CHLOE

Crammed into Harry's single bed, we spend most of the night alternating between dozing, kissing and making love. I lose count of how many times he slips inside me, his fingers grazing my skin, his lips soft and wet against mine. Three, four, five, maybe? Sometimes it feels as though I am dreaming, barely awake but barely asleep, my hands exploring his body and my skin prickling each time I hear him moan in pleasure, rejoicing that I am the one making him feel this way. 

Dawn is breaking as we finally give in to sleep, our legs entwined, our bodies spent. It seems like only minutes after this that I feel Harry shift beside me, but a quick glance at my watch tells me it is almost nine o'clock. I roll over towards him to see him on his side, his head resting on the crook of his arm, watching me. 

"Hi," I smile, tentatively.

"Hi," he smiles back, with the same hesitance, and a hint of shyness. "Good night's sleep?" 

I feel my cheeks blush crimson as my mouth pulls into a stupid, embarrassed grin. "Not exactly."

He grins back, also stupidly. "Yeah, me neither." 

My heart is hammering in my chest, and I feel lightheaded. We lie in silence for a minute, and I try to quell my rising giddiness at this new and unexpected good mood. 

"Suppose I'd better get in the shower, then." He pushes the covers back and sits up in bed, giving me a lovely view of his bare torso that I hadn't properly been able to appreciate last night, thanks to the darkness. He turns to look back at me and catches me admiring him, his mouth tugging up at the corners into a cocky smirk. He hesitates for a second, and then twists around to lean over me, kissing me softly on the lips before hauling himself out of bed and into the bathroom. 

Once I can hear he is safely under the shower head, I pull his pillow over my face and scream into it, kicking my legs furiously under the covers, letting out my excitement. I don't know how we have arrived at this new level, and the rational part of my subconscious reminds me that we can just as easily return to "normal", such is his volatility. But for now I am going to let myself enjoy being the one on the receiving end of Harry's suggestive and knowing smile.

I slide out of bed and begin carefully collecting the last of my clothes that have been strewn around the room for the past two days, drying out after the downpour by the golf course. I fold each item neatly, packing them carefully into the main section of my rucksack, and select a pair of shorts and a tshirt to wear today. We haven't made plans yet but I know Harry is keen for us to leave the area as soon as possible. For the first time since we got here, the idea of leaving my childhood home doesn't feel quite so daunting. While the shower is still running I pull out my trusty atlas and begin examining potential destinations and possible routes. 

Harry says nothing when he exits the bathroom, so I dart in and take a hurried shower, collecting my toiletries on my way out and adding them to my bag. He stuffs something back into his wallet as I re-enter the room, shoving the whole thing into the back pocket of his khaki shorts and getting to his feet.

"I've been checking out where we can go next," I begin, zipping my rucksack shut. "Any long distance travel is going to require getting into a main town or city for a decent train link, or if you want to take the back roads again and keep off CCTV we need to be prepared for a lot of walking."

Harry pulls a face and sits back down on the bed. I say nothing and wait for him to gather his thoughts before he answers. "To be honest, neither of those appeal to me today. I'm too fucking knackered to be on high alert, and I'm too fucking knackered to be walking any further than to the nearest pub."

I hesitate, unsure how to react to this. When he offers nothing further I ask timidly, "I thought you were keen to get as far from Broadstairs as possible, given the potential risk it poses?"

He gives a deep sigh and runs his hand through his hair. "Yeah, and I still am. It's just... I'm fucking done in, Chloe. After last night, all I'm good for is chilling out for the day, preferably in the sun, with an ice cold beer in my hand." 

My face explodes with prickly heat at his reference to our night together, and when I sneak a glance at his face I am relieved to see he is wearing a sheepish grin. I clear my throat nervously. "Well, I won't deny I'm pretty tired too," I admit, the heat intensifying in my cheeks. (I'm sure my face must be purple by now.) "We could just chill somewhere quiet today if you want and pitch the tent in a remote spot tonight, get a good night's sleep, and move on tomorrow morning once we've worked out a plan?"

The relief on his face is evident. "Yeah. Let's do that. Isn't there like a beach nearby or something?"

My nervous energy expels itself in a snorted laugh. "Yes, Harry, we are at the seaside," I reply slowly. "There is a beach at the end of this road. I wouldn't recommend we pitch the tent there, though," I add thoughtfully. "It's completely open to the promenade, so any passing police car would spot us immediately."

"Can't we go back to that other beach, then? The one we camped on last time?"

I can't help feeling we might be tempting fate by going back to somewhere we have already been. "There's one a bit closer, that we passed on the way here," I tell him. "It's even quieter. It'll be perfect. It's probably an hour's walk, though."

He shrugs. "If an hour's walk means I can lie down and not move for the rest of the day, I'm OK with that."

Pleased we have managed to agree on a plan of action without arguing or damaging the positive atmosphere, I offer to check out of the room while Harry waits on the pavement outside. We enjoy a cooked breakfast in a small seaside café on the next street, before ducking into a mini supermarket to pick up enough supplies to last us the next couple of days. Harry is struck with enthusiasm over a small disposable barbecue so that, along with a pack of sausage and burgers, is scanned through the self-serve checkout and shoved into the backpacks. We are also tempted by a pack of chilled beers and a bottle of white wine that I immediately regret because they seem to add twenty pounds to the already heavy luggage strapped to our backs. 

We make our way along the beach path, taking the scenic route back towards Kingsgate Bay where I know we will be able to camp tonight in safety at the foot of the cliffs, unseen by anyone passing by. We walk mostly in silence and at a leisurely pace, taking in the sea view, lost in our own thoughts. It is lunchtime by the time we finally walk down the steps onto the sand and retreat to the furthest corner, far away from the handful of people currently occupying the quiet little beach. We don't bother to erect the tent, but spread our bags out around us in the shade of the cliffs and grab a drink each - a beer (that has lost some of its chill in the hot sun) for Harry, and a bottle of water for me.

"You not having a drink?" he asks, twisting the top of the bottle off with his hand and grimacing. I hold up my bottle of water in confusion, but he chuckles. "I mean a proper drink. There's a bottle of wine in there." He inclines his head to the food bag.

"I will, in a bit," I nod. "I'm just thirsty. We need to keep hydrated really, with all that walking in this heat."

After a long swig of his beer he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and then reclines slowly on the sand. After a moment's hesitation, I lie back next to him and watch as he tucks his arms behind his head and gives a deep sigh. "You might have to just put the tent up around me later," he jokes. "I'm not sure I'll be able to stay awake much longer." 

We lie in silence for a few minutes, before Harry asks, "you alright about leaving tomorrow?"

"Yeah," I murmur. "I would have liked to have visited my parents' grave again before we go, but I think it's best if we head straight off first thing in the morning. Do you want to look at the map with me, now? We can decide on a plan and then we can just chill for the rest of the afternoon."

To my surprise he agrees, and rolls over onto his stomach next to me to peruse the atlas. His forearm is touching mine but he makes no attempt to pull it away, and subsequently I enjoy fifteen minutes of close contact with him while we formulate a plan to take us far north: a mixture of walking and local transport links. We both agree we must stay off CCTV to enable us to get out of the area undetected. 

Harry takes charge of the barbecue in the late afternoon, poking and prodding the coals to encourage them to heat up, and proudly turns the sausages and burgers every couple of minutes once they are on the grill. I have to admit, they taste fantastic. We eat them side by side on the sand, with the tent now set up behind us, staring out to sea and watching the brilliant sunset with the waves crashing endlessly before us. The beach is now ours, the last of the holidaymakers having departed an hour or so ago, and suddenly Harry stands up and pulls me to my feet, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. 

"Come on. Let's go for a dip." 

"I don't even know where my costume is," I protest, but he waves his hand impatiently. 

"You don't need that. Come on. I'll race you." 

I am about to protest further but my words die in my throat as he pulls his tshirt over his head and unbuttons his shorts, letting them fall to the floor at his feet leaving him in nothing but a tight pair of boxers. 

"Come on," he says wickedly. "It's not like I haven't seen it all before anyway." 

I try to ignore the heat flooding my body as I throw caution to the wind and pull my top and shorts off, leaving me standing next to him in just my underwear. He gives me an appreciative glance that makes my blood zing in my veins. "That's better."

He grabs my hand and tugs me towards the water. His enthusiasm is infectious, and as I let go of my inhibitions I can't help laughing as we race towards the water hand in hand, splashing over the ripples of the waves and squealing as the surf splashes up our legs. Panting, we come to a stop knee deep, and Harry leans forward, his hands on his knees, laughing. 

"Feel better now?" I tease, and he looks up at me, beaming, and kicks icy cold seawater at me. 

I scream and try to cover myself, turning my back on him, but he does it again, sending the spray all the way up my back and into my hair. Once I realise he isn't going to stop, and that I am already drenched anyway, I bend down and scoop my hands into the water, flinging it at his bare chest and throwing my head back with laughter as his squeals now mimic my own. He charges towards me, his hair now saturated with seawater, and grabs me in his arms, crushing me against his chest as I fight to free myself but to no avail. Being at least six inches taller than me and probably at least forty pounds heavier, I don't stand a chance. I am fighting to stay upright now, my balance compromised by the waves rushing over our feet and also by our wrestling match. He stumbles, but manages to steady himself, holding me still and then looking down at me, panting and laughing, droplets of water falling onto my skin from his wet hair. 

He relaxes his grip on me and I slide my arms round his neck, turning my body into his and closing my eyes as he leans down to kiss me. His lips are cold but his tongue is warm; he tastes salty and delicious. His arms slip around my waist and my groin pushes against his, feeling the beginning of his excitement. My hips roll forward of their own accord and his hands slide up my sides, brushing the sides of my bra before running across the cups, his fingers teasing my rock hard nipples through the fabric. He lifts me up into his arms and I wrap my legs around his waist as he jogs back to the tent with me in his arms, our lips pressed together the whole way. We barely make it through the flap before his boxers are round his ankles and my knickers are down, his fingers fumbling behind my back to remove my wet and soggy bra. When he eventually slides into me some time later I grip him round the waist with my legs and close my eyes as he pounds into me hard, with urgency that is mirrored in his kisses, and dig my nails into his skin.

Afterwards we lie together, my head on his shoulder, his fingertips caressing my arm.

"You're like a different person," he murmurs softly, almost to himself, and I lift my head to look at him.

"So are you," I point out, and he frowns at me. "When you relax and let yourself go, you're... you're amazing," I add, nervous at admitting this to his face.

"So are you," he counters cheekily, repeating my own words back to me on purpose. "So why has it taken so long for you just to be yourself?"

I lay my head back on his shoulder, thinking about his question. "I don't know," I admit. "I suppose I've spent so long keeping my distance from everyone, I've almost forgotten how to be me. How to let go, and have fun." 

"Do you mean back home, in London?" he asks, and I nod. He turns his head towards me, looking into my eyes. "And why did you keep your distance from everyone? Why don't you have any friends there?"

I shrug, but my heartrate is already increasing, as memories I wish to keep buried begin to surface. 

But Harry is not to be deterred, or fooled, it seems. He shifts underneath me, pushing himself onto one elbow to scrutinise me. "Don't shrug. Tell me."

"There's nothing to tell."

My hands are trembling, and a terrible sickness now resides in the pit of my stomach. 

"Don't lie to me, Chloe. Fuck's sake, I bare my soul to you about all my fucking shit, and still you won't trust me with whatever shit is in your past? What the fuck is that about?"

His impatience is obvious, and instinctively I shut down, curling into a ball and rolling onto my side away from him.

"Don't turn your back on me. Why is it OK for you to have secrets but not me? How is that fair?"

But any trust he has built over the last twenty four hours crumbles around us as I squeeze my eyes shut, pushing him away and hiding yet again from the demons of my past.

There is so much he doesn't know, and so much he can never know. And there is something else: something terrible, lurking beneath the surface that even I can't remember. Something I am terrified to remember. But something that I know has the power to change everything. 

---***---

I've spent some time recently planning out the remaining chapters of this book, all the way to the end. If all goes according to plan, there are another 18 chapters plus an epilogue. My goal is to be able to enter this story in the 2020 Watty Awards so it needs to be completed before 30th September to meet the entry deadline. That means a minimum of one chapter per week until then and this time I am determined to stick to it! So please keep the votes and comments coming, because nothing motivates me more than reader feedback!