33.WATER UNDER THE BRIDGE

A stranger heklps them out of a pickle

“I see you’re in difficulties,” said the voice from the darkness of a midnight Skegness street, “maybe I can help?”

Wallace squeezed Miranda’s fingers gently as a figure loomed towards them out of the shadows.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” said the voice as it emerged into the dim light from a street lamp. “My name is Tom, Tom Berkely, and I live locally. I heard that little exchange just now, and I’m not surprised. That lady has very fixed views about a great number of things and she and I have crossed swords many times over them. But tell me, will you allow me to advise you and offer a helping hand? You seem to need one.”

It was a man in grey holding a large umbrella firmly over his head and swaying it to cover Maureen. He appeared to be in that bracket Wallace mentally reserved for those approaching middle age. He had never been very good at estimating the age of others, and broad estimates seemed to serve him better than wrong guesses ever could.

“We were expecting to begin our honeymoon,” he said, sorrowfully, “and the lady won’t let us in even though we’ve paid quite a lot of money as a deposit.”

“She’s a stickler for what I call old fashioned values,” muttered Mr Berkely, shaking his head. “She has her beliefs and I’m afraid she’s never been very flexible. It’s a wonder she keeps any customers, but she does. People who share her views, I suppose, and come back year after year. But back to your problem. It’s gone midnight, it’s raining, you’re getting wet and I’ve got a car round the corner. Here’s my proposal. I run a caravan park just outside town and as it’s early in the season there are three or four unoccupied. You can spend the night, and as many nights as you planned to stay at SunnySea Hotel if you like, in one of those and I’ll get your deposit back from the old trout as part payment. It might even turn out to be full payment! We can’t have newly-weds stranded on the streets, can we?”

“Oh, you are so kind sir,” said Maureen with a great deal of enthusiasm in her voice, which was trembling as the rain pattered into puddles all round them.

“Not at all! It might end up that I’m doing myself a good turn if you end up as customers in the future,” laughed Tom Berkely, “now come on, before we all drown!”

He led them to a large motor car parked not a dozen yards away, just round a corner, and they climbed in.

“I’ll take you straight there and we can sort details out tomorrow,” he said, “the lighting and cooking are all done with gas, and there’s a cylinder of the stuff by the front of the van. You’ll need sheets, of course, for the bed… I don’t suppose you have those?”

“I’m sorry...” muttered Wallace, “we didn’t know...”

“Don’t worry! There’s nothing new under the sun, and your problem isn’t anything like new! You’d be surprised how unprepared some people can be! We have spare bedding, laundered and clean, but we charge a rental for it. We prefer people to bring their own...”

It took less than five minutes for the car to pull up by the entrance to a park on which caravans were arranged in tidy rows. Some still had lights glowing in windows, making them look cosy and homely whilst others were in darkness.

Tom indicated one of them. “This one isn’t booked out for at least a fortnight,” he said, “so you are welcome to it! I’ll see the old bat at SunnySea tomorrow and she won’t dared hang on to your deposit. I know stuff about her she’d prefer not to be common knowledge, if you see what I mean, so I can usually convince her to do the right thing. Now just you wait here, and I’ll fetch the key.”

It didn’t take him long to return with a bundle of bedding and a key. He opened the door for them, showed them how to light the gas mantles and lit the gas fire.

“Just let it warm up for a few minutes,” he said, “chase the damp away! There are bunks for four people, but you’re just the two, and this table...” he indicated the table that occupied the front area of the caravan, “lets down, the seats become mattresses when you push them together and you’ve got a double bed, which is just the job for a young married couple like you! There’s a small tank with water in it and a pump that you squeeze with your foot, and you’ll find a kettle for heating the water up. I’ll be in my office in the morning, and there’s a shop next to it where you can buy essentials like bread and milk. The gas won’t run out, but just in case it does you tell me in the office and I change it. That’s about all until tomorrow!”

And he said goodnight, and left them alone in a tidy and clean-smelling caravan.

“I’m sorry, Maureen,” muttered Wallace, “I wanted everything to be right and it’s all gone wrong.”

“This isn’t wrong, silly,” smiled Maureen, “it couldn’t be more right! Who wants a grotty seaside hotel run by a dragon when you can have a nice clean caravan like this with nobody rushing to make a judgement about your morals?”

“Mr Berkely seemed nice,” suggested Wallace.

“He’d have seemed nice even if he’d been a one-eyed ogre with bad breath!” laughed Maureen, “but tell me, Wally, how did you find out about that awful hotel?”

He sank onto the bench seat which ran one side of the table that they had been told would become their bed. “The telephone book,” he said, “I looked at hotels on the East Coast in the telephone book, SunnySea sounded like a really nice name so I rang them, the woman sounded just as nice when she answered and I agreed to pay a deposit for a week’s holiday, and sent off a postal order. I told her it was our honeymoon and I thought everything would be good. Maybe I should have done some research.”

“Well, it’s all water under the bridge now,” grinned Maureen, “and this is a lovely little caravan. Now, you be a man and see if you can turn this table into our first double bed together, and I’ll see what’s what. And talking of water being under the bridge, I need a wash and he mentioned water.”

While Maureen splashed some cold water onto her face Wallace discovered that making the bed up was much easier than it sounded, and within minutes he had done it. Blankets were found in a cupboard, the sheets that Tom Berkely had brought with him were spread out, and the two newly-weds started their second day as a married couple by passing swiftly into a much-needed sleep after Wallace turned out the gas light.

“You called me Wally,” he said, sleepily, when they were in bed and close together, like lovers should be.

“I know,” she said, equally sleepily, “because you really are a Wally, and I love you.”

“Like I love you,” he whispered, “like I really, really love you.”

© Peter Rogerson 10.07.19