A Van Life Fairytale: An Aussie Outback Romance

By MysticAchemist

When his wife, and most he owned, was taken from him, Scott sought a new start in a fresh life. His converted freight van became his home while he searched for happiness away from the rain and cold. Stopping in a remote campground, he found two women, or maybe they found him, seeing in him and his van, an escape from a life that had turned toxic. A mother and daughter that dreamed a future with him.
Life is never that easy. Never simple when love and honour and guilt mix. Scott faces choices and temptation he never expected, but the lure of the dream of forever happiness is strong and the determination of a young woman to live the life she dreamed bends his choices towards her dreams.

• Language: English
• Publisher: MysticAchemist
• Release date: May 12, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463894453

MysticAchemist

Writing the kind of books I want to read. Grabbing hold of an idea and immersing myself deeply into the characters, then allowing the alchemy of dreams and daydreams to shape and guide the story, and finally, typing that story out so you can read and enjoy it too.No AI is used in my stories and all text is hand written.

Book preview

A Van Life Fairytale

An Aussie Outback Romance

MysticAlchemist

Copyright 2018 MysticAlchemist

All rights reserved

Written in Australian English

All Characters in this book are Age 18 or Older.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Chapter One - Beginnnings

Chapter Two - Monday

Chapter Three - Tuesday

Chapter Four - Wednesday

Chapter Five - Thursday

Chapter Six - Friday

Epilogue

Author Page

Chapter One

Beginnings

Get a licence! The red Toyota SUV was already gone, sliding a little in the wet. The driver looked like his wife. She wouldn’t have heard, even if the windows were down. She never did. Wet days were the worse.

Tough out there today? He was a regular customer, signing Frank on the docket.

Only three for you. Everyone gets crazy when it rains, Scott said, slipping the office copy of the docket under the metal teeth of his clipboard.

You’ve been delivering longer than I’ve worked here, I don’t know how you can drive this city day after day. Maybe you need a holiday.

It used to be fun. Used to be the best job in the world.

Hard to find something else after all this time I suppose?

Too old for most, Scott said, hand raised a little in a weak farewell, climbing back into the van for the next drop. The rain no better, but at least the heater worked well. It’s been a good van, he thought as he nosed back into the onslaught. Two more hours and the run should be done.

The one room flat smelt of dank cave as he pushed open the door. The only thing in its favour was the rent. Since the divorce, that was important. At least she’d left him the van so he could still work. TV on to fill the void and instant noodles warming on the hotplate. He needed an early night to face the rain again tomorrow. He’d need all the patience he could muster.

He sat on the bed, poking at the soggy noodles in the pot. Not worth dirtying a plate. The TV was squawking about the bad weather continuing. The whole country forecast caught his attention. Hot and sunny throughout all Queensland. It usually was, he thought. One day...

Now it was time for the one thing that gave hope to the day. Laptop set up and his current work on the screen, trying to write the great novel, the book that would change his life. Fame and fortune. All it took was dedication and hard work and he had plenty of time now for the hard work. Words not coming. Staring at the empty screen until it morphed into a warm sandy beach. The only thing wet was the tropical blue waves lapping the shore. He gave up trying and switched the computer to exploring YouTube videos. His current passion was for watching people living in vans, vans like his, converted into homes. He’d watched hundreds of them now, picking the best ideas for when he might convert his own. Ways to place the bed and storage. How to shower and toilet. Solar power for lights and computer. How to live for very little, much less than it cost him now.

One day…

Chapter Two

Monday

Maximum stay thirty days. The gravel track morphing beyond the sign into two fingers of hard packed dirt, both pointing towards the only building visible. Scott re-engaged drive and let the van idle towards the reddish-brown brick building that seemed the sole indication of life in this wasteland.

His first regret was turning off the van engine when he parked near that building, although he didn’t realise it yet, still sitting in the driver’s seat, watching the air shimmering above the building’s corrugated iron roof. There was a round tank of the same material perched on a weathered frame of rough sawn timber attached to one end, desperate strands of brownish grass seeking sanctuary around the brick and timber edges. Bare dirt tracks, the sort cattle made in large fields, radiating from the building. This was clearly the heart of the camp. Scott pulled the plastic lever of the door latch and elbowed the driver’s door open, sliding from the seat to stand inside a furnace. Dry, boiling air, thirsty for moisture, sucking life from whatever it could. He’d been pampered too long in the cocoon of air conditioned luxury. Hardly daring to breathe in, lest the air suck the very blood from his lungs, he stumbled over the shrivelled brown grass towards the sliver of shade offered by the building’s edge. That proved his second mistake.

The bricks were hotter. Half a day of sun baking had reminded them of their birth in the kiln fire and they were now determined to celebrate that time, giving Scott a taste of hell as he touched them, only once. Sideways, like a crab, he shuffled around the building to find the entrance. He found two. Mistake number three.

He entered the first doorway. Only a little. Just enough to escape the overhead ray gun. His gut revolted, bent over, hand cupped mouth, he retreated into the full sun. There was no other option. Heat was better than throat cramping ammonia. Now certain he’d live, he took careful stock before he made any more mistakes. There were two doorways, one each end, each labelled with a newly minted rectangular sign. Real words, not those indecipherable symbols. White letters on a blue background. Ladies and Gents. His thoughts drifted to the council men sitting around a table debating. Retired farmers they’d be, the burnt ochre essence of this land flowing through their veins. None of this fancy city-style-new-speak for them. Mister Mayor, I move we have the same signs we’ve always had… Here. Here. All in favour. Carried. Solid and unchanging, there was a calming certainty this far out.

At the far end, a rectangular metal bin stood guard in front of the tank stand. Forest green to hide its presence in the landscape, making it even more obvious here. Red plastic lid, faded now but still hinged to the metal.

Both hands curled across his forehead, he surveyed the level acres, hoping for a suitable camp site to appear. Land had little value out here, that is unless it hid gas or coal or oil. This land hid nothing. The remains of what grass could grow had been mowed in all directions. Trees the only guide to a boundary, scraggly greenish brown trees in a nearly continuous perimeter, offering the combined features of potential shade and possible death from limbs sacrificed to keep the tree alive when rains were too sparse.

Three other camps he spied as he slowly pivoted around. All close to the trees. All spaced as far from each other as they could. Private people. People with pasts to deny and futures to avoid. You could hide forever in a place like this. He pivoted back slowly cataloguing each camp. Pushed well into the tree line near the shady side of the entrance, a small and ancient caravan, crafted at least half a century ago when things were made to endure. Curved like an egg, barely enough room inside for one.

The sunny side offered a stylish off-road camper. Blinding glare from the chrome and aluminium. Large and showy. Look-at-me, I’ve-got-money, showy. Solar panels filling the roof around the satellite dish. No shade trees for them.

Then there was the third site. Faded blue tents grouped under a drab olive tarpaulin strung between convenient tree trunks, looking like they were a permanent part of the landscape. Nothing moving. Not a sound to be heard. Not a sole to be seen. Maybe this heat had shrivelled them up and there was nothing but desiccated bodies waiting to be discovered in those camps.

The black door handle of the van burnt his hand. The seat like a grill plate, etching dark lines on his legs. ‘Make van go.’ He said to himself in his best Homer Simpson voice while he twisted the key towards Start. With the clatter of the engine came its breath from the dash. Fan switch fumbled to HI. Now the wait while the compressor did its duty and squeezed the burning from this air.

Somewhat recovered he set his mind the task of choosing a camp site. Solar panels on his roof limited his choice of shade. Morning sun should be enough to charge the batteries, that left possible sites with afternoon shade all near that group of tents. He chose compromise. Closer to others than he wanted but far enough to still get some shade.

The beeping of the van’s reverse alarm brought no one out to watch as he settled in his chosen spot. Home until his money caught up. Not the warm paradise he’d imagined he’d find in Queensland while he was existing in the wet and damp parts of the country. Maybe hot and hell better fitted.

It wasn’t until he was back outside and fitting the insect proof screen over the sliding side door that it registered. No bush flies. Every other place he’d stopped had flies. Sometimes just a few, but usually great swarms. Friendly flies that didn’t want to leave you. Small black things with wings and legs, crawling over every part of you. Landing unfelt on your face. Fighting to sit on the portion of food you had inches from your mouth. Walking under your nose so you breathed them in. Nothing could stop them, but maybe this heat had the power to suck the life from them that copious cans of