“It’s so dangerous,” said Karen. “I mean, it’s a tremendous idea, but...”
Albert brushed the objection aside. “No risk at all,” he said. “If you’re nervous, we’ll give the van fifty yards to roll, instead of thirty.”
In the week that followed, Albert planned the “shoot,” as he called it, with military precision. Having selected several possible clifftop sites, he drove down to Wales to make a decision on the most suitable. He found one on the Pembrokeshire Coast that was wonderfully remote, with a grassy slope leading straight to a two-hundred foot drop. In his spare moments he worked diligently on the script that he and Karen would have to follow, complete with stage directions.
“We only get one shot at this,” he told her when he returned from scouting the locations. “It has to go like clockwork, while appearing totally unplanned. How are the lessons going?”
“All right,” Karen said.
“You’ve been clocking in with Joe, have you, while I was away?”
She nodded.
“Mastered it yet?”
“I hope so.”
“Hope isn’t good enough,” said Albert. “You’ve got to be certain. Are you going over to see him again?”
“This afternoon.”
“Excellent. He’s a good bloke, isn’t he?”
“He’s very good,” said Karen, and she meant it.
“While you’re in there, I’m going to do a bit of work on the old caravan. It could do with a clean. The smarter it looks, the better the effect.”
So whilst Albert sponged and polished, preparing the caravan for its TV debut, Karen had more tuition from Joe. Really, as Joe explained, the camcorder was a simple machine that almost anyone could use, but if the attractive Mrs Challis wanted more practice with the thing, he was only too pleased to show her how to hold it. No woman had been inside his house since his wife had divorced him two years ago.
For her part, Karen was not displeased to feel Joe’s arm around her shoulders steadying the camera from time to time. He was a most considerate man, and not bad looking, either. And he had double-glazing and central heating. “It seems a real shame that you’re going to lose your caravan through this,” she said.
“Not at all,” said Joe cheerfully. “It’s had its day. I’ve no more use for it. Besides, it’s not in very good condition any more. The door has warped in the damp. You have to give it quite a tug to open it. Better mention that to Albert. A little grease around the sides will ease it.”
Extremely early Saturday morning, when it was still dark and nobody was about, Albert went over to Joe’s to attach the towbar. He’d arranged to collect Karen at the last minute. She sat in their front room with the lights off, mentally revising the instructions for the video camera. She had collected the camera from Joe after one last session of instruction the previous afternoon. Joe had been a tower of strength.
After what seemed like a couple of hours, Albert drew the caravan from its mooring and swung the car across the street. Karen climbed in, camcorder in hand.
“You’ll do no filming in this light,” Albert said tensely. “I don’t know what you’re holding it for. Chuck it on the back seat.”
“It doesn’t belong to us,” said Karen.
Instead of “tootling along” as he’d promised, Albert drove fast for the first two hours. Two or three times Karen said she was nervous about the car, but he didn’t slow down. Near the Welsh border, as dawn came up, she suggested a stop for filming. Albert said there would be opportunities later.
She reminded him of the reason for having some footage of other places as well as the clifftop, and he relented and let her film some sheep sheltering at the side of the road.
Albert looked at his watch. “I want to get on,” he told her. “The light isn’t so good in the middle of the day. It gets too bright.”
“Joe said it doesn’t matter what time of day you film with one of these.”
“Will you shut up about Joe?”
As they neared their destination, Albert made a couple of short stops to consult the map. The area was very remote.
About ten in the morning, the cliff came up on their left. Albert steered the car off the road and towed the caravan across the turf to the position he’d selected. He secured the brake on the caravan, uncoupled the car and drove back to a point near the road. They had a good view for miles around and no one was in sight.
“Smell it, love?” said Albert.
“The sea air?” said Karen.
“Money, stupid. Ten bloody grand.”
“It’s a good thing there’s no wind,” Karen pointed out as they walked towards the caravan. “This should be good for sound.”
“You talk like you work for the BBC.”
Albert walked towards the cliff edge and peered over. “Perfect,” he enthused. “The tide’s in. There’s a thumping great drop, and it’s going to get smashed to little bits and washed away and turn to driftwood.” He came back to where Karen was standing with the camcorder. “Want to run over your lines?”
“It’s all right,” she said nervously. “Let’s get on with it.”
“Make sure it’s working first.”
She switched on and checked the battery level for the umpteenth time. She took some footage of Albert standing with his back to the cliff edge and they played it back through the eyepiece to check. The clarity was wonderful.
Albert seemed to be getting his confidence back. “Isn’t it just like I promised? The gentle grassy slope, the impressive visual panorama, the sheer bloody suspense of the thing? And just look at that caravan!”
“Like ten thousand grand,” she said, admiring the polished chrome and freshly-cleaned surface.
Albert walked her to her position. “Now you do know what to do?”
She nodded.
“And what to say?”
“Mm.”
“Let’s get on with it, then.”
She watched him walk to the caravan. He had some difficulty opening the door, but he managed it at the second attempt, climbed inside, slammed the door and took his place by the window, opening it wide.
“Can you hear me all right?”
“Perfectly, Albert.”
“Are we ready to roll, then?”
“Yes.”
“Remember what I said. Establish the shot with a view of that cliff to your left, showing just how big the drop is, then pan around slowly along the cliff edge and across the grass to me. Right?”
“Right.”
“Start the camcorder now. Action.”
Heart thumping, Karen pressed the red record button, swinging slowly around to encompass the impressive-looking cliff. She didn’t care any more that her hands were shaking. She watched the grass in the lens, then the white gleam of the caravan, then Albert at the window.
True to his “script,” he held up a piece of metal. The caravan lurched on its mooring feet and for a second, Karen feared that it wasn’t going to move.
Albert spoke his words: “Do you know what this is, love?”
The caravan began to roll.
“It’s the brake, Albert! What is it doing in your hand? Get out — the van’s moving!”
“Bloody hell!”
She saw Albert move fast towards the door and waited for the panic to set in for real.
Thirty yards to the edge.
She screamed his name as loudly as possible, mainly to obscure his shouting. She had stopped filming, of course.
The caravan moved sedately on its way.
He was desperately trying to open the jammed caravan door. How many times had Joe stressed to her that she should tell Albert to grease the edges? Not once had she considered passing on the information. She wanted Albert to die.
Twenty yards to go, and it was picking up a little speed.
The worst thing would be finding a phone in this God-forsaken place. The closest must be miles away. Everything else would be simple. A few tears for the police. Then hand over the tape. “It must be all on here, officer. It’s been the most awful accident.”