CHLOE

Harry is quiet throughout most of the journey to Totnes and I take the opportunity to catch up on some much needed sleep, given the fretful previous night. I am woken by him climbing across me back into his seat, two paper cups of coffee sitting on the table in front of us. I look up at him, momentarily disorientated, and he runs a hand through his hair as he sits back down and looks at the drinks.

"Got you a latte," he mutters, as though he is embarrassed to have done something nice for somebody.

"Thanks," I croak, my voice failing from non-use over the past couple of hours. I sit up straight in my seat and reach for the coffee, thankful for the change of taste in my mouth. It's been several hours since we were sitting in Caffe Nero formulating our plan, and I realise as my stomach growls unceremoniously that I haven't eaten a proper meal since the fry-up this morning. 

A quick glance at my watch tells me it is almost half past three, and we are just over half an hour away from our destination. I don't want to pester Harry, as I know how much he hates questions, but yet again I am left wondering what we are going to do once we arrive in Totnes. We put all our energy into working out how we were going to escape London and leave a false trail, so unless Harry has something ingenious up his sleeve we are going to get off this train, walk out of the station and stop dead. 

"So," I venture tentatively. "Do we need to come up with a plan for when we get there? Or do you have something in mind...?"

He lifts his gaze to my face, chewing on his lip for a moment and fiddling with the rim of the coffee cup he is holding. "I need to lie low," he answers. "I don't want to draw any attention to myself." 

I nod slowly, as though he hasn't said this before a hundred times. "We need to find somewhere to stay tonight, then," I put forward. "Maybe a little B and B or something? I'm sure there will be a few in the town centre so we won't have to venture too far."

Harry is staring at me as though I have grown another head. I swallow nervously, unsure what I have said wrong now.

"A B and B?" he echoes. "I was thinking more like finding a quiet corner of a park or something."

"Sleep rough?" I squeak, unable to disguise my horror. "Again?!" 

He looks me up and down with disdain. "Oh yeah, I forgot you're too much of a princess to slum it under the stars."

"No, no," I hasten to correct him. "It's not that - I'm not trying to be a princess or anything. I just think we could find a cheap little hotel that would at least be warm and dry. We could have a shower..."

The corner of his mouth tugs into a smirk, and he raises one eyebrow pointedly.

"Not a shower together," I add, horrified at the look on his face, and then immediately feel a rush of heat flooding my cheeks at what I have just said. "I just mean... it would be nice to have a wash... to get clean..."

I swallow again, avoiding his eye and wishing more than anything that I wasn't so clumsy with, well, everything. 

"Yeah. Well. As fun as that sounds," he remarks dryly, "I don't want to go anywhere that involves speaking to anyone or seeing anyone. I need to stay completely off radar." 

"For how long?" I ask warily. The thought of going longer than two days without a shower makes me feel positively nauseous.

Harry shrugs nonchalantly. "Dunno. Play it by ear." 

I can sense from his tone that he isn't going to be dissuaded, so I decide not to pursue this argument for now. "Are you hungry?" I ask, changing tack.

"Starving."

I inwardly breathe a sigh of relief. Finally, something we agree on. "Me too. Do you want to find a McDonalds or something? Or maybe a supermarket, for a sandwich?"

Harry stares at me, clearly losing patience. "I don't fucking know. Let's just see what's available when we get off this train."

"OK, sorry," I apologise quickly.

"You don't have to plan out every move to the letter," he mutters. "You're like a fucking army general."

"Sorry," I apologise again.

"And stop fucking saying sorry every five seconds."

"S-" I catch my words just in time as he raises an eyebrow at me, half in annoyance and half in amusement, and the combination of both on his face sends a strange flutter into my stomach. He turns away to look out of the window and I allow myself to stare at his face for a minute, taking in the perfectly sculpted jawline, the clear, smooth skin and the sweep of lashes framing his eyes. Regardless of being an arsehole, he really is a sight to behold. And what he obviously lacks in the personality department doesn't stop my heart from missing a beat when he turns his head towards me and catches me staring at him. I look quickly away, not daring to let my gaze linger any longer for fear of seeing that knowing, mocking look he always seems to wear when he regards me, like he is constantly laughing at me for being stupid and inferior to him. 

We say nothing more to each other until the train shudders and begins to slow down on its approach to Totnes station. I stand up, busying myself with pulling my hoodie on, fastening my rucksack and hoisting it onto my back ready to exit the train. Ignoring Harry, I move to stand by the door of the carriage just as the train comes to a stop, and subsequently I am one of the first off, Harry a few people behind me as I make my way slowly along the platform following the crowd through a large white picket gate and into a small car park adjacent to the ticket information hut. Tall trees sway gently in front of me in the afternoon breeze, lining the edge of the road and shielding whatever lies beyond from view. The sun beats down, even this late in the afternoon, burning the back of my neck, but it is a different heat here than in London. 

London heat is foul and dirty; the sort of heat you can't escape because it literally hangs still in the air, encapsulating the city smog so that the dust and pollutants cling to your skin, invading every pore and follicle. The sort of heat where smells linger, and even the shortlived relief of an airconditioned building doesn't really cool you down because as soon as you step outside again it hits you like a brick wall. 

Devon heat, although likely a similar temperature, is pleasant. There is a warm, gentle breeze, and it is clean air that ripples through my newly blonde hair rather than smoke particles. The leaves on the trees seem to filter any potential pollutants and instead of drooping, their growth stunted from the filthy city fumes, they are tall, majestic and proud to be there. After the bustle and mania of London Paddington, this quiet little country station is an entire world away. Some may look at it as almost an anti-climax, but to me it is the exact opposite. To me it is perfect. It is fresh and reviving, beautiful and cleansing. It is exactly what I needed. It reminds me of home.

I hadn't realised I had come to a stop by the taxi rank where three saloon cars are parked in a line, until Harry overtakes me without a word, heading across the uneven road surface in the direction of the bushes opposite as though he hasn't even noticed me. I hurry to catch him up as he scoots up a small footpath, the entrance to which is concealed by a large oak, and scurry along behind him as he takes us between a couple of rows of trees and out into a wide open space with a large metal sign that reads "Borough Park."

"How did you - have you planned this?" I demand, thinking of his earlier suggestion at finding a park to sleep in, as he turns right and makes his way purposefully around the perimeter towards some more tall trees and undergrowth along one side that looks as though it will provide some sort of shelter.

"Just struck lucky." 

I begin to sweat from the effort of keeping up with his pace, my bag rubbing uncomfortably on my shoulders as we pass alongside some empty tennis courts, the railway to our right and the flat green expanse of the recreation ground to our left. In the distance, all the way over the other side, is a large rectangular brick building that looks like some sort of leisure centre, and a small children's play area with a couple of swings, a slide and a climbing frame. The breeze does nothing to cool me down as we stride along in silence, the afternoon sun relentless and throwing our shadows, long and graceful, into the gently rippling grass. 

I am just about to beg Harry to slow down when we reach the shade of the line of trees just off the main path and he comes to a halt, chucking his holdall into the dirt at the foot of a large horse chestnut and flopping down next to it with a sigh. I pause for a second, unsure how close to him I should sit. Experience has taught me that even just breathing the wrong way is enough to incur Harry's wrath. I remove my bag from my shoulders uncertainly, placing it carefully at my feet and breathing deeply from the swift walk here. He lifts his head to scowl at me, his eyes squinting as he shields his face from the sunlight with one hand.

"You fucking sitting down or what? You're making me nervous hovering around like that."

"Sorry." 

I hurry to sit down next to him, careful to leave a few feet between us. 

"I thought I told you to stop saying sorry." 

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from letting the word slip from my lips again. I hadn't noticed how often I apologised until Harry started making a big deal out of it, but now I am conscious of it, and terrified of provoking him accidentally. 

I stare down at the dry earth beneath my feet, at the twigs and leaves that have fallen from the branches above us, and the long blades of grass that are thick and green from lack of trampling. 

"Should be a good spot to sleep tonight." 

I look up at the sound of Harry's gruff voice, his tone a little softer than the usual impatient bark. I had hoped he might change his mind about sleeping outside, but either he is just being stubborn on purpose or he really isn't bothered about braving the elements. Admittedly the weather is beautiful and the nights have been warm the last couple of weeks, but that doesn't mean I want to lie on hard soil and brambles for eight hours. Especially not after sleeping on the rock solid floor of the portacabin yesterday.

I decide the best response to this is no response, and after another minute's silence he speaks again. "Thought I might go and have a look for some food in a bit." 

I look up at him but he is facing away from me, across the park in the direction of the kids' playground with a strange, almost wistful expression on his face. His legs are bent up in front of him, his feet flat and loosely crossed at the ankles, and his arms rest gently around his knees, his fingers carelessly curled downwards and his floppy fringe gently tickling his forehead in the wind. 

"Stay here if you want," he adds, his gaze fixed firmly across the park, and I feel a twinge of nerves.

"I don't mind coming with you," I offer, a casually as I can, but he sees through me instantly, his air of nostalgia replaced with one of mockery and disdain.

"We're not fucking joined at the hip. You don't need to follow me around like my fucking shadow." 

How does he always know the right words to hit home, without fail? It's like he can see into the very core of my soul and find every insecurity, every fear. No content with seeing them, he must exploit them to stroke his own ego. And I let him, every single time.

"I was just offering," I mutter, my cheeks reddening from the intensity of his sneer.

I wait for the curt reply, instructing me to stay put, but to my surprise it doesn't come. Instead he shrugs, before getting to his feet and brushing dust from the seat of his jeans. "Whatever. Come or don't come. I don't really give a shit." 

Thankful I am not being abandoned in this unfamiliar town I scramble hastily to my feet and swing my rucksack onto my back again, before following him (at a slightly more reasonable pace this time) further along the line of trees. A six-foot wall runs the length of this side of the park behind which appears to be houses whose gardens back onto the green. I can just see the slate of the roofs and a dormer window here and there, but enough to know that these are nice, spacious dwellings; so far removed from the dismal area of London where I have spent the last couple of years of my life. After half a minute's walk we reach another small car park, beyond which lies what looks to be a main road. We cut through, turning left onto the pavement and then crossing over towards a small parade of shops, one of which is a small deli selling sandwiches, pastries and hot drinks. We pass a ceramic painting workshop, a veterinary practice and an outdoor camping supplier before entering the door of the deli and taking a seat at a small, square table for two in the window, with chunky oak chairs and not a scrap of formica in sight. A large painted dresser in the corner houses trinkets and souvenirs for sale, with ditsy floral bunting draped artfully across the top shelves. 

The goats cheese and caramelised onions, presented beautifully on artisan bread with a delicate side arrangement of salad and rich dressing, is one of the best meals of my life. I order a slice of coffee and walnut cake to accompany my latte, and barely even look at Harry as I devour this too, trying to savour every bite. Once I have finished I sit back in my chair and sigh deeply, feeling more at ease with the world than I have in a very long time.

"You enjoy that?" 

I look up to see Harry staring at me unblinkingly. I feel my stomach drop, waiting for the snarky comment that is bound to follow, but to my surprise I catch the faintest smirk on his lips, and realise that he isn't laughing at me, but with me. 

I clear my throat, nervously. "I did, actually. It was lovely." 

"I could tell." 

I'm not sure how to respond to this new, almost playful side to Harry. His moods swing so violently from one extreme to the other it's enough to make me feel sick. I'm not complaining, though. I like this Harry. I could quite literally observe him all day when he is being nice to me. 

Feeling suddenly brave, I discreetly pull a couple of notes out of the envelope containing all my cash, and slip up to the counter under the pretext of needing the toilet. I pay our bill, use the bathroom (taking the opportunity to wash my face with handwash while I can) and return to our table. The cafe is closing up for the day, and as we stand up and gather our things together the surprise at being treated to his dinner is evident on Harry's face, as is his uncertainty how to respond. 

"You bought breakfast earlier," I explain, trying to shrug nonchalantly and cursing myself as my shoulders twitch awkwardly and jerkily. "I'm just paying my way."

"It's not like we're on a date."

I look up, again expecting to see his usual sneer, but his face remains straight; his bluntness obviously the only way he knows how to communicate. It dawns on me that Harry is completely lacking in any form of social and conversational graces. He says what he needs to say, regardless of how it might come across, or make the recipient feel. He is completely unaware of himself. I have rarely met anyone so uncomplicated, yet complicated. The contradiction is enough to give me a headache. 

By the time we leave the deli it is nearing six o'clock and the road is busy with the evening commute. The shops we passed on the way here are now closed for the day, and we saunter casually back to the park, our silence comfortable for a change. I am desperate to ask what the next plan is, but I don't for fear of upsetting the apple cart again. Instead I swallow my questions and fall into step beside him as we make our way back to the little copse from earlier, nothing left to do except wait for the hours to pass until nightfall.

Using my rucksack as a pillow, I position myself in the evening sunlight, lying back in the longer, softer grass, and clasping my hands across my stomach. I listen as the sounds of the children playing on the swings gradually fades along with the daylight as the sun dips below the horizon. The evening dogwalkers do their rounds, followed by a group of teenagers that spend an hour or so playing football. Periodically I sneak a glance at Harry, who, like me, is lying on his back with his head on his holdall, staring up at the sky. Neither of us speaks, but for once I am content with this as the day slowly slips away and darkness falls. I pull my hoodie out of my bag to keep warm, and think to myself that maybe sleeping outside won't really be so bad after all. Maybe it is me who needs to open my mind and embrace new experiences instead of shying away like a frightened rabbit when thrown out of my comfort zone. Maybe I need to be a little bit more like Harry.

Yes, I think to myself as I feel my eyes getting heavy, I just need to be a little bit more like Harry.

---***---

Hello! So, NaNoWriMo is now over, and I managed to write over 56,000 words on this book. I was rather pleased with that! The story has now progressed significantly and I will be going back to edit the chapters one at a time in between continuing to add to the word count. A lot of what I have written needs major editing but the basis is there and I'm hoping to print it all out tomorrow when I have access to a printer and begin going through it properly. In the meantime, however, here is an update for you - I hope you enjoyed it! Please vote for this chapter if you did :)

I'm aiming for a minimum of one update per week from now on, but two would be even better so watch this space! xx