Rosie’s Travelling Tea Shop. Rebecca Raisin

      She giggles. ‘That’s what they look like from here, right? Gosh, Rosie you have to go on one. Looking straight up from the basket into the belly of the balloon is like starting into a kaleidoscope with the different layers of colour and the lick of flames. A spectacular sight.’

      ‘I’ll stick with watching them from ground level. Hell will freeze over before I risk life and limb to ride in a hot air balloon.’

      She lets out a cackle. ‘Rosie, you’re not super adventurous, are you?’

      ‘The exact opposite.’

      ‘That’ll all change, mark my words.’

      I shoot her a look that says, not on my watch.

      When we come to Clifton Village, Aria pulls into a carpark and I’m immediately assailed with the vinegary scent of fresh fish and chips.

      ‘A girl’s gotta eat, right?’ She arches a brow.

      ‘You know the way to my heart, obviously.’

      We order beer-battered fish and chips and munch away, lightly debating about whether minted mushy peas adds or subtracts to the meal. ‘But how can you not have mushy peas?’ I ask, bewildered.

      She grins. ‘I’m as British as they come, but you know, I really don’t like them. They remind me of baby food! And I don’t think they pair with fish and chips. They just don’t.’

      My mouth falls open. ‘I’ll have to take this under consideration. I’m fairly sure that’s treasonous and I don’t know if we can be friends.’

      ‘Take your time, think about it. I promise it’s my only foodie qualm.’

      ‘Pass your peas over then.’

      She screws up her face, handing the offending side over.

      ‘So, after this shall we wander over the bridge? I’ve heard the vaults are pretty spectacular. We can do a tour through them.’

      ‘Sure.’

      Half an hour later when I see the bridge up close I have second thoughts, remembering now the picture Oliver sent of this very same bridge. A suspension bridge. ‘Is it just me or is that bridge swaying?’ Holy moly, the bridge seems so high, the dark tea river running perilously fast way, way underneath. Of course I’ve crossed many a bridge in my time but not one of such epic proportions as this. And on foot.

      Aria’s machine-gun cackle startles me. ‘Yeah, apparently the bridge deck moves and everything! Sometimes they have to close the bridge to traffic when it’s too squally.’

      ‘You say that like it’s a good thing.’

      ‘It is! It’s almost like a living being, bending and blowing about like it’s got something to say.’

      ‘And it’s saying “Stay the hell away”, I believe.’

      Before I can make excuses, she grabs my hands and propels me forward and just like that I’m on the walkway of the bridge. As cars whoosh past, I feel the ground move under my feet. It’s so damn high, it takes my breath away.

      ‘You big tough Londoner, you!’ Wind whips at our faces and Aria calls out, ‘Doesn’t it make you feel alive?’

      ‘Well, yes, only because I’m picturing my imminent death …’ but my words are whipped away by the gale. ‘Which does make me appreciate being here, right now, alive and well and on a crazy adventure with the first British person I’ve met who doesn’t like mushy peas!’

      ‘I’m so glad you’re here, Rosie.’ She lets out a laugh and then pauses before speaking with a nervous lilt. ‘A couple of days ago I had this silly idea that I’d cross this bridge for the last time.’ She averts her gaze. ‘Not Thelma and Louise it off or anything, just say goodbye, pack up and head home back to my parents. Give up on this whole van life. Back to the grind of nine-to-five, you know?’

      Shock must register on my face because she shrugs, and gives me the ghost of a smile and continues. ‘Things haven’t been great, and I sort of made this deal with the universe, to send me a sign, give me some sort of reassurance to stay and at that very moment you tore into the parking lot, nearly ran me over, and then opened the door and fell straight into the mud. I knew instantly, that you had come tearing into my life for a reason.’

      I’m lost for words, but scramble for some. ‘Were you really going to give up the van life for good?’ I can’t picture Aria doing anything nine-to-five, she’s too ephemeral, too different to live such a mundane, regulated life.

      ‘Yep, incredible, right?’

      ‘Why though?’ What would make her consider such a thing? If Aria can’t handle van life, how can I?

      She grabs my elbow and carries me along, tucking her chin against my arm. With a long sigh she says, ‘I felt like there was no sunshine anymore, you know? Like I was trudging through interminable darkness. Have you ever considered why you’re here, Rosie? Like right here, right now? This moment.’

      I had, only mere moments ago, and it strikes me it’s because of Aria that already I’ve jumped far, far out of my comfort zone and relished it, even though it scares me. ‘Meaning of life type of scenario?’ I ask.

      She nods.

      ‘Oh, Aria I am probably the worst person you can ask. My life imploded in London and I spend almost every second of every day wondering what the hell I’m doing. I shift between abject terror, and horror, with occasional bouts of hysteria. But already, you, with your gutsy attitude and go-getting vibe, have opened my eyes. I wish I could say the right thing to make you realise how wonderful you are, how I aspire to be a girl just like you, but I’m not good with words. I’m not good really at anything except cooking.’

      ‘You undersell yourself, Rosie. You just happened to show up right when I needed you most. And now look, we’re walking across this bridge, instead of me packing up and going home to a bleak, boring life, and I wonder how I ever thought that was a good idea.’ A stray tear welds its way down her cheek, and I know there’s more to her story. Much more, but I don’t push her for details. Whatever the reason, for once in my life I feel as though I’m exactly where I’m meant to be, if that means being here for Aria. I look at the water rushing beneath and squeeze her hand tightly. ‘So you’re staying?’

      ‘I can’t argue with the universe when they send me my very own Rosie, now, can I?’