CHLOE 

The rain continues throughout the night, but our little tent doesn't let us down. The man in the camping shop in Totnes obviously sold us a good one because it has kept us and our belongings as dry as a bone despite the various downpours. Around three a.m. I fumble around for a pair of pyjama bottoms and a hoodie, since Harry has long since rolled away and curled himself into a tight ball with his back to me. The drop in temperature has meant I have woken up feeling stiff and miserable, and longing for a hot shower to warm my bones. 

After finding myself beneath Harry once again last night, somehow still unable to reject him, I can't help feeling sick with anxiety trying to anticipate his mood today. Surely he can't ignore me again? Although, I would prefer to be ignored than hissed at like yesterday when I suggested he leave some of his tatty belongings behind at the hotel on the seafront. But would he really treat me badly again, after letting me get so close to him for the second time in two nights? I wish I could confidently answer myself NO, but realistically he could have some sort of split personality disorder, given the way he has behaved recently.

I am just wondering if I might actually have hit the nail on the head with this notion when I feel him stir next to me, and I look over to see him push himself into a sitting position, rubbing his left eye with the heel of his hand.

I bite my lip, afraid to speak, and once his eyes focus he looks over at me with a slight frown. "Fucking freezing last night."

"Yeah," I agree, my heart lifting a little.

"Thought the tent was gonna flood." 

"Yeah I wondered if it would withstand all that rain," I nod. "It seemed to do the job, though." 

"Not like we can take it back for a refund." 

I giggle sycophantically, my insides dancing a jig at his apparent lift in mood.

"Is it still raining?" he asks after a moment.

I am about to open the flap and look out, when I stop myself. Since when did I become his slave?

"No idea," I reply. "I can't hear anything, so I presume not."

He leans forward and lifts the zip to peer out onto the beach. The surface of the sand is wet and looking down to the water I can see the waves breaking impatiently onto the shoreline; white and frothy, and nothing like the relaxed, calming monotony they presented yesterday. The sky overhead is grey and forbidding, a world away from the cornflower blue. It strikes me that we have been lucky with the weather so far on our journey, and not once have we had to worry seriously about shelter from the elements. I have a feeling that may be about to change.

"We should be able to get a hot drink from the café soon," I tell him, hoping this will add to his seemingly positive demeanour. "I think it opens fairly early."

He nods slowly, apparently thinking. "Are there showers here?"

"Only cold ones for rinsing sand off, as far as I know," I reply. "I think our best bet for a full wash is probably a quick dip in the sea, although it'll be icy cold at this time in the morning."

He grunts. "Better than nothing, I suppose." 

Before I can respond he pulls a pair of boxers out of his bag, wriggles into them beneath his sleeping bag and then crawls out of the tent. I push open the flap and stare after him, my mouth hanging open as he jogs down the beach towards the sea without a backward glance, his hair bouncing on top of his head and the sand spraying beneath him with every step. 

He reaches the shore and as his feet splash into the incoming wave I hear his howl of shock, presumably at the temperature of the water. I throw my head back and laugh out loud at his gangly legs skipping over the waves in an attempt to slow himself down without falling over, but it's too late - the force of his momentum is too strong against the resistance of the water and I watch as he stumbles and falls to his knees, giving a screech of misery as a huge wave hits him head on, covering his entire body with freezing grey saltwater. 

I shouldn't laugh - I really know I shouldn't - but I can only blame the nervousness bubbling inside me that manifests itself as mild hysteria as he staggers to his feet, dripping from head to toe, with a long, slimy-looking piece of seaweed draped casually over his left shoulder. He wraps his arms around himself instinctively and then jumps up and down in the knee-high water a couple of times, punctuating each rise with a little yell of disapproval. 

I am screaming with laughter now, and I watch as he takes a deep breath and crouches down in the next wave, growling this time at the cold but ducking his head under and then raking his hands vigorously through his hair. I look away, allowing him some privacy to wash himself without an audience, and less than twenty seconds later I hear his feet pounding up the sand as he returns to the tent. 

"Fucking hell!" he growls. "It's fucking Baltic!"

"Well, I did warn you," I grin as he begins to dry himself, shivering as the wind raises goosebumps on his skin. "Graceful fall, by the way." 

He says nothing, but his eyes flick to mine in the briefest acknowledgement of my humour at his expense. I decide I have pushed my luck far enough for now, retrieve my towel and make my way carefully down to the water in just a camisole and knickers, knowing he is possibly watching me and trying my best to act like this is no big deal. I am not brave enough to plunge in like Harry has just done, and instead tiptoe out into the waves, gritting my teeth at the icy droplets splashing on my skin and making sure my back is to Harry when I finally bite the bullet and dunk my upper body in up to my neck. Once the initial shock has worn off it isn't really that bad, and I remind myself that I don't know when or where my next wash will be, and this could be the best I can get for a while. 

When I return to the tent a couple of minutes later it is empty, but as all Harry's belongings are still strewn across the air mattress I'm not too worried, and busy myself with drying off and packing my things up into my rucksack, trying not to obsess over whether Harry will be in a good mood when he returns or what the atmosphere will be like today. A minute or so later I hear the unmistakable patter of feet on sand, before Harry's face appears at the tent flap. He is holding two paper cups that are steaming in the morning air, and a paper bag that looks like it might contain our breakfast. 

He hands me one of the cups without a word, and then shuffles to position himself in the doorway of the tent, his bottom inside and his legs bent at the knee with his feet flat on the sand. After a moment's hesitation I wriggle awkwardly over to join him and watch as he twists the bottom of his drink into the sand to keep it upright, then pulls a bacon roll out of the paper bag before handing the bag to me. I look inside to see another of the same and we sit in silence for a few minutes, chewing on our breakfast and sipping our cups of tea while staring out at the sea. 

"So," I venture, once only the dregs of my drink remain. "What's the plan?" 

He doesn't answer immediately, and gives no indication that he has heard me. I wait, a flicker of unease igniting in the pit of my stomach. Please, let him be nice to me today. I couldn't face a repeat of yesterday, not with all my emotions still so raw. 

"I don't have a plan," he replies eventually. He doesn't look at me, but although his tone is final it isn't aggressive, and I feel the muscles in my abdomen relax a little. I wait to see if he will elaborate on this, but it appears this is all he has to offer.

"Right," I nod slowly, wondering where to take this conversation next. I'm aware that Harry dictates the entire mood and I am keen to keep things positive to avoid any form of confrontation. "Just to clarify - you have no plan at all? As in, nothing whatsoever?" 

"Nothing whatsoever," he repeats, gazing out to sea with his hands around his paper mug. 

"So," I begin again, tentatively, "we're just sitting here, drinking tea on a beach, and neither of us has a clue what to do next."

He turns his head towards me and makes eye contact for the first time today. My stomach jolts as his gaze meets mine in such close proximity, and I can't help remembering the heat from his body pressed against mine last night, and the taste of his lips. I need to get a grip.

"I think," I squeak, "that you - we - need to start thinking properly about how we're going to get you out of this mess. The longer you - we - run, the worse we're going to make it for ourselves."

He stares at me as though I have grown another head. "You saying I should hand myself in?" 

"No! I - I don't know... I mean, think about it. How long do you plan on carrying on like this? Your money will only last you so long, and it's not like either of us can go and get a job, can we? You've been on the news, and surely by now they'll have realised that I'm missing too. The police aren't stupid." (Harry snorts at this). "I'm not trying to have a go at you," I add hastily. "I'm just really struggling to work out how this is going to end."

Harry says nothing while I speak, and when I have finished he looks back out across the beach at the horizon in silence. The breeze ruffles his hair and I long to brush it back across his forehead and out of his eyes. He takes a slow deep breath in, and lets it out equally slowly. "I can't go to prison again." 

I don't know how to answer this. Once the police catch up with him they will lock him up for sure. A man is dead, after all. 

Fear races suddenly through my veins like a crackle of electricity, making my whole body jerk in reaction. I am flooded with unwanted memories: Chris' body lying in the dirt, the smell of blood hanging in the summer air, the distant sirens of the emergency services hurtling to the scene.

My stomach churns, the bacon roll threatening to make an appearance if I don't get my emotions under control. 

A man is dead. Chris is dead. Faces flash before my eyes: Ian, Katie, Colette. My first schoolteacher, my old social worker, my parents. 

Him.

My lips are pressed hard together and I want to squeeze my eyes shut, but I'm suddenly afraid that if I do I will remember something; something I fear more than anything, something I have buried, something that must remain so. 

I take a deep breath, focussing my eyes on a seagull circling above the waves. Round and round it soars, its wings angled against the wind, totally focussed on its own goal. I dig my fingers into sand beneath me, ignoring the grit lodging itself under my nails and concentrating hard on the determined bird whose own perpetual pursuit gradually succeeds in driving away my fear, and the memories that continue to haunt me.

"We need to stay off radar for a bit. Stay a couple of nights in the tent somewhere away from civilisation." Harry's voice breaks my concentration and brings me back to earth with a thump. My heart is pounding and my back feels clammy, but I can feel myself regaining control, and I shift my gaze from the seagull to the horizon. Dark clouds are gathering and the wind is skimming the tops of the waves, sending white spray into the air.

"There's a storm coming," I murmur softly, more to myself than anyone else.

"Well we can't stay here then," Harry snaps, turning abruptly onto his knees and crawling into the tent where he begins shoving his belongings into his bags. I watch him for a moment, my eyes following his fingers as they open the zip of his holdall, presumably to make sure the wads of cash are still safe, and then close it again. A burst of adrenaline shoots through me.

"Harry," I ask, in a voice that isn't mine and raising my hand to point at the holdall, "where did you get - "

"We need to pack this tent up and get moving before we start attracting suspicion," he says loudly, drowning out my words and turning his back on me deliberately.

Reluctantly I put the last of my things neatly into my bag while Harry deflates the air mattress and rolls up his sleeping bag. I am desperate to interrogate him further but I take my cue from his body language and close my mouth in defeat. I know I have given him something to think about with my questions about his plans, and I can only hope that he takes the opportunity to mull it over while we begin the next stage of our journey.

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I'm trying hard to stick to my goal of weekly updates! I'm out tomorrow night so this week's update is a day earlier than usual. I'm loving getting back into writing this book, and I hope you're enjoying it too. Thanks for reading xx