Rick and Rosie

By Eric Bray

Rick is a survival of a rough divorce, living in his caravan, which, along with his car, and the scars, are all that he possesses. The caravan is parked close to his place of work, where he works shifts in the radio room of a coastal shipping station.
Rosie also works there, on a different shift, and has her own baggage to carry.
Rick merely sees Rosie as another co-worker, but Rosie has other ideas, and plans to change matters.
But Billy, the Electrician, has desires, too. Will he win Rosie, or will Rosie attract the attentions of Rick?
Everything seems to be working out in Rosie's favour, until fate throws some spanners into the works.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eric Bray
• Release date: Nov 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465829443

Eric Bray

Born in 1950, after school,I served my country in the Royal Navy, the least said about which the better. Since then I have made plastic drain-pipes, driven a fork truck, worked as a courier in the multi-drop rip-off game, and for the last two years have watched a conveyor belt going around. I have now achieved retirement. I began writing for amusement during my lunch-breaks, and rose to the challenge of becoming published when I commented on a book I had purchased, saying something along the lines of - "I could do better than that!" - when someone said - "Go on, then!" My other hobbies are scuba-diving, designing, building, and flying radio-controlled model aircraft, ham radio, photography, and avoiding gardening.

Book preview

Rick and Rosie

Published by Eric Bray at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 Eric Bray

This is entirely a work of fiction. All characters and events that appear within these pages bear no intended resemblance to any real person, whether as yet unborn, living, or deceased, or events either past, present, or future.

A few genuine place-names are used to give the story a framework to be within, but the descriptions of such places are entirely fanciful, and bear no intended resemblance to the named place.

Any inconvenience or embarrassment caused by these words is genuinely accidental, and sincerely regretted. No malice or distress was intended.

First draft commenced 20,11,2005.

Chapter title

001 The Radio Room.

002 First weeks.

003 New Home.

004 Shift change.

005 Holidays, somewhere.

006 All over.

007 Going home.

008 More tests.

009 Progress, perhaps.

010 Next step.

011 Aftermath.

******

Chapter one

The Radio Room

Silence, except for the background hiss of the air conditioning, the muted roar of static from the bank of radio sets, all of which were tuned to different pre-set frequencies, and the irregular rasp of Jimmy, as he snored. He was stretched out on the work-bench which was supposed to support writing pads, clip-boards, pens, tippex, and a manual typewriter.

The room was dimly illuminated by the lamps located behind the glass faces of the radios, and the sole Anglepoise lamp, which I was using to allow me to puzzle over the cryptic clues of the crossword I had found, in an unfinished state, in a six-week old newspaper that had been stuffed into a drawer, and forgotten about.

Somewhere around in the complex of three rooms, not counting the ‘airlock’, the third man of the team was probably also asleep, knowing that he would only be needed if one of the radio sets decided to stop playing the game.

We three were supposed to be awake and alert, ready to perform our allotted task of monitoring the airwaves, and responding to anyone who should ask for assistance.

There were five hours to go before the watch changed and three more people came clattering in, freshly shaved, or perfumed, as some of our staff were females. Five more hours before we could go home for a while.

A circular had been promulgated a fortnight earlier, prohibiting us from switching off the room lights, ‘for safety reasons’, during the night watches, so we didn’t use the switch, we merely removed the bayonet based bulbs from their sockets, which had the same effect, but complied with the rule! Anyway, who was going to call in on a surprise visit to check on our alertness, at three in the morning on Christmas Day? Likewise, how many Mariners were out there, plodding their way across the heaving Atlantic Ocean, or the nearer bit - that we were responsible for - called the Irish Sea? There were no blue-white ‘blips’ on the radar screen, the electronic eye of which circled tirelessly above our heads. All that showed on the screen was the ragged outline of the coast, and the occasional splash of a reflected electron or two, which showed for one pass of the ‘eye’, but was gone again for the next. These ghost contacts were usually a chance ripple in the sea surface which happened to lift at just the right angle, and the right time, causing a spurious ‘return’ to appear, giving the screen a speckled appearance. If I had wanted to, I could have turned one control knob clockwise a fraction, raising the noise thresh-hold a tiny amount, and cutting these ghosts out, but I liked it the way it was, it gave me a visual indication that the thing was actually still working!

One of the teletype machines on the wall-mounted shelf on the opposite side of the room to the radio stack suddenly whirred into noisy life and pecked out a short message, before subsiding again. I heaved out of my chair, as Jimmy’s snores stopped, and went to investigate. The message consisted of four lines of text that identified who sent it, to who, the date, the time, and the actual message, which read – ‘check’.

It was the TARE, the Text Automatic Routing Equipment, testing itself. This message required a response, or the Supervisor, sixty miles away, in the hub of a network of wires to other Coastal stations, would be on the ‘phone, panicking! I typed a simple reply message on the keyboard of the teletype, the return address, my address, the time, and the words ‘tare check’. That completed my part in the proceedings. The electric motor whined for a short while longer, and then decided to turn itself off again.

Jimmy resumed his snoring.

I had an hour to fill before I had to do it again, after which, I could change places with Jimmy, and he could try to complete this damned crossword in an attempt to stay awake for the remainder of the shift. I considered putting the kettle on, and making myself a cup of coffee, but I was already awash with the damn stuff, and I didn’t want an overdose of caffeine keeping me awake when it was my turn to stretch out on the not-too-comfortable bench.

I previously said there were three rooms in the complex, so, while I was standing, I went into the smallest one, and recycled some used coffee.

The cistern was still slurping and gurgling when I picked up the paper again, and tried a different clue, to see if I could get a start on the anagram that was blocking the completion of a whole quarter of the puzzle. What the hell did – Shuffle shurelept to equal twelve – mean? I had done clue twelve, and the answer was Pop Singer. Pop Singer equals twelve? Fifty-five minutes later, the teletype whined into life, and pecked out its ‘check’ message again.

I walked round to the machine, typed the response, then gave Jimmy a shake, before putting the kettle on to boil for him.

Uuurgh? He jacked one eye open.

Four-o-clock, Jim, your shift!

Uh! He squirmed round, and sat up on the bench, waiting for a couple of brain-cells to connect. Kettle on?

Yeah. There’s not a damn thing happening. Last time I looked, the radar screen was empty.

Kay. He lurched off into the third room on stiff legs. When the cistern roared, I was settling down on the bench, using my jumper as a pillow.

Done the ‘check?

Done.

Night-night. He clattered a spoon in his cup, splashed hot water, and then I heard the paper rattle as he picked it up. Clue nine, shuffle shurelept to equal - He snorted, -Plus three." A pen scratched as he wrote it in.

Come on, Rip, they’ll be here in ten minutes! Jimmy busied himself putting the light bulbs back into their proper places, as I sat up and pretended to look intelligent. When Jimmy had finished pushing a broom around the floor in front of the bench, I put my feet down, stood, and replaced the junk that was supposed to be on the bench, and then sat in the chair that they had been occupying. (We took it in turns doing the domestic bit).

Sleeping during the night watch was prohibited, of course.

The electronic lock controlling the outside door buzzed, as someone used their ‘swipe-card’ to gain admission. There was a short delay, while they divested themselves of their outer garments in the airlock, then the inner door buzzer sounded, and Rosie came in. The teletype woke up, and pecked out its hourly check message.

I’ll get it, to save you climbing over me! Jimmy turned to the keyboard, and typed the response.

What’s up? You missed an opportunity, then!" Rosie was dressed in a tee-shirt with the slogan – ‘Come and get it!’ – on the front. Below it was either a very broad belt, or a very short mini-skirt, which didn’t blend very well with the thick woolly socks and the hiking boots!

Go on, Jim, you’re nearest the door, so push off home to your wife and kids. I offered. I’ll stop on until the others arrive.

Are you sure, mate?

Yes. It will take me all of five minutes to walk up the lane to my caravan.

Don’t you miss the bricks and mortar? Jimmy was already halfway into his coat.

And the crippling mortgage, the rates, the council tax, and the -.

Yeah, yeah! Jimmy waved the list of bills off, and let himself out.

"What’s happening? Rosie looked around, at the empty ‘in’ and ‘out’ trays, and the equally empty radar screen.

Abso-blinkin-lutely nothing. There’s been nothing all night.

That figures! What did you do all night, then?

Abso-.

"Blinkin-lutely nothing. Yeah. Have you done the ‘check’?

As you came in, if you recall.

Oh, yes.

The radio set tuned to the Marine ‘calling channel’, channel sixteen, spluttered, then a voice said,- Coast-watch, Coast-watch, this is Stena Stellar, over.

Rosie flicked a notepad into line, and picked up a pen, before pressing the transmit button on the desk microphone. Stena, this is Coast-watch, over. As she turned, I saw the reverse of her tee-shirt. It displayed a cartoon character with a huge black eye, and the lines, - He got it!

An alcoholically induced snigger came from the speaker. Did I hear bells?

I don’t think so! Rosie replied, But it sounds as if you’ve been at the Bell’s!

I knew it was something like that!" A cork plopped, then there was a ragged cheer, before the radio quieted again.

Rosie chuckled as she turned, and perched on the bench. Someone’s having a party!

I’ve got a lovely view from here! As I was still sitting in the chair, I was lower than her.

She grinned, and then shifted round a bit. A gentleman wouldn’t look!

Who said that I was a gentleman?

Billy-the-Whiz, the electronics man, crawled out of his hole in the other room. I thought I heard voices! He went into the third room, and after a short delay, set the cistern slurping and roaring.

You may as well push off, Billy. Nothing much can go wrong in the five minutes before Will gets here. She gestured at the radar screen, which showed a moving blob on the landward side of the coastline.

Fairy snuff. Billy scratched an itch, and then went out into the airlock. After a few moments, the outer door banged shut.

Then there were two. Rosie quoted, Really, don’t you miss having a home to go to?

I do have one! The thing is, when I get ‘posted’, I can take it with me. It saves all the hassle of packing!

There is that, I suppose, but don’t you – no, I won’t pry.

What?

I was going to say – don’t answer if you’d rather not – don’t you miss having a wife or partner to go back to when you leave here?

Sometimes, yes, sometimes no. I know that I’m not going to walk into another row, or a refrigerator, when I open the door, but it can sometimes be a bit -. I waved wordlessly, - at this time of year, when it is too miserable to be out, and there’s nothing to stay in for.

Mmm, yes. Rosie was single, too. I know what you mean.

What is it like, outside, this morning? Because the station was built into an old wartime underground bunker, there were no windows.

Raw. It is spitting with rain, blowing at about twenty knots, and only a couple above freezing.

Lovely. There is nothing quite like irony!

The outer lock bleated again, and then the other two, who shared a car, stumbled in.

Will came in first. Bloody hell, its foul out there Hi, Rosie, I saw your car.

Morning.

Lovely view!

Here we go again!

Where? Ronnie came in. Ah, yes!

I’m going to wear trackie bottoms, next watch! Rosie declared.

What, nothing on top?

Bugger off, Ronnie!

Alright, if you insist, but I’ve only just got here!

Into your back room, and cuddle a klystron, or something! Rosie slid off the bench, but only succeeded in revealing the rest of her thighs, before she tugged her skirt back down.

I’m going, before it gets acrimonious! I squeezed past Ronnie, and went into the airlock.

There is nothing bleaker than going home to a tin tent in the depths of winter. They were never designed for sub-arctic survival, so, although it kept the wind out, it didn’t retain heat or repel external noise very well. As a result, it was as cold and clammy as a morgue inside, because there had been no heat no since ten pm yesterday. The wind-driven rain rattled spasmodically against the side and roof, and the van trembled whenever a gust struck. Experience had shown that the 50 kilo propane gas bottle would last me for two days continuous use, or five for intermittent use. I had one connected now, half-used, and three full spares, which should last me through to the New Year, with a bit to spare, if I wasn’t too liberal with the consumption.

I breakfasted on tinned stewing steak, spuds, and carrots. Spuds and carrots I had aplenty, all freshly dug by me. I had come to an arrangement with a local farmer, who’s field I had occupied a corner of, and for a modest sum, I could dig my own veg, as and when. It saved the hassle of lugging them all the way from the sells-all shop in the village, five miles up the lane.

After breakfast, I wondered what to do with the rest of the day. I didn’t really want to sleep, right after a meal, and I had got four hours in, a short while ago. I might get a few more in, later, before I had to return to the ‘hole’ again at ten pm. We were working a ‘rolling’ shift, a week of afternoons, a week of mornings, a week of nights, and then a week off, or as Jimmy insisted, a wee cough!

The van trembled again, and more rain rattled on the thin skin. I saw no point in going outside, just for the questionable pleasure of getting soaking wet and freezing cold, under the guise of exercise. That put paid to two ways of finding cheap entertainment, namely watching the sea-birds soaring along the cliffs, or watching the waves crash onto the rocks below. I could always wake the car up, and drive into town, but where would be open today? Anyway, I had already seen the film that the cinema was showing.

I must have nodded off while contemplating the problem of what to do, because I vaguely recall hearing a knock on the door, before it opened, letting in a bucketful of water, and Rosie.

Bloody hell, it’s draughty around the nethers! She put her shoulder to the door, and pushed it shut again. I hope you don’t mind me bursting in, but I thought it might be more fun if we were bored together, rather than bored independently!

Come in! I said, rather belatedly, as she already was. And sit down. She already had. I’ll put the kettle on, would you like coffee, or coffee?

Well, as there is such a wide range of options, I’ll have coffee, one sugar, and no milk. She looked around. It’s – er, compact!

If I had more space, I’d only collect more junk to keep in it.

Yes. She mused. I can see the logic of that.

I wasn’t expecting guests, so there isn’t much I can offer in the line of delicacies, sorry.

I wasn’t anticipating anything. For all I knew, you had your girl in here. She paused, You’re not gay, are you? No, you enjoyed the view too much, earlier. I didn’t choose my clothing very well, did I?

That pelmet wasn’t the best option you could have selected for work. I agreed, But it brightened things up considerably!

Ronnie and Will seemed to think so. It kept them awake, anyway, and they managed to behave themselves. Rosie looked a smile at me. Will you?"

Well, I can hardly chase you around the table, it is bolted to the end wall!

Damn! She grinned.

That sounds as though you WANT me to chase you around! I poured boiling water onto the coffee grains, added sugar, stirred, and then placed a cup in front of her.

I had given it a passing thought. She grinned again. Thanks, I don’t intend to live the life of a cloistered Nun.

Only a passing thought? I’m not at the top of the list, then? I slid into the opposite seat, at the table. Who is at the top?

Right now, nobody. There was one, but he spent more time cuddling his stamp collection than he did me. You don’t collect stamps, do you?

Only rubber ones, that say ‘Paid’.

Rosie grinned again. They are the best ones.

I’ll tell you, right now, that I’m not looking for what is called a ‘relationship.’ I’m still burned from the last one!

That’s fine by me. Just good friends, then. Rosie accepted that. It must have been a rough ri- journey!

Yes. She took me for everything I possessed, including the house, even though it was my wages that had paid the mortgage. I got out of it with my skin, my car, and the clothes that I stood up in. She destroyed the rest. As her car didn’t have a tow-ball, I ‘removed’ the caravan, and lived in that, in a lay-by up the road, until I was moved on by the law.

Mmm. And then, or am I prying?

A bit, but its history. I lived in the van in the dockyard, where I was working, for a while, and then I got posted down here.

You were here when I was sent, and that is three years ago, in a few weeks.

Is it that long?

Don’t you keep count?

What for? Each year is the same as the last.

How do you mean?

I freeze for three months, and then I’m just cold for three months, wet for three, and roast for three, in no particular order.

My! We have got the ne’er-get-over’s!

I shrugged. And what about you. What has your life been like?

Phphph! Rosie made a rude noise with her lips, and a ‘shot-down’ hand gesture.

That sounds rather like mine!

I suppose. I went to Uni, got a degree, then found that nobody wanted me because I was over-qualified and under-experienced! So, I stacked Supermarket shelves, collected trolleys, drove tills, and learned that life isn’t nice to people. I fancied a guy there, and one night, I let him go all the way. He dropped me, next day, by simply never showing up again. The next guy thought I made a nice substitute for a punch-bag, which is why my nose has a kink in it! The one after him proved to be a jealous control-freak. I only found out when I caught him spying on me, to see if I had really gone to where I said I was. The next one was the stamp-collector. He lasted longest, nearly six months. He took me out a lot, I admit, but only to craft fairs, stamp shows, and the like. If I suggested that we went car-racing, or on a boat, he went green. I got him onto a Stamp-collector’s canal-boat auction fair, once. He spent the whole afternoon chucking up, over the side! She laughed at the memory.

On a canal boat?

Yes! She gasped. A whatchacallem, a long thin one?

A narrow-boat?

That’s it. It took all afternoon to go five miles, turn round, and come back. Rosie laughed again. He walked back, and beat us to the car! That ended that one. He took me back home, I’ll give him that, and then he drove off. I never saw him again, either!

You weren’t – living – with him, then?

God, no! It was on the cards, but whenever we came anywhere near discussing it, he veered off. He seemed happy to enjoy me, but didn’t want commitment.

You like car racing, then?

Up to a point. I enjoy watching them blow up, or crash, providing nobody gets hurt.

And boats?

That’s how I ended up here. I used to watch the ‘Unlimited’ yacht racing on telly, and fancied a go. So I started going down to the local marina, where I did a bit of crewing, then sort of drifted into safety, which led me into the Coast-watch job.

What’s the degree in?

It’s a fat lot of good, in this job! Rosie sighed. I’m a qualified Bio-chemist, but like I said, -. She shrugged.

At least you can tell them what kind of algae it is growing on their hulls!

That’s the wrong kind of Bio-chemist. I can mix you something to water your lawn with, if you had one, that will make the grass explode when someone walks on it, or stuff like that.

Now that’s a thought! Exploding grass!

She giggled. It gives the ‘keep off the grass’ signs a new meaning!

Did you hear about the chap who used to water his lawn-.

With whiskey, so it came up half-cut! She completed the old joke. Yes, I have. She glanced at her watch. Good God, is that the time? I’ve been here two hours! I’d better get going, or Jo will be wondering where I’ve got to!

Joe? I thought you said-.

Jo, as in Josephine! I share the flat with her! Rosie grinned. The wages here aren’t exactly brilliant, and halving the rent means that the ends nearly meet! She wriggled out from under the fixed table, giving me another glimpse of forbidden territory, before she tugged her pelmet down again. Where did I put my coat?

I don’t recall you bringing one in.

Ah, I didn’t. It’s still in my rot-box, outside!

The salt soon eats them, doesn’t it?

Mmm! See you tomorrow! Rosie waited for a rain flurry to pass, then made a dash for her multi-toned brown Cortina.

I assumed that she meant at shift-change.

The van seemed empty, with just a hint of her fragrance lingering, now that she had gone. I now knew that she didn’t dye her rich copper-coloured hair, either, because I had glimpsed a wisp of a curl peeking out of her panties leg elastic, as she stood. It gave me something to think about, namely, how to store the memory, yet avoid thinking about it, now that my appetite had been whetted. Was it really three years since Rosie had joined us? Our paths had crossed regularly, of course, but I had scarcely noticed her, until last night - she was just another of the team. As I had said to her, I didn’t want any involvement, but five years WAS a long time alone. I pushed the thought away. I didn’t want the intrusion of lust into my ordered life, but, then again, a comprehensive kiss and cuddle with her might – Stop it!

That next night shift was as exciting as the previous one. We did absolutely nothing, taking it in turns sleeping on the bench, and replying to the ‘check’ messages. There weren’t even any radio calls from inebriated revellers to liven things up a little.

Ronnie and Will arrived first, in the morning, ‘took over’, and evicted us. I was almost at my van when Rosie’s Cortina came roaring down the lane. She gave me a cheery toot as I waved an acknowledgement.

I dined on cheese and pickle sandwiches, and then set about the routine task of doing my laundry, and pretending to clean up. With my ‘smalls’ hung up above the heater, I chased the dust around the few ledges, then pushed a broom across the sliver of carpet, stirring up the settled dust, so that it returned to the ledges. In summer, if it is hot, I open all the doors and windows, and chase the dust outside. In winter, I am cold enough, so I don’t bother, I just chase it round and round. Let’s face it, cleaning up is such a waste of time once you get past the ‘chuck it into the bin’ stage. All you really achieve is a re-arrangement of the mess. I was just about to put the kettle on when the gas fire went off with the spluttering pop that signified an empty gas bottle. Damn it! It was still lashing with rain, so I could stay in, dry and frozen, or I could go out, fit a new bottle, and get soaked and frozen! Still, the wind had died down, which was some consolation, because the rain was falling down, now, and not blowing across! I stuck it out for a while, but this wasn’t getting my wet laundry dry, or my dry dusty throat wet! The rain seemed to have eased, so I put on my waterproofs, and dodged outside, round to the ‘bottle-box’ mounted above the towing hitch. A minute’s work with the spanner had the valve transferred to the new bottle, and the empty one hoisted out, and replaced with a new full one, ready for another fast change, if needed. It usually ran out when I was part-way through cooking a meal.

Back inside, I hung the dripping wets up over the mini-sink, then wrung out my trouser legs and socks. I finally got around to putting the kettle on, which is when I saw a little rivulet of water running down the inside of the wall. I traced it up to the roof, and then had to remove some of the insulating tiles to find the source. It was weeping in through a joint in the roof plates. I would need to get at that from the outside when – if – it stopped raining. In the meantime, I drew a felt-pen circle around it, so that I could find it again. I would need to drill out a couple of pop-rivets, spring the plates apart, squirt in some silicone, and then re-pop the roof. Last time I had done that, the thing had leaked even worse, until I noticed that I hadn’t filled in the holes in the poppers. I’d had to get all the gear out again, climb back up, and squidge some gloop into the gaps. That cured it!

I still hadn’t made that coffee! So while the kettle boiled, I checked the rest of the van for new leaks. There were no more, though, just the weeping rubber seal around the window at the nose end, and the bit where the door seal had a nick in it. Coffee in hand, I sat down with a sigh, and wondered what to do with the rest of the day.

Tyres splashed through the puddles in the hard-pack outside, then an idling petrol engine made its presence heard, before it died with a rattle that hinted at pre-ignition. I was halfway along the ten feet to the door part-way along the van wall when somebody knocked, and then let themselves in.

Can I come in? Rosie stepped inside, and shoved the door shut again to keep the rain outside. If it hadn’t been raining, I’d have waited outside, but -.

Admit it! You were hoping to catch me with my pants down!

Well, yes! You’ve seen me, almost, and it’s only fair!

I suppose! Come the rest of the way in, and wedge yourself under the table. I see that you are more suitably covered, today!

Woolie jumper, tee-shirt, and jeans, yes. It was a bit draughty up the Khyber, yesterday!

I imagine it was.

Rosie didn’t take a seat, though. Have you had your lunch yet? She asked.

No, I’ve been pretending to clean up.

Good! I’ll be back in a minute! She dodged outside again, her car door banged, and she came back with one of those hamper things that keep heat in, or out. I bet you didn’t have turkey for your Christmas dinner, either, did you?

I must admit that I -.

I thought not, tinned meat, if I recall, was on the can that was in the bin. How many rings are there on your cooker? Grille and oven? Microwave?

Two, yes, yes, and no. I haven’t found a twelve volt micro-zapper yet.

Right, show me where the pans and things are, and then peel enough spuds for two. I’ve got the rest of the veggies.

Rosie, - .

I know, just friends. Now, stop arguing, because I’m starving too!

I was going to say - .

Peel the spuds while you are protesting that I shouldn’t have! She grinned. When I got back to my place, last night, I found that Jo had gone off to her parent’s place for the break, and I’d bought and cooked a ten-pound budgie. I’m not going to spend the next week eating the bloody thing for every meal, so you can help me!

I’m not being asked, then?

Er, no! I just told you! Show me how to light this contraption. Where’s the sparker thingy?

You take one of these little sticks out of this box, then scrape the red end against this sliver of sand-paper -.

How quaint! Now take those spuds down there, while I work my magic.

I’ll have to squeeze past, they are in that bucket, in the corner.

Keep your hands to yourself, then, as you do.

How many do you want?

That depends on how big – oh! Two, then. They look freshly dug!

They are, almost. They’re from the field across the road.

You stole them?

No, I give the Farmer a tenner, every now and then, and he lets me dig what I need. It saves carrying them from the shops, and they’re fresher, too. I’ve got spuds, carrots, a cabbage, and some sprouts.

You can keep the sprouts! They’re green slime, but you can bring a couple of carrots, its ages since I had a really fresh one!

You’ve only had Supermarket sprouts, then. Be daring, and try a couple. Just peel the outer leaves off, then dunk the rest in boiling water for about three minutes. I put a handful of sprouts and a couple of carrots on the work-top next to her. Let me past again, and I’ll go and skin these spuds. I began to squeeze past her again. Oh, by the way, the oven is past its best, so set the numbers a couple higher than you normally would.

Right. Rosie waited until I was behind her, then pressed me against the wardrobe door, and gave a seductive pelvic wiggle.

If you want me to behave, don’t do that! I warned.

Just friends, alright. She released me, after another wiggle. For now, anyway!

Besides, I don’t have any – ah, - supplies. Like I said, I wasn’t expecting guests.

Good.

I didn’t know whether she meant ‘good to the ‘not expecting’, or the ‘supplies’ bit, and didn’t want to ask, as that would be treading on thin ice!

We chattered on about trivialities while I skinned the spuds, then passed them back to Rosie, who splashed an inch of water over them, swished it around, then tipped it down the plug-hole, before adding fresh, and put the pan over a burner.

Where do you get the water from? She queried.

That’s easy! I’ve a big can, outside, and I fill it from the tap in the ‘hole’. I just have to watch that it doesn’t freeze! I bring a couple of gallon cans with me, each day.

I never noticed. She hesitated. What about waste water?"

Ah, now. That’s a bit more tricky. The domestic waste is piped into a ditch. Human dirty water, - do you really want to know?

Yes.

"I pee into another gallon can, and empty it into the loo in the ‘hole’.

I hope you keep the cans separate!

Christ, yes! The dirty water is in a red oil can I got from a car spares shop.

What about, - ah, - solids?

I walk up to the ‘hole’. In case of emergency, I have a little chemical porta-potty thing that I try to avoid using.

Good, I won’t need to hide behind a bush, or run all the way back, and add to the gossip!

Do you need to?

Not yet, but I’d like to, before we eat. Would you mind?

It isn’t very quiet! I warned. You have to cram yourself into a little cubby-hole, and pretend that nobody can hear what you are doing!

I’ll manage, providing you don’t watch!

The door is a sort of concertina thing that blocks off the corner. I replied. I’ll show you how it works, when you are ready.

Umm. I suppose that you don’t have a bathroom?

Or a bath! It would occupy most of the available space. I have a home-made shower, it consists of a big plastic tube, and another can with some small holes in the bottom. If it’s not too cold and wild, I walk down to a little cove I’ve found, and bathe in the sea.

Skinny-dipping?

Of course! Nobody ever goes there, because it’s just a crack in the cliffs, really.

I’d like to see it, some time. The potatoes began to bubble, so she turned the gas down, then lit the other burner, under the pan of carrots. I’m being liberal with your gas, will it last out?"

I changed the bottle a short while before you arrived.

No, I meant, will you have enough to last through the holiday?

I should have.

You should have! Rosie echoed. You mean that I have spoiled your rationing plan?

Alright, you have, a little. I should have enough, though, because before, I had some spare. I might have to get the car out, and go into the village, before New Year, and get another, for insurance.

Assuming that there is anywhere open.

There is always that consideration.

Right. Food in ten minutes. Show me how this concertina thing works!

I demonstrated the workings of the potty, and the folding door, then retired to the far end of the van, to give her a resemblance of privacy. There isn’t