CHLOE

My dreams that night are plagued with feelings of disgust. His eyes swim before me; I can still taste the beer on his tongue, feel the scratch of his stubble against my skin and his weight between my legs. I feel embarrassed and humiliated over what happened two years ago, and when I wake I push the memories of what happened afterwards to the back of my mind, not ready to relive them during my waking hours but knowing they will haunt my dreams before long. I enjoy the calm and stillness of the campsite, spending the two full days here alternating between reading and thinking. Harry is quiet too, passing much of the afternoons staring across the fields into oblivion, a faraway look in his eyes and the tatty blue blanket from his holdall beneath his legs. 

He is still quiet by the third morning as we pack up the tent and all of our belongings. Although his mood isn't as severe as in previous swings, I can tell he has something on his mind. Knowing him as I do, I understand that today is not the day for lengthy discussions about future long-term plans. I settle instead for vague small talk about our journey further north (we have decided to head up to Scotland to some more remote areas) and, of course, the weather. 

We hop on a local bus that takes us through the beautiful, rambling countryside of the Peak District and into the town of Buxton. From here we risk a fairly mainline train service into the city of Manchester, where we are able to lose ourselves amidst the crowds at Piccadilly station whilst we (that is to say, I) browse the timetable and work out our next move. After careful consideration, a hot chocolate from Costa Coffee and a brief conversation with the gentleman at the ticket kiosk, we purchase two tickets to Dumfries and board the next train, changing at Carlisle and deliberately keeping our faces pointed to the floor to avoid being detectable on CCTV.

I feel safer once we are safely in our seats and watching the green fields whizz past the window at alarming speeds. While I managed to keep myself calm in front of Harry in Manchester, my insides were in knots the whole time we were in such a public place. Not knowing where the police think we are is terrifying. For all we know, they could be waiting for us when we disembark the train at Dumfries. It feels like forever that we saw the television news report, and the police turned up at the little bed-and-breakfast in Frome. Part of me was expecting them to pounce on us in Broadstairs, as surely by now they have realised I am with Harry, and will know my connection to the place. I feel as though I have been on tenterhooks for weeks. 

I am expecting a large station with multiple platforms when we arrive in Dumfries but the little station isn't even staffed full-time, although there is a small café near the entrance. I keep my head down again as we scurry through the gate into the car park, and immediately ahead of us is a small hotel with old fashioned sash windows on the upper floors and a large stone staircase leading up to the front door. Large plant pots with hot pink trailing flowers sit either side of the steps, giving the place a cheery, welcoming feel.

"Do you think this is too public?" I mutter to Harry, even though no one is around to overhear, indicating to the hotel.

He shrugs, his eyes not meeting mine. "Nice easy getaway on the train if the police show up, I suppose."

I'm fairly certain the police would be manning the station if they realised where we were and turned up to arrest us, but I don't say this out loud and instead follow Harry up the steps to the hotel, giving the beaming receptionist our usual story of our wallets and cards being stolen from the tent and needing to pay cash upfront. We take a room on the first floor with a double bed and large bathroom, and Harry immediately lays himself flat on his back on the bed and closes his eyes. It is approaching tea time, and once I have unpacked a few toiletries from my bag into the bathroom, I sit on the edge of the bed next to him and lay my hand gently on his arm.

"Harry? Are you ok today? You seem a bit out of sorts."

"I'm fine."

His tone is typically Harry: curt and blunt, with no social graces. 

"You seem distant," I press. "Is there anything you want to talk about?"

He cracks open one eye and looks at me with the faintest trace of amusement and irony. "Nope." 

I know the irony is down to my refusal to discuss my past with him, and eager to avoid any kind of conversational opener relating to that topic, I change the subject. "Shall we go and find somewhere to eat, then? I'm starving."

According to the hotel welcome pack the town centre is only a five minute walk away, with plenty of bars and restaurants to choose from if we don't want to eat here. After a quick freshen up in the bathroom I am ready to go, and together we walk up the road and towards the town centre in search of some food. Within ten minutes we are seated in a tiny Chinese restaurant, with a bottle of wine and a beer, examining the menu. The interior is dark and cramped but the white linen tablecloths are pristine, and a glance around the walls shows not a speck of dust on any surface. The smell of the cooking food is torture on my empty stomach, and we order a full banquet for two, enticed by the delicious offerings on the menu. Harry is knocking the drink back quicker than I have seen previously, and manages to put away two pints before our starters have even arrived. 

"Take it easy," I remark, half joking but half serious, nodding my head towards the third pint that has arrived at the table with our duck pancakes. "I don't want to be carrying you home."

"Don't then," he replies, a little brusquely. "I'll meet you back at the hotel later. I'm in the mood for getting drunk."

My heart sinks a little at the abruptness of his tone, and I take a moment before I respond to this while he loads shredded duck, hoisin sauce and cucumber strips into a thin pancake. "Are you sure getting drunk is a good idea? What if the police turn up? Or someone recognises you?"

"No one has recognised us in weeks," he declares. "I just wanna let my hair down for one night." He shoves the pancake into this mouth and bites half of it noisily.

"Well... we don't know that no one has recognised us, do we?" I begin, timidly. "We just know that the police haven't caught up with us so far. I just think we should lie low, at least until we figure out what the real plan is."

"What do you mean, the real plan?" His brow has creased as he frowns at me, his hand suspended mid-air with the half-eaten pancake dangling from it.

"Well...," I begin again, trying to chose my words carefully as I sense he is a little fragile at the moment and I haven't the faintest clue why. "I mean, we still need to figure out what we're going to do, Harry. We can't keep running forever. Your money is going to run out evenually, and that's if the police don't find us first. I just think we need to talk about this, and work out what we're going to do. It's like we've forgotten why we're here, like we're just on holiday or something."

"I haven't forgotten at all," he snaps, glaring at me across the table. "I'm just telling you I want one night off from all this shit. I'd like one night of enjoying a few drinks in a bar, without thinking about this fucking mess."

I feel at this point, given how his temper is rising and some of the old Harry is beginning to show through, it would not be sensible to point out that this is all we've done for the past couple of weeks - stick our heads in the sand and avoid thinking about a solution to this problem in which we've found ourselves.

"OK," I reply softly. "If you want a night off, that's cool. I'll come with you, or if you want to be on your own I'll go back to the hotel after we've had our meal."

He looks a little taken aback, and nods once before shoving the remainder of his pancake into this mouth. Maybe he had been expecting me to nag him, or tremble at his flaring temper, but I give myself a figurative pat on the back for handling him so well yet again and avoiding an argument. Harry reminds me of a vicious dog that can turn on you at a moment's notice, that can be tamed and controlled effectively with the right approach and temperament. Perhaps I am exactly what he needs, and perhaps he is exactly what I need. It certainly feels sometimes as though we complement each other.

Our conversation is stilted throughout the rest of the meal, and by the time we pay the bill and leave the restaurant I am fully expecting him to tell me he wants some time alone, and to go back to the hotel. We stand on the pavement pulling our jackets on, music blaring from the open doors of a bar opposite where people are spilling onto the terrace with drinks in their hands, making the most of the warm summer evening. 

"So, what do you want to do?" I ask awkwardly, waiting for the brush off I know is coming. 

"I want to get drunk."

Of course, he makes me drag the details out of him. 

"OK... and do you want to do that alone? As in, without me?"

He appears to consider this, while gazing over my shoulder at the bar with the noisy, happy people. "I dunno. I just want to...," he hesitates for a moment, "to forget. Just for a while."

Although he is talking to me, his mind is obviously elsewhere and I know in my gut that he isn't talking about the reason we are on the run. 

"What is it that you want to forget?" I ask gently, putting my hand on his upper arm to bring him back to the present. It doesn't have the effect I'm hoping for.

He pulls his arm roughly away from my grip, glaring down at me in irritation. "For fuck's sake woman, will you stop nagging me? You're as bad as S-"

He comes to an abrupt halt, but not before he has begun to say her name. 

I'm as bad as Sofia. His girlfriend. 

We haven't discussed our relationship in terms of putting a label on it, and in truth I have avoided thinking too much about Harry's girlfriend because I don't want to admit that he is in a relationship and is technically cheating on her with me. But he has just brought her back into our lives with a bump and judging by the look of discomfort on his face, he realises his mistake.

"Right," I mutter, stepping back from him and looking down at the pavement. "I'll leave you to it, then."

"No, wait," he begins, his tone softer and almost apologetic, but the damage is done.

"I'll see you back at the hotel." 

I turn and scurry back along the road in the direction of the hotel, blinking back tears that I know are brought on by my own doing. I knew Harry was in a relationship, yet I let myself fall for him and even at times actively pursued him. I deserve everything I get for going after someone else's boyfriend.

I let myself into the hotel room and collapse on the bed, allowing the tears to fall freely. I have no idea how long he will be out, but I know he doesn't have his own key to the room so I will have to face him when he arrives back. I lie on my side and cry quietly, hating myself for getting into this mess with no way out. I feel stupid, embarrassed and above all, afraid. I'm afraid of my feelings for Harry, and afraid of his feelings for me, in that I know in my heart he doesn't feel the same way. I'm afraid of how this will end: Will he go to prison? Will I? Will his girlfriend be waiting for him at the end of it all? Will I be cast aside; left alone again?

And why was he acting strangely today? He has been unusually quiet for a few days, even by Harry's standards. What does he want to forget, and why won't he talk about it? My tears gradually subside as I ponder his behaviour, and my curiosity serves as a distraction from my own self pity. I glance across to our bags stacked in the corners of the room; mine neat and tidy, Harry's thrown in a pile, the zip of his holdall open at the top and the corner of that dirty blue blanket just visible. Getting to my feet, I cross the room and unzip his bag a few more inches, just enough to retrieve the blanket and hold it up to inspect it. I have only seen it up close once: the day I hid in the back of his car beneath it. It is soft blue fleece, with a delicate edging of blue satin all the way around it and a blue teddy bear embroidered into one corner. It looks as though it has been through the wash hundreds of times, and desperately needs another one now - it has smudges of dust and dirt all over it, and bits of grass stuck to it from where Harry sat on it outside the tent in the Peak District. I remember the evening under the flyover in London, just after Chris was killed, when Harry found me on the backseat of his car and screamed at me when I chucked this blanket on the floor. He has been funny about it ever since, and I have never understood the importance of it, or indeed dared to ask. 

I fold it up carefully again and put it back in his holdall, turning to my own bag to take out a pair of pyjamas to sleep in. I might as well get into bed - there is nothing else to do while I wait for him to come back. As I round the edge of the bed I stub my toe on something in the pocket of my holdall. Clasping my foot and muttering a few colourful words, I perch on the bed and bend down to see what is lurking in that side pocket that could have caused me this unnecessary pain. I unzip it all the way round and shove my hand in, groping around in the seams until my fingers brush against metal and glass and I pull out Harry's old iPhone that he had given to me to leave on the train from London to Manchester. I had switched the phones at the last minute, sending mine halfway up the country instead without his knowledge as he had seemed at the time so hesitant to relinquish his own. I'd had the intention of giving it back to him, but had changed my mind at the last minute and had since forgotten all about it. 

My heart pounding, I turn it over in my hands. I know there is no way the police can track it without a SIM card, and Harry's is almost certainly in the hands of the police by now. Leaping to my feet, I jump over our bags and into the bathroom, scanning the hotel toiletries for a complimentary sewing kit that is often found in hotel chains like these. Luck is on my side, and I rip the little packet open and use the needle carefully to manoeuvre the SIM card slot open to remove my SIM. With trembling hands and a pounding heart, I fumble with the power button and hold it down to start up the device.

It seems to take forever until the little Apple logo appears on the screen, and another age before the lock screen appears. As there is no SIM card, there is no PIN to enter, and with a swipe of my finger across the screen I am in. My hands are shaking as I hit the Messages icon, and to my surprise there is only one thread, and the sender's name isn't stored. Feeling uncomfortable at snooping like this, I tap into the thread. 

They are mostly messages that have been received, with the occasional reply.

Hey baby, what time will you be home? xx

We're missing you today, can you pick up some milk on your way back xx

Dylan is blowing kisses!!! Can't wait for you to see xxxx

I love you baby, see you in a bit xxx

Dylan needs daddy cuddles I think xxx

I'll be back soon

My heart is thudding sickeningly seeing the affection in these messages, presumably between Harry and his girlfriend. My legs are now trembling as much as my hands, and I nearly switch the phone off at that point, reluctant to snoop further into his life and invade his privacy this way. But my curiosity is piqued by the mention of someone called Dylan, and after a second's hesitation I tap onto the Camera Roll to see if this can shed any light into Harry's secret life. 

There aren't many pictures on there, not that I am surprised. Harry doesn't exactly seem the type to want to capture a moment to look back on at a later date. However, as soon as I open the first one, everything falls into place with a heavy thud. My vision momentarily swims before me, and I feel as though my breath has been knocked out of my  chest. I can't believe I didn't realise this sooner. It has been staring me in the face for so long, I don't know how I didn't see it.

The first picture is of Harry sitting on a sofa. He has long hair, his skin is pale and he looks tired. He is looking towards the camera, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. In his arms is a small child of probably around eighteen months, wearing a Tottenham Hotspur football kit and clearly laughing at something, his mouth wide open and his eyes turned towards Harry. This is the same child as the one in the picture in Harry's wallet.

I swipe through another ten or so pictures, just to be sure. There are several pictures of the little boy on his own in various different poses: in his high chair, playing with a toy car on a floor mat, chewing on a slice of cucumber and one of him fast asleep beneath a tatty blue blanket with a teddy embroidered on the corner. And the last picture I view is of the three of them: Harry, Sofia and (I presume) Dylan; Harry and Sofia standing together with Dylan in Sofia's arms looking much younger, the Christmas tree in the background confirming this was probably taken around six months ago.

I stare at their faces on the screen, at Sofia's clear, olive complexion, long chestnut hair and perfect eyebrows, her eyes lit up with love and her teeth white and straight. I have never noticed her around on the estate before, and I'm sure I would have as her beauty would stick out like sore thumb compared to most of the cretins that reside in those high rise blocks. I stare at Harry's long hair, sparkling eyes and typical blank expression, his own raw beauty shining like a beacon in this beautiful family picture. But most of all I stare at the little boy with them, at his dark hair, his seemingly tanned complexion just like that of his mother and his cheeky smile, complete with dimple, just like that of his father.

I can't believe I ever thought this child was Harry, because although he is the spitting image of him, it is painfully obvious to anyone looking that this child is Harry's son.

---***---

Did you guess?? I've been sitting on that one since the very beginning, dying to drop it in but trying to be careful not to make the hints too obvious in case I gave it away too early! We're into the last quarter of the book now, with the rest of it planned out chapter by chapter. I'm a little behind with the updates (I couldn't decide on a few details in this chapter which set me back a day or so) but I'm still aiming to have the next one up this weekend.

Things are still far from normal over here. I'm homeschooling, working in the office two days a week and also working from home at the moment while the schools are still closed, so I am pretty much running on empty most days. Our lockdown measures are slowly being lifted as our infections come down, but it is still a worry that we will suffer a second wave if we relax our restrictions too soon. I hope everyone is staying safe and coping ok xxx