CHLOE 

We can't stay here, but he doesn't rush me to leave. I know that every second I remain here, wailing in plain sight, increases the risk of being seen and being caught. I don't want to do anything to jeopardise our liberty, but I can't control the six years of suppressed emotions that have suddenly all boiled to the surface at once. I don't know what I was expecting to feel when I finally came here, but it wasn't this all-encompassing, life consuming, gut-wrenching pain. 

He allows me to hit him, to scream into his chest, to tell him how unfair it is, and he does nothing but hold me in his arms and let me just be me. He will never know how much I needed these moments, and how essential they were to my survival.

I don't know how much time passes. It could be a minute, it could be an hour. I have no concept of anything other than my own grief. My eyes feel red raw and puffy. My throat is hoarse from crying. I am desperate for a drink. He is probably ready to pass out from heat and lack of fluids, but still he says nothing. He understands it must be me to be the one to suggest we leave. It must be me to speak first.

Eventually the torrent of emotion begins to slow, until it is no more than a trickle of a tear on my cheek and an occasional involuntary gasp for breath. I wipe my face with my fingers, my head throbbing. The trees continue to rustle in the warm breeze. The birds continue their song above us. A butterfly flutters by, minding its own business and ignoring us both. The world turns. Life goes on.

I look up into Harry's eyes.

"I'm ready now."

He nods, and helps me to my feet, his own legs wobbling probably from lack of circulation thanks to kneeling on the ground for so long holding me still. I bend down and kiss both sides of the headstone, leaving my imprint on each of their names, so a tiny part of me, however miniscule, may be with them forever. I don't know when, if ever, I will be back here again.

Together we make our way slowly and carefully along the row of headstones back to the path. We retrace our steps through the quiet little cemetery, the only sound the ever-present birdsong, the swish of our feet through the grass, and the occasional sniff from me as I wipe my hands repeatedly over my face to clear away the tears.

I pause again at the entrance to glance at the tall war memorial, before turning out onto the street and making a beeline for a small cafe a couple of doors down. If nothing else I need to work out where we can stay tonight, not to mention we are both hungry and probably dehydrated. I don't know how long it has been since either of us ate or drank. The events of today feel strangely surreal.

We order some food and I start to pull the atlas out of my rucksack to start plotting the next part of our journey. Harry catches my wrist, and as I look up at him in apprehension he gives his head a brief shake. "We'll stay in a hotel tonight."

"But - I thought... you don't want to risk being caught..."

"I think we could both use a hot shower and a comfy bed."

I don't argue with this. I am physically, mentally and emotionally drained. 

I gulp down the glass of water that arrives at the table a minute later and immediately request another. My lunch is delivered not long after, and it takes me less than ten minutes to consume the lot. It is mid afternoon, and we haven't eaten anything since a couple of cereal bars first thing this morning.

There isn't much to say as we sit opposite each other, devouring our food. Our relationship has changed in the last two hours, and gone from one of vague (in)tolerance, to something more. We have had moments of understanding in the past, snapshots of closeness, but today was something far greater. Today he came through for me, and I let him. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't have come here, or indeed be in this mess that we are in, but also if it wasn't for him I wouldn't have made it through this afternoon. What I have just done I could not have faced alone, and I know now that deep down, when I made the decision that our journey would bring us here, I knew that he would see me through it. If I didn't think he would, I know I wouldn't have decided to come. But I did know, and he did see me through.

Maybe I have proved myself to be trustworthy enough, after saving his bacon more than once. Maybe he has come to realise that despite everything he says out loud, he does need me after all, and this is his way of showing his gratitude? Or maybe - just maybe - he has grown to like me just a little bit? Maybe I am no longer the inconvenient tagalong, but part of the duo. I can only second guess him, as I am far too shy to ask him outright, but either way I know that things seem to have changed for the better and I couldn't be happier about that.

It is late afternoon when Harry pays our bill and we hoist all our gear onto our backs again and exit the cafe. 

"Do you know a hotel where we can stay?" Harry asks as he follows me back along the narrow street.

"There are plenty in the town centre," I reply. "It's a proper little seaside town, full of tourists in the summer months. We might have to wander around a few to find one with vacancies though."

"How far?" he wants to know.

"About a mile or so. Only half an hour's walk, if we maintain a good pace."

We begin walking back along the road the bus brought us, and after only two or three minutes I hear the roar of a  diesel engine behind me, and spy a bus stop ahead. We've been on and off buses for the past two days - why should today be any different? Delving my hand into my pocket for a handful of change and breaking into a run, I head for the stop ahead, sticking my hand out to signal for the bus to stop. Harry's feet pound on the pavement behind me and I skid to a stop just as the bus pulls up next to us, Harry almost knocking me off my feet as he careers into my back.

I drop the change into the driver's tray and request two tickets to the town centre, and as the bus rattles off I lead Harry to one of the empty seats at the front. 

"You scared the shit out of me then," he mutters in my ear as we sit down. "I thought you'd seen a police car or something, the way you took off up the street like that."

I chuckle softly. "Sorry. Didn't mean to worry you."

I watch out of the window to my left and he stares out of the opposite side as we lumber heavily along the road and into town. Everything looks pretty much as I remember it, although I notice a couple of the shops along the high street have changed: a pet shop is now a designer boutique, a cafe is now a cheap souvenir shop, and a dirty old pub that my mum and dad used to cross the street to avoid is now a clean, modern office. 

We alight the bus about two thirds of the way down the street, more so I can saunter along the familiar street than anything. And saunter we do, a change from our usual worried scurry, or weary tramp. Even Harry seems more relaxed, which is unusual for him. Whether it is just for today, given my trauma of the past couple of hours, or whether he has seen a lighter side of life over the last day or so I am unsure, but I can't deny that despite my lingering air of sadness, it is bordering on pleasant to be able to stroll along like this next to him, and know (or at least hope) that he isn't glaring impatiently at my back, wishing I wasn't with him.

The road narrows as it begins its decline towards the seafront, and up ahead I can see my favourite shop of my childhood: Suzanne's. I remember spending my Saturday mornings in here as a kid, desperate to part with my pocket money for the latest bit of cheap tat. Plastic toy snakes that wiggled, hand-held ping pong bats with balls attached by elastic, Russian dolls, souvenir fridge magnets, buckets and spades, ornaments made out of shells, inflatable beach toys... and of course, row upon row of Broadstairs rock. It wasn't just tourists that loved the rock - I did too. My parents could never understand my fascination with it, but I loved biting chunks out of the stick and examining the Broadstairs lettering that ran all the way through it, no matter where you broke it off. 

There were always two entrances to Suzanne's: the one on the high street and the one on the sea front. Today however the one on the high street is closed off, so I lead Harry down the narrow path between the high buildings, and just as we emerge onto the sea front I turn in the door of Suuzanne's.

"Where are you going?" he mutters, but I can't speak.

The smell of the shop has taken me back ten years at least, to weekend mornings spent in here frittering away my pocket money, followed by ice creams at the local café Chiappini's and lazy afternoons at the beach building sandcastles, digging holes and splashing about in the sea. It is the scent of the sugary rock, and dummy sweets, mixed with the aroma of chips, vinegar, coffee, ice cream, seaweed and sand. It is the smell of home. 

I look around me, pretending for a moment that I am nine years old again and I have parents and a home, friends and a life, safety and security, and a future that doesn't involve loneliness and subterfuge.

"Chloe," Harry murmurs from beside me, bringing me back to the present.

I jump, turning to him with wide eyes.

"Are you OK?" he mutters, his eyes searching mine.

I can tell he is worried I am about to have another meltdown - I must have a similar look on my face to when I all but collapsed earlier at the grave.

"Yeah - sorry," I sigh, shaking my head to try and clear my overwhelming thoughts and memories from my mind. "This was just a childhood haunt of mine, that's all. The smell of the place... brings it all back, you know? Memories and stuff. Good times. Let's go."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

I lead us out of the shop again and turn along the sea front where I know there is an abundance of hotels and bed & breakfasts. We pass a couple along the road with no vacancies signs, before The Royal Albion comes into view, a large, brilliant white, majestic building overlooking Viking Bay. I hesitate, and Harry follows my gaze up to the white sash windows and the large sign above the entrance.

"Here?" he asks.

"No - it's really expensive," I tell him. "It used to be well known in the area for being absolutely fantastic. I remember one of my friends at school had family down to stay for a wedding and they used the Albion. It cost them a fortune, and it was really luxurious. We can carry on and find a smaller, family-run place."

But before I have finished speaking Harry is walking away from me, towards the entrance. 

"Harry," I call after him, knowing he can hear me although he chooses to ignore me. "Harry! What are you doing?"

I jog after him, catching him up just before he reaches the door. I grab his bare arm and pull him to one side, feeling a tingle run down my spine at touching his warm skin. "Wait!" I insist. "You haven't thought this through."

He shrugs. "What's to think through? So what if it's posh? I'm intrigued to see how the other half live."

"They'll want a credit card before they let you check in," I explain, urgently. "And they'll want your address. Their computers will be far more sophisticated than the place we stayed in Frome. We won't be able to blag them with a made-up street and postcode. They'll know it's fake. It will arouse suspicion."

His face falls a little as he accepts defeat and I turn away to walk further on down the sea front. After a couple of seconds I realise he isn't following me, and when I turn to see where he is, I catch sight of his back disappearing through the main door of the Royal Albion.

Heart dropping to my toes, I swear under my breath and sprint to the door, too late to catch him but in time to reach him as he approaches the reception desk, where a blonde girl of no more than twenty is sitting, tapping away at a computer. She is beautiful, with flawless make up, perfect caramel waves and immaculate eyebrows. I instantly feel inferior compared to her. She looks up from her screen and flashes us a brilliant smile.

"Good afternoon, how may I help you?"

"Hi, we're looking for a room for tonight please, if you have any available?" Harry begins smoothly.

"We're quite busy, but let me check for you," she responds, holding his gaze for a beat longer than necessary before turning back to her screen, making a couple of clicks with her mouse and tapping a few times on her keyboard. Her nails are blood-red, square-tipped and high-shine. Her fingers are long and her skin looks soft and moisturised. This woman is everything I will never be. 

"We have one double room available for tonight only," she says brightly, after about fifteen seconds. 

"We'll take it," Harry says promptly. 

"OK, if I can just take some details..," she murmurs, her eyes on the screen. "Do you have a debit or credit card I can take to secure the booking?"

"Ah," Harry says, a little sadly, causing her to look up from her screen. "Unfortunately I don't. We've been backpacking, and this morning our bag containing my wallet and my sister's purse" - he gestures to me - "was stolen from our tent. Luckily we'd kept our cash completely separate, so until I can get a new card sent out to me, I'm in a bit of a predicament."

My eyes widen - I have never heard Harry speak so smoothly to a complete stranger before, much less use a long word like predicament.

"Oh no," the receptionist sighs, her eyes as wide as mine, fixed on Harry's. "That's terrible! What will you do?"

"Well, we decided we deserved a comfy night after a month of sleeping outside and being victims of such a cruel robbery," he smiles, his dimples appearing in his cheeks and his eyes glittering. My stomach flips over, even though he isn't looking at me. God help the poor woman behind the desk.

She laughs a tinkly laugh, like a metal spoon chinking against a crystal wine glass. "I can only imagine!" she chirps.

"Yes, so I was hoping I could pay for a room in cash please? It's just for one night, while we drown our sorrows in the hotel bar! We'll be back to sleeping under the stars tomorrow."

"Oh, well, I'm so sorry, but it isn't really hotel policy to allow cash payments without a debit or credit card to secure the booking," she breathes, not taking her eyes from his.

He leans forward onto his elbows, clasping his hands together as he gazes back at her. "Really? That is such a shame. My poor sister here has been so upset about her purse. And I was so looking forward to a hot bath tonight. You could even have joined me... for a drink I mean, in the bar!" he adds, after a pause just long enough for us both to imagine him naked in a bubble bath.

I gulp, before the realisation hits me that this charm offensive is directed at her, not me, and the butterflies in my stomach are replaced instantly with an uncontrollable pang of jealousy.

She laughs again, flipping her hair over her shoulder and leaning forward towards him with her chin on her hand. "Oh, well, I'm afraid I'm working until midnight," she beams, showing every single one of her dazzling white teeth.

"Shame," he winks, pushing away from the counter and turning towards me, picking his backpack up from the floor. "Come on, er, Zoe. Let's try the next one along."

I step back, unable to speak, when all of a sudden she calls out to him, "Oh alright! There is a way I can enter it into the system as a cash payment." She lowers her voice as Harry steps up to the counter again, his charming smile firmly in place again. "But don't tell my boss, OK?"

"Now, would I do such a thing?" he teases, pulling his lips together into a smirk that I would bet money would make her drop her knickers for him if he asked. 

"Well, I don't know," she flirts. "Would you?"

He crosses his heart with the fingers of his right hand. "Never, on my life. You're doing me a huge favour, and I wouldn't want to get you into trouble for doing a good deed now would I?"

She giggles again, and I hate her. 

I watch as she taps away on her keyboard, looking up at Harry every so often and smiling broadly, before taking his cash and entering it into a little register below the edge of the counter.

She swipes what looks like a credit card through a little electronic reader, before handing it, along with a couple of sheets of paper confirming the reservation, to Harry.

"Room 301," she smiles. "Take the stairs to your left, third floor, end of the corridor. You have a sea view, overlooking the harbour."

"Well, if its anything like the view down here, I'm sure it will be breathtaking," he tells her with a wink, and she turns a shade of delicate pink, licks her lips with a nervous laugh and flips her hair unnecessarily again.

"Enjoy your stay," she squeaks, and with a final smoldering smirk he turns away from her, picking up his bag again and flashing his eyebrows at me.

"C'mon, sis. Let's go."

I follow him dumbly, wondering what the hell just happened, my stomach in knots and not just from his seduction techniques. It was just been shoved in my face how sexual Harry can be, and how far removed that side of him is when he is with me. It literally couldn't be any plainer that I am not on his radar as a member of the opposite sex; he takes about as much notice of me in that way as he does of the wall. And for some strange reason, I suddenly want to curl up in a ball and sob.