CHLOE

I need to speak to Harry. I can't sit here in this hotel for the rest of the night, waiting for him to come back steaming drunk and then try and have this conversation with him. I need to have this out with him now, before he drinks himself into oblivion. I shove his phone into the back pocket of my jeans along with the hotel room key and I am out of the door and on my way back towards town before I can change my mind. 

How could he have kept this from me? How has he managed not to mention his own son this whole time that we have been on the run together? We have lived in each other's pockets for weeks, yet he has somehow managed to omit the most important part of his life, a part that defines him as a father and links him to Sofia forever. How could he not have told me?

My insides are quivering as I turn the corner onto the main street and make my way up the road almost at a run. I have no idea what I am going to say to him, or even if I will be able to find him. I don't even know whether he went into the bar opposite the Chinese restaurant, and if he did whether he will still be there now. 

There is a crowd of people outside the bar now, sipping drinks, laughing and chatting in the dusky evening. I have to push my way through them to get to the entrance, muttering awkward apologies and 'excuse me's. The inside is small and cramped with a long bar running all the way across the back wall and low seating scattered around the other three. It is packed with people sitting and standing, warm bodies pressed together creating a suffocating sense of heat and humidity. I stand on tiptoes scanning the room for Harry, peering over shoulders and between groups. I slip through the crowd and reach the bar, leaning forward to glance along it and catching sight of a familiar face at the other end, just turning away and heading in the direction of the mens toilet. I shout his name several times but I am not surprised he can't hear me over the beat of the music and the chatter of the drinkers enjoying themselves. 

I decide against trying to push my way over to the toilets to wait for him and instead wait where I am at this end of the bar. After about ten seconds a barman approaches me with his eyebrows raised and I realise he is waiting to take my order. I am momentarily thrown. I haven't brought any money with me in my haste (I am so used to Harry dipping into his endless supply of cash) so I stare back at him gormlessly until a voice in my right ear says, "I'll get these. What are you having?"

I squeak in fright, turning towards the stranger in shock and shaking my head, muttering a refusal and a thanks simultaneously, but he is not to be deterred.

"Go on, what would you like? A wine? A cocktail? A shot?"

He is smiling at me, his eyes twinkling, and because I can't bear to be rude to someone, even a total stranger, I accept his offer and he orders me some sort of cocktail. 

"I'm Tom," he smiles, extending his hand and beaming when I shake it.

"C-Carly," I stammer, nearly giving my real name in my discomfiture. 

"Well, Carly, it's lovely to meet you," he replies. He has to lean close to my ear to make himself heard over the music, and I feel nervous and anxious at his invasion of my personal space, even though he is being friendly. I dart another glance down the bar but Harry has yet to emerge from the mens toilet.

"Are you not from round here then?" Tom asks, leaning one arm casually on the bar and holding his bottle of beer loosely in his free hand.

"Sorry? Um - no, I'm from, er, Devon," I lie, taking a large gulp of my drink as the blood rushes to my face and hoping he won't notice my fluster.

"Thought the accent sounded a bit foreign," he winks and I look up at him sharply, afraid he is laughing at me. His eyes are crinkly at the corners and he has a trace of stubble across the bottom half of his face, and the way he is smiling I can tell he is teasing rather than poking fun. I can't help but smile back at him. "So what brings you to Dumfries?" he asks.

I take another gulp of my cocktail to stall for time. I am completely out of my depth. I am terrible at lying at the best of times, least of all under this amount of pressure.

"Um, I'm here to visit my, er, boyfriend," I stutter lamely, and Tom's smile turns down from a level ten to around a level eight.

"Ah. I see. Great stuff. Is he here with you tonight?" 

I open my mouth to answer, but another voice does so for me.

"Who the fuck is this?"

I jump for the second time in five minutes thanks to a gruff but familiar voice in my right ear. I look up into eyes of forest green, that right now look as black as night. My heart comes to a stop for a split second and my stomach performs a slow roll.

"This - this is Tom," I answer nervously, and Harry meets my eye for longer than necessary before turning to look at Tom who holds his hand out to Harry, still smiling. Harry slowly and deliberately drops his gaze to Tom's extended hand, stares at it for a moment, and then lifts his gaze again just as slowly back to Tom's face without moving his arms from his sides.

After a beat of awkwardness Tom retracts his hand and I glare at Harry, forgetting for a minute the enormity of what I have discovered tonight to hiss at him, "Don't be an arse!"

"Well, it was nice meeting you Carly," he smiles at me. "Take care."

"Sorry," I call after him as he turns away. "And thanks for the drink!"

He nods briefly, and I turn to Harry, my cheeks flaming with fury. "What the hell was that? Why were you so rude to him?"

"Who the fuck is he? Did he buy you a drink?!"

I stare at him in disbelief. I have never met anyone that has as mixed up priorities as Harry. 

"Yes, he bought me a drink. He was nice. What's it to you, anyway?" If I'm such a nag, I feel like adding childishly, but refrain.

"What's it to me?" he repeats, his voice adopting the low and sinister tone that usually means trouble and leaning closer to me so he will be heard over the noise. "Wow, I don't know Chloe, maybe I'm concerned that some guy you've only just laid eyes on is trying to get you drunk? Or - or maybe he could be undercover filth? Did you consider that?"

My own temper is rising, much faster than Harry's. I take a small step back to glare at him, my heart rate increasing along with my anger. "You think an undercover police officer just bought me a cocktail? Really? I would have though that since we're wanted in connection with a murder-" (I hiss this last word) "that any police officer in the vicinity would probably have slapped a pair of handcuffs on me and marched me out to the car before you would have even realised I was here!"

"What are you even doing here anyway?" he shouts in my ear. "I thought you went back to the hotel?"

"I need to talk to you."

He pulls his mouth away from my ear, leaning back to observe me suspiciously before shaking his head.

"Why are you shaking your head?" 

"I'm not coming outside for a row."

I lift my hands in the air in exasperation. "What are you talking about? I haven't come here to nag you. There are things we need to talk about; things that can't wait. Things that can't be said while you are three sheets to the wind."

He raises one eyebrow, a triumphant smirk lurking at the corners of this mouth.

"So you did come here to nag me."

I slam my drink down on the bar and grab his wrist, pulling him (with difficulty) through the throng towards the exit and out onto the pavement. Once outside he wrenches his arm from my grip and glares at me.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"This can't wait."

"Well it's going to have to wait-"

"I know about Dylan!" I blurt.

It's as though someone has pressed pause: Harry's whole body stiffens. My heart pounds furiously as his eyes dart to mine, wide and fearful, the blood slowly draining from his face.

"What did you just say?" he asks, his voice catching on the last word.

"You heard me right. I said I know about Dylan. I know about your son, Harry."

He says nothing, but stares at me in a mixture of horror and disbelief. His face is as white as a sheet now, and his eyes dart between mine. He licks his lips nervously. Eventually, when it becomes clear that I am not going to speak, he finds his voice. "How?" 

With trembling hands, I reach into my back pocket and pull out his iPhone, passing it to him and watching his expression change from one of confusion to realisation and back to confusion again. "Where did you get this?"

"When we planted the phone on the train I switched them at the last minute and sent mine instead, with your SIM card. You were so reluctant to let yours out of your sight, and I thought you would want it back. I was going to give it to you, but I forgot about it until I found it just now, in a pocket of my bag."

"And you looked through it?" He looks up at me, his expression hard and unamused now.

"Yes, I did," I reply bluntly. "You've been quiet these last couple of days. I was worried about you."

"So you thought you'd snoop through my phone to see if there was anything juicy on there."

"No, it wasn't like that," I begin, noting a defensive tone already creeping into my voice. "I hardly looked at anything. Just a few photos, really."

"And obviously my messages too, if you know Dylan's name," he fires back, his eyes flashing. "You... you had no fucking right!"

"I had every fucking right!" I shout at him. "You have a son, Harry! A child! This changes everything!"

"Fuck you, Chloe," he spits, jabbing his finger at me, his teeth bared. "You don't know jack shit about anything, so don't pretend you do."

He begins to walk, stepping into the road momentarily to pass me, and I turn as he does so. "Exactly!" I scream after him, following him when it becomes apparent he isn't going to stop. "I don't know jack shit! Because you haven't told me!"

He doesn't answer, but strides furiously along the pavement back towards the hotel.

"How could you keep him a secret?" I bellow, breaking into a run to catch up with him and grabbing his arm with my hand which he shakes off impatiently. "All these weeks we've been together day and night and not once have you mentioned being a father! How could you not tell me?!"

He rounds on me, his eyes wild and his skin still white and taut. "Are you taking the piss? Have you heard yourself? All you do is keep secrets from me, and you have the balls to yell at me for keeping one part of my life private?!"

"Massive part to keep private!" I laugh shortly, even though I am on the verge of tears. "You must have had to think about it constantly to stop yourself from accidentally spilling that one! It all makes sense now; the reason why you've stayed with Sofia even though you say you're not happy, that blue blanket you carry everywhere with you, your distance and your moods..."

I trail off as my eyes focus on something in the distance that sends ice flying through my veins. I am aware he is shouting something back at me, but all I can think about is that we are standing here in public, screaming at each other in full view of a police car that is going to drive past us in less than ten seconds. My eyes dart up and down the street but there is nowhere to hide, or to run. Harry is yelling in my face, and all I can manage is the word, "Police..."

He shuts up instantly, his face dropping, and I do the only thing that comes to mind in a vague attempt to hide us in plain sight. I slip my arms around his neck and press my lips to his, pulling his face down towards me and nudging my hips against him. He reacts within a split second, pushing me back against the wall of the building behind us and kissing me back, his palms flat against the brick and his groin pressing gently against mine. My eyes are closed but I hear several cars passing us without slowing down. After about fifteen seconds I risk a glance over Harry's shoulder mid-kiss and see the police car disappearing into the distance, not even slowing down as it passes the bar we were just in.

I break the kiss and he opens his eyes slowly, his lips still only an inch from mine. "They're gone," I whisper, still looking over his shoulder. "I think it was a false alarm." I flick my eyes back to his again and he holds my gaze, his breath soft on my face and his taste still lingering my mouth. I am furious with him, but my anger pales into insignificance under the burn of his eyes and the softness of his lips as he leans forward and kisses me again, for no other reason than desire this time. 

As we enter our hotel room fifteen minutes later, I make a point of keeping out of reaching distance of him. I know that if I give in to my desire it will lead us straight to bed, and right now I need answers from him, whether I deserve them or not. I sit down on my side of the bed and he kicks his shoes off before sitting down on the other side, looking at me with resignation.

"You have a son," I prompt, and he nods. "Called Dylan." He nods again. "How old is he?" I ask, and he bows his head.

"He's two tomorrow," he mutters, and a flood of realisation washes over me.

"Is that why you've been quiet lately?" I breathe. "Because you knew his birthday is coming up?"

He nods again, miserably. "I'm letting him down, not being there on his birthday. We were going to get him one of those little tricycle things..." he trails off and stares at the wall, his eyes strangely glassy.

"Why didn't you tell me about him?" I ask gently.

"I didn't trust you at first," he sighs. "I didn't know you from Adam. And so much shit had been going on, I wasn't sure what you might say, who you might tell..."

I shake my head in confusion. "You're not making any sense. What do you mean, who I might tell? Why would I speak to anyone about you, let alone your son?"

He sighs again, staring up at the ceiling, and suddenly I get the feeling he is about to open up to me, to reveal something more; another piece of the puzzle.

"It's complicated, Chloe. There's so much shit going on behind the scenes that you don't know." He pauses, and I wait, eager not to do anything to deter him from explaining everything. "Chris was trying to get me into dealing again," he begins, and I feel an overwhelming panic deep inside me at the mention of Chris' name. I force it under control as Harry speaks, determined not to allow anything to distract him. "He was putting a lot of pressure on me, but I told him I wasn't going to do anything to risk putting myself back in prison. I've got Dylan now, I need to be there for him. I had no real father figure growing up, except..." He trails off and I nod sympathetically, not wishing to rake up the trauma of his step father all over again. "Chris knew about Dylan, and when I refused to get involved in dealing, he started spreading it around the estate that I had gone soft, and that... that Dylan was the key to my undoing. He made a couple of idle threats behind my back, saying it would be really unfortunate if something happened to Dylan, and it got back to me. I was furious, and fucking scared. I wasn't afraid of what someone might do to me, but I was afraid of them coming after Dylan or Sofia.

"So I went looking for Chris to tell him to stop talking shit about me behind me back. I intended to threaten him, rough him up just enough to remind him that I wasn't soft and that I could fucking kill him if I wanted to. But you were there too, and he was winding you up and frightening you. He grabbed you, and I just saw red. I never actually meant to kill him, but something in me took over and I just kept hitting him. I didn't think it was hard enough to kill him, but... but it must have been."

His words bring back the vivid memory of that night. I close my eyes as he speaks and picture the gravelly ground, the dusky evening, the miserable high rise flats. I can smell the balmy summer air and the warm blood oozing from Chris' face. I fight against a wave of nausea threatening to overcome me, my heart pounding in my chest and my palms cold and clammy balled up at my sides.

"When I came to my senses I panicked," he continues. "I honestly thought he was still breathing, but I also knew I'd done some serious damage and I knew I'd be thrown in prison for a very long time. Chris' car was parked round the corner - on impulse I ran to it and tried the door. He'd left it open, and in the boot was his stash of cash. I grabbed it, legged it home, grabbed a few clothes and left. Sofia realised something was up, but I knew that the less she knew, the better. I told her I needed to lie low for a while, told her not to tell the police anything. I took my car to get a good distance away, using the back roads to avoid being seen by the police, and then I dumped it underneath the flyover. When I realised you were hiding on the backseat I was completely blindsided. I didn't know how much you knew about me, or about what had happened, so I couldn't tell you anything in case you grassed me up. Not just to the police, but to anyone involved with Chris. I was scared for Dylan's safety with me gone. I soon realised you weren't a threat, but by then it was sort of an awkward one to bring up, and you just asked so many fucking questions about everything it was just easier and safer not to tell you. And then we got closer, and I wanted to tell you but by then so much time had passed I knew it would be a massive deal, so I just kept quiet. I'm sorry," he adds, and there is meaning and sincerity in his tone.

I let out a deep breath, my mind racing to understand everything he has just told me. I have wondered for so long about the events leading up to Harry's attack on Chris. I can remember parts of that evening so clearly, including Harry's unbridled fury towards me when his relationship with Katie the barmaid and Colette the landlady were brought up.

"Is that why you went for Chris? Because of what he had been saying about you and Dylan?" I ask. I feel a little disappointed in a strange sort of way, as all the times I have replayed that scene in my head the only conclusion I have come to regarding Harry's behaviour is that he was defending me when he thought Chris was going to hurt me.

"It was a mixture of that, and the way he grabbed you and frightened you. I've witnessed that sort of thing too many times - there was no way I was going to let it happen again right in front of me when I was capable of putting a stop to it."

My stomach dances a little jig at his words. His motive may not have been solely to defend me but it formed part of the reason for his attack, and I feel strangely grateful to the Harry of the past who defended me when no one else did or could.

"For what it's worth, I don't think he would have seriously hurt me with you there," I mutter. "But thanks for sticking up for me." He looks uncomfortable at my gratitude and looks away, and there is another question burning on my lips now. "So that money in your holdall that we've been using - that belonged to Chris? Where did he get it from?"

Harry eyes dart briefly to mine and back to the wall again. "It's drugs money, Chloe. You can't exactly deposit thousands of pounds into your bank regularly without people asking questions."

"But... but Chris never looked like he was rich!" I splutter in disbelief.

"That's because he spent it mostly on clothes, drink, drugs and cars," Harry declares darkly. "And he'd only been dealing for a year or so. He flashed the cash with the girls on the estate to get them into bed. I knew he had that bag of cash, because the moron bragged about it every opportunity he got. I bet the minute news got around that he was dead, there will have been a swarm of people trying to find his stash."

I feel sick at the thought of Chris, and while I am pushing him to the back of my mind something else pops to the front.

"I have to ask," I begin before I can bottle it, "Colette... did you really sleep with her?"

His discomfort visibly increases. "Yeah. A few times. It was just a casual thing, usually after a few too many pints."

I hate myself for the jealousy burning through my veins right now. "And Katie...?"

He shifts again, not meeting my eyes. "Same sort of thing. Happened a couple of times."

"Were there any others?"

"Yes."

I can't allow myself to dwell on this revelation right now.

"And... and did Sofia know?"

He bites his lip and looks down at his lap. "She knew about a few, yeah. Not specifically Katie or Colette, though."

"But she forgave you?"

"Yeah. Kind of, I suppose."

I can't imagine how a relationship could survive without trust, but since I have zero experience I am in no position to judge. "She must have, if you're still with her."

He jiggles his knees uncomfortably. "I've treated her like shit. We'd only been seeing each other a couple of months when she got pregnant. Things had to move fast - I didn't want to be a part time dad to our kid. We got a house together but I wasn't ready for the responsibility of a family and I took it out on her. I slept around, took her for granted. I was literally on my last chance with her and I still went after Katie, and Colette... and now you."

"I'm sorry," I mumble, tears pricking my eyes again.

"You shouldn't apologise. I'm the dickhead here, not you. It's different with you. Katie and Colette were just... a way to pass the time. A way to rebel against my boring day to day life. You're... you're different," he emphasises again, and my heart skips several more beats.

"You said you hadn't told anyone about your childhood," I remind him gently, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Did you mean you haven't even told Sofia?"

He shakes his head before finally looking up to meet my eyes. "I couldn't. There was never a right time. She knows I had it tough but I never went into detail. I'm not that great at talking about stuff; not important stuff anyway."

We are both quiet for a couple of minutes. I take the opportunity to change into a tshirt to wear to bed, pull back the covers and slide into my side while he remains seated on the bed, still fully dressed. I can't tell him what I am thinking privately - that there is no wonder his relationship with Sofia is hanging by a thread considering the way he has behaved and the enormity of what he has kept from her. By his own admission he isn't good at discussing important things; this is evident in the fact he kept his son a secret from me all this time. But given what he has been through in his life he is not entirely to blame for some of it. He is a product of his environment, without a doubt.

He heaves himself to his feet with a sigh and strips off where he is, dropping his clothes to the floor and sliding into bed beside me in just a tight pair of boxer shorts. I know I shouldn't continue to complicate things now I know the full details of Harry's personal circumstances, but I also can't let him think I am abandoning him or punishing him when he is finally confiding in me. I reach for him and he pulls me into his arms almost desperately, causing me to wonder just how much love and affection he ever gets at home, and if this is another reason we connect so deeply: because we both crave close physical contact.

I don't know where tonight's confession leaves us and our relationship: there is so much to think about and so many factors to consider. But one thing I do know is that Harry cannot let tomorrow pass without making some form of contact with his son.

---***---

Longer chapter this week! I hope you enjoyed further insight into Harry's life. Do you think his behaviour is justified? Do you think he has changed at all throughout this story? How will his and Chloe's relationship be affected now she knows his circumstances? I love hearing what you think so please comment (and vote by hitting the star button if you wouldn't mind!) Until next weekend... xx