she said and stared at the keys in her hand for a few moments until the penny dropped. She chided herself for her stupidity – and her bladder for its limited capacity – until her eyes focused on the yellow cardboard tag that was attached to the keyring. It was printed with the name and logo of a car dealer, but what particularly caught her attention were the letters and numbers written on the back of the card in red ink – the vehicle’s registration number.
She walked over to the table which Trevor had so recently vacated and sat down. She took out her mobile phone and was scrolling through her contacts list when a skinny waitress with dyed black hair came over and asked her if she was ready to order.
‘Cheeseburger, chips and a large coffee,’ said Sandra without taking her eyes from her phone.
The waitress tutted and started writing on her notepad. ‘Cheeseburger, fries and a large coffee,’ she said, but with heavy emphasis on “fries”. ‘So will that be regular, large or super fries?’
‘Regular,’ said Sandra but then suddenly looked up at her. ‘No, hang on. Make that super. I think I’m in need of a serious carbohydrate fix.’
‘Whatever,’ muttered the girl and wrote on her pad once more before slouching off towards the counter.
Sandra found the number she was searching for on her mobile and pressed the Call button. A familiar voice answered almost immediately.
‘Martin, it’s Sandra. I need a favour.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The glare from the early evening sun was starting to make him squint, so he reached up and pulled down the sun visor. He vaguely registered that he must therefore be heading west, but other than that, Trevor neither knew nor cared where he was making for. All he did know was that he wanted to put as much distance as possible between himself and Sandra and the various other people who seemed intent on either arresting him or doing him serious physical harm.
He’d estimated that an hour’s driving would put him beyond the reach of any pursuers for the time being at least, and the straightness and smooth surface of the road had encouraged him to push the van almost to its limits. He’d covered about fifty miles now, and the appalling smells that were emanating from the back seat reminded him that Milly must be getting desperate for a squat-break, so he began to look out for campsite signs.
Eventually, he spotted one which claimed that there was a site two miles from the main road. He took the turning and, about five miles later, drove in through the main gate of the Riverside Farm Campsite.
He checked in at the small wooden office inside the entrance and found a spot near to a slow flowing river, from which he assumed the campsite derived its name. He jerked on the handbrake, switched off the engine and sat back in his seat, surveying his surroundings. The campsite was large but sparsely populated, with gravel tracks criss-crossing the neatly trimmed grass, which sloped gently down to the river.
This will do nicely, he thought, as Milly leapt onto the passenger seat beside him and began to lick his face with eager enthusiasm.
‘Okay, girl,’ he said, patting her on the head. ‘I get the message.’
He opened the driver’s door, and Milly bounced off his lap and out onto the grass.
‘Don’t go far. And don’t go annoying anybody,’ Trevor shouted after her, increasing his volume so she could hear him as she sped away, zig-zagging this way and that with her nose to the ground like some manically out-of-control mine detector.
He went to the back of the camper and lifted the tailgate. He pulled out a small folding picnic table and chair and set them up next to the side door of the van. Sliding the door open, he climbed inside and randomly grabbed a packet of Simmer ‘n’ Serve from the cupboard behind the driver’s seat. There were half a dozen varieties of dried ready-meals to choose from, but he was in no mood to be picky. He’d already begun to feel light-headed with hunger, and his stomach was threatening to implode. He needed to get something solid inside him, and fast.