Slotting the book back onto the dresser, I went and joined him, sitting down in the passenger seat.

“You took your time,” he noted, glancing at me sideways.

“Yeah, well, I’m a little put out by you bulldozing your way into my artwork,” I said with humour.

The shape of his lips told me he was almost smiling. “You’re very talented, Lille. You don’t need to be self-conscious about it.”

“Hmm, that doesn’t make me feel much better about the invasion of privacy,” I sniffed, heavy on the dramatics, while on the inside I was delighted. I had a feeling that compliments from Jack McCabe were few and far between. And what was seldom was wonderful in my book.

“Stop being moody,” he chastised me playfully, and then went quiet for a second. “What are you going to do with the picture of me when you’re done with it?”

“I hadn’t planned that far ahead yet.”

A frisky gleam came into his eye. “I think you should hang it over your bed. For inspiration.”

He said this with such a straight tone that I didn’t get his meaning at first. When I did, I blushed like crazy and focused my attention out the window. “You know what, Jack McCabe, you’re a sneaky little flirt sometimes.”

He seemed to enjoy my assessment, because he was smiling full-on now, never taking his eyes off the road. A little while passed in quiet before I spoke again.

 “I saw all your books in your room. You must really love reading.”

His face grew wary, and he shifted in his seat, hands flexing on the steering wheel. “Reading helps to kill time when I’m on the road.”

I nodded. “You also underline the words to look them up later, right? That’s a really good idea. I hate it when I come across a word I don’t know but forget to look it up.”

Jack let out a long breath. “That’s not really it.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “I have gaps in my education. Well, not so much gaps as one big gap. My schooling basically stopped after my parents died. I only really began reading again a couple of years ago, so I look up the words I haven’t come across before.”

I furrowed my brow. “But how can that be? You went to live with a foster family. Didn’t they send you to school?”

“Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?” I shifted closer in my seat, giving him my full attention now. I felt like I was being nosy, asking all these questions, but I couldn’t seem to hold back my curiosity.

“I went to school some days, but Frances never really enforced it, and if you tell a teenage boy he doesn’t have to go to school, more often than not he isn’t going to go. Other days, Frances kept me at home for other reasons.” He trailed off, staring dead ahead. I got the feeling he was somewhere else for a moment.

My face must have shown my incredulity, because I seriously couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “That’s completely fucked up. I don’t understand how she got away with that.”

What I really wanted to do was ask about those “other reasons,” but I had a feeling he’d evade answering me. Plus, there was something in the way he said it that gave me a sick sensation in my belly.

“Frances got away with a lot of things. Until she didn’t anymore.”

There was a chilling tone to his voice that put me on edge. I opened my mouth to ask another question, but no words came. Somehow, I felt like I didn’t want to know the rest of the story. I went quiet and was surprised when Jack spoke.

“I read those books to improve my writing and grammar, but also because they’re an escape. They’re not like real life. In the stories I read, the bad people get what’s coming to them. In the real world, that’s not always the case.”

I stared at him, a lump in my throat, and my heart broke a little. He was a small boy again, the one I caught glimpses of every now and again before the strong, impenetrable man returned.

“That’s true. You know, I can read The Witches by Roald Dahl over and over again, and it never gets old. It’s like the perfect comfort read, a hug in a book.”

He shook his head in amusement at my use of “hug in a book” and kept on driving.

“I also saw you’re reading Great Expectations. I feel like I should warn you that there isn’t exactly a happy ending to that one. It’s a little bit tragic, actually.”

His body tensed for a moment, but all he said was, “Yeah, okay.”

I wondered if he was embarrassed for me to know he’d bought it because I’d said it was my favourite. He had no need to be, but still, I let the subject drop all the same. We were a little bit behind the others due to our unexpected stop, but I could see the long string of campers and trucks in the distance, so I knew we were almost caught up to them.

When we reached Orléans, I stared out the window in fascination at the buildings and the old stone bridge with arches beneath that crossed over the river. The view made my heart excited. It was just so French. Right then I wished I hadn’t destroyed my phone because I wanted to look up the city, read about what there was to see here. I guessed Jack knew just as little as I did about the place, even though I suspected he’d been there before, because when I asked him the name of the river we were crossing, he only shrugged.

Everywhere was just another place to him. It made me a little bit sad.

In a complete contrast to the last site we’d been camped in, which was on a country road, we were now smack bang in the middle of civilisation in what appeared to be a large empty car park.

“Can I use your phone for a minute?” I asked Jack as he pulled in behind Marina’s camper.

He glanced at me, and then without a word opened the glove compartment and rummaged through it, fishing out his phone. When he handed it to me, I realised I wouldn’t be doing any Googling, because it was at least ten years old.

“Who are you calling?” he asked.

“Um, nobody. Never mind,” I replied, and handed it back to him.

He frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“I wanted to use the Internet, and your phone is from the Stone Age, Jack.”

“Well, it’s a phone, isn’t it?”

His simple reply made me laugh, and when I saw his face, I realised he thought I was laughing at him.

“Being a snob doesn’t suit you, Lille.”

I quickly sobered and reached for his arm, but he drew away. “That’s not what I was implying. I actually think it’s refreshing. Everybody’s so over-connected these days.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t know anything about that, would I? I’m just a barely literate slumdog living in the fucking Stone Age.”

I stared at him, mouth open, not understanding how he could take offense so easily, how his mood could turn so swiftly. Was I being snobbish? If I was, I hadn’t meant to be. He got up and walked to the back of the camper, opening the fridge and pulling out a carton of orange juice. I made my way toward him as he drank, and said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

He pulled the carton from his mouth, swallowed, and glanced at me. “You should probably go check on Lola. See how she’s feeling.”

Well, I knew dismissal when I heard it. A lump forming in my throat, I shot him a final apologetic look before turning and leaving the van. When I got to Violet’s camper, Lola was fast asleep in our room, snoring loudly, and Violet was on the floor in the lounge, her body bent into a crab position. It looked almost painful but was clearly effortless to her. She only gave me a nod in greeting. I was beginning to learn that, like a lot of the people in this circus, Violet was an odd character. Sometimes she’d have a conversation with you, even joke around, and then other times she wouldn’t talk to you at all.

Later that night when I went to the gazebo for something to eat, I chatted with Marina for a while, letting her know that Lola wasn’t well and that I’d fill in for her if she wasn’t up to working tomorrow night. I noticed Pedro watching me again from the other end of the long table, his face hard like before. He sat by himself, eating a bowl of stew and listening to us as we spoke. I didn’t see any sign of Jack, but I did get a death glare from Julie as she passed by the table with her sisters. Today was definitely not my day.