CHLOE 

My sleep is fitful and disturbed. Every noise has me awake and bolt upright; checking Harry hasn't crept away in the night, and straining for the sound of distant police sirens. The portacabin is hot and stuffy on this summer's night and even though there is no door, there is also no breeze. The air is thick and heavy, like a scratchy wool blanket wrapped tightly around my head, adding to my confusion.

The black sky begins to lighten just after four a.m., just as my eyelids are beginning to feel impossibly heavy. I manage to get another hour's sleep, but by five o'clock the sky is blue and sunlight is streaming through the dirty windows, highlighting every speck of dust dancing in the air. I lie awake for an hour thinking, mulling everything over and attempting to organise my thoughts and make sense of the last twelve hours. Now the initial adrenaline has faded, I feel a little calmer and less panicked, although there is a knot in my stomach that will not loosen. In the other corner of the room Harry stirs, fidgeting a couple of times before sitting up and rubbing his face with both hands. I watch him through nearly-closed lids, wondering if he will uphold his promise to take me with him, or if he will see me asleep and make a run for it without me.

He rubs the back of his neck with his hand, grimacing as he does so, then pulls his legs up so they are bent in front of him with his feet flat on the floor and rests his forearms on his knees. He looks over in my direction and observes me for a few moments with a blank expression on his face. I have no idea what he could possibly be thinking, but I would bet money on it not being anything positive about me. I don't know why he is so angry all the time, or why he shows such contempt towards me, and I long for some insight into his character, to help me to understand him.

"Chloe." 

I am so deep in thought that the sound of his voice - deep and husky from not having been used in the last few hours - actually makes me jump. I open my eyes and look at him, doing my best to act like I have just woken up. I rub my eyes and sit up, wincing at the hard floor beneath my bottom, wistfully longing for my stained, creaky mattress back at my flat. Now there's something I never thought I would miss.

"Hi," I greet him, timidly, and he pulls a scornful face at me.

"I need to get out of here before the police start sniffing around."

He gets to his feet and stretches, lifting his arms above his head which pulls the hem of his tshirt up in the process. I catch sight of what looks like some sort of leaves tattooed near his hips, one on each side, and my eyes are drawn to them as I try to make out what they are. His skin is smooth, with a few dark hairs in a thin line just under his belly button, disappearing below the waistband of his jeans. I wonder what other tattoos he has beneath his tshirt, and the thought of his bare chest sends a strange tingle up my spine and a gentle heat to my cheeks.

He pulls his tshirt down abruptly and I snap my head up to see him staring at me, his brow creased in a frown, and I realise in horror that he has caught me ogling him.

"Where - where are we going?" I ask, my voice higher and squeakier than usual.

"I need to get out of London. I don't know where yet."

He offers no further information, but turns away and picks up his holdall that now has a Harry-shaped dent in the top of it from where he has been sleeping on it. 

I scramble to my feet too. "And I'm coming with you?"

"Said so didn't I?" His tone is belligerent and short.

"I was... just checking," I mutter as I bend over and pick up my rucksack, swinging it up onto my shoulder.

"Well don't."

Obviously he isn't a morning person. Or an afternoon person, or an evening person. I'm starting to wonder if I would be better off on my own, than treading on eggshells around Harry for the foreseeable future. But the thought of having to fend for myself, all alone in one of the worst areas of London, makes me feel physically sick. Better to be with Harry, even if the very sight of me seems to make him furious. He hasn't told me to get lost yet - actually, forget that; he has told me quite clearly to fuck off and leave him alone, but for some reason he hasn't enforced this command, and has allowed me to stay with him. It's probably best not to dwell on his motives, and for now just try to annoy him as little as possible and let him make all the decisions until I can stand on my own two feet. 

"Is there a bathroom anywhere?" I ask, as my bladder feels uncomfortably full.

His head doesn't move but his eyes find mine and there is a moment of silence before he answers. "A bathroom," he repeats, slowly. "Yeah, sure. This rusty lump of metal is equipped with a fucking ensuite and room service."

"I meant a public toilet, nearby...," I explain hastily, but the words die in my throat at the look of contempt on his face.

"If you want to piss, go behind the portacabin," he says abruptly, and then smirks as my face twists into a grimace. "Oh, is that too fucking lower class for you?" he asks softly; mockingly.

"What - no, I just... I don't want to go outside," I mutter, averting my eyes. "I'll wait until we find a toilet."

Harry drops his holdall onto the floor with a thud, making me jump again. A small squeak escapes my lips, and I look up into his face as he takes two steps towards me, towering over me with a look of fury that seems to radiate heat. "I don't have time to hang around while you look for somewhere with a fucking polished floor and marble tiles. Piss outside, piss in here, fucking piss in your knickers for all I care. But I am leaving here in one minute with or without you, and I am not stopping along the way. It's your choice."

I stare at the ground, my cheeks burning with humiliation as I push past him and out of the door of the portacabin. I turn left and then duck down the side, between the wall and a corrugated metal fence with brambles and ivy growing up the side. It is completely private, and no one will see me, but I let tears fall down my cheeks as I go about my business, hating this situation I am in and hating myself for needing Harry. Once I am finished I take a few seconds to compose myself, wiping my eyes with my sleeve so that Harry won't know I have been crying, before returning to the door of the portacabin. I hear the sound of water pouring onto the ground and am just about to shout out when I realise Harry is just doing the same thing I have just been doing around the other side. I blush again and look across the overgrown yard while I wait for him to reappear.

"Sorry there's no quilted toilet paper," he says sarcastically from behind me, and I turn towards him to see him emerging around the corner, still doing up his zipper. 

I shove my hands in my back pockets, waiting for him to lead the way to safety. He looks at me expectantly, as though he is expecting some sort of response from me, but when he doesn't get one he shrugs, gives a slight smirk and begins to saunter across the yard towards the ginnel we came down last night.

I follow a few paces behind, squinting in the morning sunlight and observing our surroundings that I didn't get to notice last night in our haste to find shelter. This place isn't much different from the estate I called home for the last couple of years. It is hard to distinguish between the derelict buildings and those that are occupied. Graffiti covers every other wall, weeds poke through the cracks in the flagstones and rubbish is littered here and there, giving the area a scruffy and depressing air. Ahead I can see market traders setting up their stalls for the day, unloading trays of fruit and vegetables from the backs of vans and shouting to each other in either cockney accents or foreign languages. As we pass through the square Harry grabs a banana from one of the stalls while the trader's back is turned, and proceeds to peel it casually as he walks along in front of me. 

I say nothing, but can't help frowning in disapproval at this petty, arrogant theft. It's not like I don't have any money - I told him that yesterday. And I'm pretty sure he implied he had money too. 

I consider calling him out on it, but I don't have the courage. For a second I even contemplate stopping at one of the stalls and buying a piece of fruit, just to prove a point, but something tells me it would be completely lost on him. Harry doesn't strike me as the sort of person to take a gentle hint. He is about a subtle as a brick. 

I watch as he catches sight of a pretty girl with dark skin and bouncy, tight black curls, heading towards us. She smiles at him, and as she draws level with him her head turns to the side to maintain eye contact, as does his. I watch their silent exchange; their knowing, I-caught-you-looking-at-me-and-I'm-looking-at-you-too smiles. Harry's whole face has relaxed; his eyes are sparkling, his mouth is wide in a lopsided grin and he has a dimple in each cheek. His demeanour has changed too - instead of charging forward with a hunched, moody shuffle his shoulders are now back and he has adopted a swagger that only comes from having your ego stroked. I've never seen this side of him before, and as he is now looking back over his shoulder as he saunters along, chuckling at the pretty girl's obvious display of flirting, I catch his radiant expression full on and it hits me like a punch in the gut.

He is absolutely gorgeous, from his dark, messy curls to his scruffy, worn boots on his feet. I stare at him, drinking in the sight of this person I have spent many hours observing across the bar in the Flute and Fiddle, but have never really seen before. I can only imagine what it must feel like for him to look at me in that way - his whole face lit up, his dimples deepening - and just the thought of this makes my stomach flutter unnervingly and a flush creep up my neck.

Harry is so busy staring after the pretty girl, and I am so busy staring at Harry that I only notice the policeman standing up ahead when we are less than twenty feet away from him. He is talking into his radio and standing side on to us, and hasn't yet seen us. Harry is still looking backwards over his shoulder and as a group of college students passes in front of us I hook my left arm around Harry's waist and shove him sideways to the right, up an alley between a second hand shop and launderette and out of sight.

He gives a shout of protest as he stumbles into the wall, our feet tangling together as we bump against the brick. "What the fuck are you doing?" he demands, all radiance now gone, replaced by the usual temper.

"Shh!" I hiss. "Police - just outside the entrance to the tube."

His frown changes to shock, and he stares at me for a second before turning back towards the street and peering gingerly around the corner to see for himself. Instantly he jerks his head back into the alley and looks at me again with a nod.

"You see him?" I whisper, and he nods again. We stare at each other silently for a moment, before Harry slowly and deliberately looks down at his waist where my arm is still resting. I snatch it away in horror, swallowing hard and pushing a few stray wisps of my hair out of my eye with one hand. "What is he doing there?" I ask.

"How the fuck should I know?!" Harry hisses, but his usual glare is missing, replaced by uncertainty.

"Do you think he's looking for you?" I wonder, trying to swallow the feeling of unease that is now creeping up my throat, but Harry responds by throwing his arms up into the air aggressively, which I take to mean he doesn't know. "What are we going to do?" I squeak, the familiar hysteria now rising rapidly.

"Not panic, for a start!" he scolds. "Just shut up and let me think!"

He paces up and down for a couple of seconds, his face contorted with concentration, before he jerks his head up again and creeps back towards the entrance to the alley. He surveys the scene for a few moments, and I edge forward, wondering what he is thinking and what he can see. He glances back at me, and then suddenly pulls his right arm behind him and hurls his empty banana skin across the market square in the opposite direction to the tube station. Before I have time to wonder what on earth this will possibly achieve, the banana skin hits the back of the head of a bald stallholder who spins around on one foot, his expression furious, and begins yelling in a language I don't understand at another trader with a stripey apron, manning a fruit and veg stall a few feet further up. This trader doesn't seem to take kindly to the abuse, and shouts back at the bald guy, strutting forward with his chest out and gesticulating wildly. Baldie squares up to him, their noses barely an inch from each other, and all of a sudden the policeman comes running over, steps in between them and forces them apart, a hand on each chest. 

Harry darts out of the alley, and although I am interested to see how the scrap will turn out, I am no more than a split second behind him, hot on his heels as he scurries through the square past the other traders who are watching the scene unfolding with interest. Harry ducks into the tube station entrance and practically skids to a halt when he realises there are ticket barriers in operation, and the foyer is too busy to attempt to scale them.

He dives to the left, where there are automated ticket machines, and I scramble to his side, watching as he fumbles in his pocket for change.

"If you're coming with me, get yourself a fucking zone pass now," he mutters, and I pull my rucksack off my back, my fingers clumsily pulling at the middle zip compartment where I have stashed a spare twenty pound note. I fish it out and jab at the screen in front of me, selecting the same options as Harry and shoving my money into the slot. 

The noise levels around me seem elevated as the wait for my ticket drags on and on. Finally it drops out of the little slot, along with my change, and I grab everything in a sweaty fist and follow Harry through the barriers and down the steps to the northbound platform of the Northern Line. There is a handful of morning commuters waiting for the train, even though it isn't quite seven a.m., and we shuffle to a quiet spot next to an advert for a West End musical.

"That," I murmur, my breath coming quickly from the adrenaline rush, "was bloody brilliant! How did you think that up?"

"Saw it in a film once," Harry replies, and as he catches my eye I notice his usual grimace is missing as he looks at me, replaced this time by the faintest twitch of a smirk at the corners of his mouth.

I grin at him, giddy from escaping the law in such an exciting manner, and he watches me for a second before looking away. "I'm starving," I declare, swinging my arms backwards and forwards, and he reaches out with one hand and grabs my left arm mid-swing.

"Stop attracting attention to yourself," he hisses through gritted teeth, and I quickly shove my hands in my pockets, staring down at the floor again.

"Sorry," I mutter, as my stomach growls at the thought of food. "But I am. Starving, I mean. What are we doing for breakfast?" 

Harry's eyes widen in disbelief and his jaw pulsates menacingly as his grip around my upper left arm tightens painfully, causing me to flinch. "This isn't a fucking summer holiday," he spits, his face only inches from mine as he leans in to avoid being overheard. "We're not fucking tourists, taking in the sights before going for Colombian coffee and a poppyseed muffin in some poncey café overlooking the Thames. We. Are. On. The. Run." 

"I know," I squeak, wincing and pulling my arm out of his grasp before looking up at him in fear. I have never known someone change moods so quickly. To say it is unnerving would be the understatement of the year. "But we need to eat, especially as we need to think clearly."

He says nothing to this, and I mentally congratulate myself for sticking to my guns and making a valid point. He can't argue with my logic.

"And if you would just tell me where we're going," I add, bolstered by his silence, "then I won't need to ask so many questions. I might even be able to help."

He scoffs and my stomach jolts again, this time with embarrassment. But before I can retract my words, he mutters, "I'm getting out of London. I haven't decided where, yet. I need to get to Euston and get on the first train out of the city, but I need to go at rush hour when there will be loads of people around and I can just blend into the crowds. So if you want, we can find a backstreet café somewhere and get some breakfast, and work out a plan."

This is the most Harry has ever said to me in one go, and I notice it is the first time he has spoken at me rather than sworn at me. I take this as progress.

I nod seriously as the tube train glides into the station and slows to a stop in front of us, not wanting to provoke his wrath again when he is clearly capable of being civil when he wants to be. "OK," I agree. "Lead the way, then."

---***---

Trying to stick to my promise of updating more regularly! What do you think so far??