CHLOE

Harry turns to me, his scowl replaced with an expression of mild intrigue. "What?"

"This membership card is still valid! It's got no photo, only a name! We can use it to get into that sports centre!"

He pulls his lip into a snarl. "I'm not exactly in the mood for lifting weights today. Got other things on my mind. You know, like not getting caught by the police." He practically spits this last part, but I am too excited at having come up with this idea to take much notice.

"I'm not talking about using the gym," I explain, breathlessly. "We can just use the showers! We can get clean!"

"And you don't think that might look a bit odd if we rock up looking and smelling like shit, use the showers and then fuck off?"

"Alright, so we can have a quick swim or something!" I beam, refusing to let his demeanour ruin my excitement, because I know this is a fantastic plan that cannot fail.

"And how am I going to get in?" he asks slowly. "Considering you only have one guest membership card, and it belongs to a woman?"

"Well, if anyone asks, I'll say I'm thinking of joining with you." The words fall out of my mouth so easily, as though I have planned this all out, when in fact I am just making it up as I go along.

"And if they want to take my details to put on their system? If my face is already all over the national news because I'm wanted for murder, and someone recognises me from the TV screen above the treadmills?"

He is determined to find a flaw in my plan.

"We don't know that it has even made the national news," I reason. "And if it has, how likely is it that someone working on the reception desk in the leisure centre of some sleepy little Devon town is going to think that a wanted murderer from one of the most deprived areas of London has just turned up at seven o'clock in the morning to enquire about membership?"

For once he is lost for words.

"Look, let's not overthink this," I say, getting to my feet and picking up my bag. "Let's just give it a try. You never know, you might get a hot shower and a swim out of it."

"I haven't got any swimming shorts," he replies, a little petulantly, but as he is throwing this argument down he is climbing to his feet and trotting after me as I begin to walk across the middle of the park towards the leisure centre.

"Can't you wear a pair of boxers or something? It's not like the place will be crowded. No one is going to see you. We can be in and out in no time."

I am charging forward across the grass now, focussed on my destination and determined to follow this through. My triumph yesterday with the escape from London has given me a massive boost in confidence, and the false illusion that I can do anything. Harry offers no further protestation but walks in silence a couple of paces behind me until we reach the entrance.

"Wait, let's plan -" he begins, but I ignore him and approach the heavy glass door, waiting for it to slide open. When it does, Harry shuffles in awkwardly behind me, looking fixedly at the floor and exuding suspicion.

The foyer is empty of people and staff. In one corner are a couple of tub chairs, a small low table displaying a few issues of some sort of fitness magazine and a large pot plant with rubbery-looking green leaves. Pictures of lithe, supple athletes are displayed on the walls alongside a couple of posters advertising various energy drinks and meal replacement shakes. Straight ahead of us is a curved reception desk that is free from clutter, and on the wall behind is a small display of various types of swimming and workout equipment, ranging from bikinis to goggles, water bottles to sweatbands, towels to tennis balls. To the right is a set of glass double doors presumably leading to the changing rooms, pool and various other activities. I nudge Harry to walk into the changing rooms, and mutter under my breath, "Go straight through, there's no one even here. I'll meet you in the pool."

As I have no swimming costume, and no idea whether the showers are communal or private, I will need to buy one from reception but I will have to wait until a member of staff appears. A couple of seconds after Harry has disappeared from sight through the double doors, his holdall slung casually over his shoulder, a young lad comes out of a door behind reception that I hadn't seen previously and takes a seat at the desk.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting," he apologises.

"It's OK," I reply nervously, hearing a vague tremor in my voice. "Can I just buy a swimming costume please? I forgot to put mine in my, er, gym bag."

He indicates to the display behind him and I grab the nearest one in my size, hand him the cash and am about to scurry off when he says, "Do you have your membership card?"

"Oh - yes of course, sorry."

My stomach lurches and my heart begins to pound as I pull the card out of my jeans and hold it out to him, waiting for some sort of siren to sound and police to appear from behind me, brandishing handcuffs to take me to prison for this blatant act of fraud. But he barely even glances at it, and waves me through to the changing rooms with a nod and a "help yourself to a towel if you're going to be using the gym."

Unable to believe this has been so easy, I grab two towels from the neat pile by the door and hurry into the changing rooms in search of Harry. The place is quiet, which is unsurprising given the ungodly hour of this Tuesday morning. I walk along the tiled floor, peering into open changing cubicles, before eventually murmuring in a low voice, "Harry?"

"Chloe?"

I follow the sound, round the end of a row opposite a bank of lockers and come face to face with Harry, who is wearing nothing but a pair of thin boxer shorts that come half way down his thigh. My breath catches embarrassingly in my throat and I make some sort of inhuman squeak, as though my eyes are protesting at the image before them.

What Harry lacks in personality and social skills, he makes up for in physicality. His chest is smooth, with a tiny smattering of hairs just between his pectorals. Just above halfway between his nipples and his collarbone are the tattoos of two birds either side, facing each other, in plain black ink. In the middle of his stomach is a large black butterfly, and scattered over his shoulders and left arm are various other inkings, ranging from random words and letters (17Black, B) to strange images (a coat hanger, a heart, a ship, a few nails). And finally, the piece I cannot seem to take my eyes off, even though I am aware he is staring right back at me and watching me gape at him, is the pair of symmetrical ferns either side of his stomach, just over his hips. I have seen a brief glimpse of these already in the portacabin when his shift lifted up, but up close they really are something else. I have never seen anything so beautiful and sexual in my entire life, and it is all I can do not to reach out and touch them with the tips of my fingers.

"What?" he snaps, snapping me out of my trance while my face floods with the heat of humiliation at having gawped so openly at him.

"N-nothing. I - I didn't realise you had so many tattoos," I stammer, stupidly. He gives me that special look of disdain that he executes so well, before picking up his bag and shoving it into an empty locker, sticking a pound coin in the slot, and slamming the door.

"Well? Aren't you going to get changed?" he hisses. "I thought we were making this quick?"

"Right. Yes. Sorry. Oh sorry, I'm not supposed to be saying sorry. Sorry. Damn - I mean... here, I got you a towel." I thrust it at him, not trusting myself to look him in the face, and bustle into an empty changing cubicle, shutting the door noisily behind me.

I refuse to think about the fool I have just made of myself, and instead decide to focus on when I last shaved my legs (probably a week ago) and the last time I made any attempt to tidy up my bikini line (so long ago I can't even remember). Once I have changed into my new swimming costume I exit the cubicle, shove my bag in the locker next to Harry's, and head to the pre-swim showers to douse my grimy body with a torrent of water before I enter the pool. Harry is already swimming - I can see just his head bobbing around in the deep end - and I hurry to join him, walking quickly down the steps into the water while he is swimming away from me so he doesn't see me full length in my swimming costume.

I immediately duck down into the water, crouching in the shallow end to keep my body below the surface and only my head above. He turns at the opposite end and swims back towards me in a sloppy version of front crawl, his hair flicking from side to side as his head turns with each stroke. I make an attempt at breast stroke, heading towards the middle of the pool, and then just as he has passed me (without looking at me or even acknowledging me) I turn back towards the shallow end before I find myself out of my depth. I have never been a strong swimmer.

"How long do we have to keep up the pretence?" I mutter as I draw level with him again.

He pauses, his knees bent under the water, and runs a hand through his wet hair, slicking it back from his face. "I dunno, but this water is fucking freezing. I'm chilled to the bone."

My eyes wander across the pool area to the steamed up glass windows a short distance from the changing rooms. I hadn't noticed it when we first arrived, but there is some sort of jacuzzi bath just to the right of the steps leading into the pool. It looks warm and inviting, and my tired muscles ache just thinking about it. I have never been in a hot tub before, but already I crave the feel of hard jets of water pummelling my sore back.

"A couple more lengths, and I'm going in the jacuzzi," I tell him, and swim away before he can put forward an argument. He says nothing, and after swimming to the middle of the pool and back once again, I decide I have had enough and I'm ready to get warm. Leaving Harry returning from his visit to the deep end, I walk awkwardly back up the steps, my body weight returning, and scuttle over to the jacuzzi. I lower myself slowly down onto one of the seats amidst the frothy bubbles and position myself directly in front of one of the air jets.

To say it feels good is an understatement. To my cold, aching muscles, it is absolute bliss. I can't help closing my eyes as I lean back, extending my arms out along the sides of the tub to balance. The heat from the water seeps into my bones and relaxes every part of my body, slowly rejuvenating me from the inside out. I don't hear Harry approaching, and it is only when I feel the water disturbed next to my left thigh that I open my eyes and see him sitting down diagonally opposite me, his chest disappearing beneath the water and a look of relief and contentment spreading slowly across his face.

"Ahh," he murmurs softly. "This feels fucking fantastic."

His groan of pleasure reminds me of the noise I heard him making behind the Flute and Fiddle, while Katie was on her knees on the ground in front of him. I feel a funny twinge deep in the pit of my stomach at the memory of this, accompanied by a jolt of relief that he can't see inside my head right now. What he would say if he knew I had witnessed that private moment isn't worth thinking about.

I close my eyes again, although I am unable to relax in the same way as before now he is so close to me. His presence alone is enough to put me on edge. I am constantly waiting for some form of beratement or ridicule, and it also doesn't help that he is inexplicably handsome, dripping wet, and wearing nothing but a small pair of shorts. The combination of being attractive and an arsehole is unnervingly contradictory. I shouldn't fancy him - every fibre of my body is telling me that it is wrong - yet I do; I undeniably do. And I hate myself for being chemically attracted to someone who terrifies me and excites me at the same time, and treats me like shit for the majority of the day.

I open one eyelid a crack to sneak a look at him. To my surprise, he is staring directly at me and quickly looks away when he catches my eye. I let mine fall shut again, my heart thumping at the eye contact, and a second later I hear a splash of water, just before it hits me in the face. I gasp in shock, opening both eyes fully this time and sitting up straight to wipe the water away, only to find him looking back at me again, a playful smirk on his face. I stare at him in disbelief, unsure of his intentions, and terrified of reading this as a joke when he might just be being deliberately cruel. We are frozen like this for a couple of seconds, before he flicks his middle finger off his thumb, just on the surface of the water, and another stream hits me directly in the face.

I squeeze my eyes shut and squeak in protest, thrown by this absurd change in mood to yet another I have never seen before. Playful Harry is completely new to me. I look back at him again, plucking up courage to retaliate, and he holds my gaze, his eyes daring me to do it. Inwardly steeling myself, I skim my right hand across the water, batting a scoopful of froth in his direction. It doesn't quite hit his face (my intended target) but it splashes his neck and chest and he smirks again, wider this time, as I watch the little droplets run slowly across his wet skin. I raise my palm again to send another splash of water at him, but quick as a flash he leans forward, extends his left hand and grips my wrist, halting my movement instantly. I hear my own sharp intake of breath as our eyes meet two feet from each other and we both freeze again momentarily, locked in a sudden stalemate. I watch him, waiting to see what he will do, and he raises one eyebrow, the smirk still on his face.

"No," he says, slowly and deliberately, as though scolding a small child. "Behave."

I wish I had the confidence to fire a sassy comment back at him but I haven't a clue what to say, and even if I did I know I wouldn't be able execute the right delivery. I can't help grinning though, and breaking eye contact I pull my arm from his grasp and sit back against the wall of the jacuzzi again, my heart hammering in my chest and my stomach clenching with nerves. I avoid looking at him for a minute, unsure of what to do next as the dynamics have temporarily shifted into something foreign and unfamiliar. Eventually I settle for stretching my legs out straight in front of me and letting them rise with the flow of the water so my toes break the surface just beside his left arm. He sideglances them, the corner of his mouth twitching and a look of faint amusement and acknowledgement in his eyes, but says nothing and doesn't even move his head. I keep them there for a further minute or so, wiggling them periodically, the previous relaxation now lost altogether amongst the excitement and uncertainty of this new angle to our "relationship" (for want of a better expression).

Five more minutes pass before Harry stands up suddenly, water cascading down his body like a waterfall, his thighs close enough to my face for me to see the individual dark hairs on his skin, and the detail of the face of a tiger inked just below the hem of his shorts. "I'm going for a shower."

He doesn't wait for a response, but exits the jacuzzi without looking back and disappears towards the changing rooms. I take the opportunity to breathe deeply for a few seconds without his presence bearing down on me like an oppressive storm cloud, before hauling myself out and heading after him. He isn't in the communal shower area, but I can hear water running from behind a closed cubicle, and realise first that there are private cubicles, and second that he must have decided to take one of these and is probably now wearing nothing.

I push this thought from my mind, grab my shampoo and shower gel from my bag, and take the cubicle next to Harry. Although I am now already feeling considerably cleaner than I did half an hour ago I take my time in the shower, soaping every inch of my head and body as I simply have no clue when or where my next wash will be. By the time I have dried my hair and dressed myself in clean clothes Harry is waiting on the tub chairs in the reception area, his head firmly down and his wet hair covering part of his face. He doesn't seem to realise that this stance draws attention, as he looks as though he is trying hard not to be noticed, which therefore makes him noticeable. I decide I will tell him this but perhaps not today; not when he seems to be warming towards me, and we have reached a new level of... friendship?

The guy on reception bids us farewell as we leave, and I can't resist casting a glance at Harry once we are clear of the building and making our way back across the park. He isn't looking at me, but I can tell he knows I am looking at him.

"So," I begin, brimming with glee at our latest triumph, "we got away with that one alright! We're getting too good at this."

"We've only been on the run not even two days," he snaps, the previous vague frivolity forgotten, replaced with his familiar contempt. "Don't be thinking this is some sort of great adventure, because it's not. It's still my fucking life on the line."

I know better than to answer this, particularly not with an apology. I fall silent again as we trudge through the grass, Harry steering us back towards the group of trees in the corner of the park where we slept last night. He throws himself back down on the grass in the exact same spot he slept less than two hours ago, and glares moodily across the park again.

It seems that just as we are getting somewhere, making a jot of progress, he has to knock me down to earth with a stern reminder that he doesn't like me and I am just an inconvenience to him, allowed to tag along simply because I am too much of a liability to be set free. It's a stark reminder that no matter what I do, I don't matter; not to Harry, not to anyone.

Yet again we have taken one step forward and two steps back.