CHLOE

I wake first the following morning. Condensation has gathered on the ceiling of the tent as it always does, but this time it has formed one large droplet that falls and lands right in the middle of my forehead, jolting me awake with a start. I sit bolt upright, brushing frantically at my face until I realise what it is, and let out a large shaky breath. I rub my eyes and glance over at Harry who hasn't even stirred beside me, and is facing away from me, his hands tucked under his neck, and something blue clutched between his fingers. I peer at it, squinting in the dim light, until I realise it is the blanket underneath which I had hidden on the back seat of Harry's car, an entire lifetime ago. Harry must have been cold in the night; I felt the chill myself, and huddled deeper inside my cocoon in the small hours to keep warm. I might have to sleep in my hoodie tonight.

I lie back down on the air mattress, closing my eyes and trying to doze off again, but the shock of the water on my face has brought me too sharply and suddenly into consciousness, and it is now looking like I've fulfilled my sleep quota for the night. I pull on my jeans as quietly as I can, and throw my hoodie on over my camisole before venturing out of the tent into the early morning sunshine. It has the makings of yet another hot day, although here in the shade of the tall trees, with the sun not very high in the sky, the air is fresh. I could kill for a nice hot cup of tea right now, or a strong coffee to curl my fingers around while I watch the forest waking up around me. I make a mental note to ensure I enjoy and appreciate the next hot drink I have, to make up for all those I am missing. 

I enjoy almost a full hour of peace and quiet, with only my own thoughts for company, before I hear Harry stirring in the tent. A couple of moments later he emerges from the flap, his face screwed up at the bright sunlight. "How long you been up?" he grunts.

"About an hour. I've just been enjoying the stillness and silence. Missing my morning coffee, though."

He grunts again, yawns, and disappears back inside the tent. I can hear the sounds of him getting dressed, and try not to think of him butt naked in there, and then he reappears fully clothed and looking a little more awake. "Nowhere near here to wash, is there?" he mutters.

"No, but help yourself to the packet of wipes in the tent," I offer.

"Yeah, I already did."

Oh. Course he did. I raise my eyebrows huffily but say nothing, and once he is out of the way I retreat into the tent to get myself dressed and pack up my things. It doesn't take us long to pack up all the equipment and eat an extremely unappetising breakfast of dry cereal bars and water (I think longingly of yesterday's full cooked breakfast, but push the thought away just as quickly when my stomach growls, from misery just as much as hunger). 

By nine o'clock we are fighting our way back through the undergrowth in the direction of the road, and emerge through a thicket of bushes a little further along than where we originally came through. We turn right along the road and saunter along in the morning sunshine, heading south to where our little country lane will meet another dirt-track heading east, that will take us through a couple of sleepy villages in the direction of Winchester. Keeping away from the major trunk roads like this enables us to avoid passing police cars, or indeed any cars that might find it unusual to see two people loaded up with camping equipment walking along a busy carriageway. The scenic route might take longer, but in my opinion it is by far the safer option for us at the moment.

My reckoning turns out to be right, and we come out on the edge of a picturesque hamlet and pass only a handful of cars, tractors and farm vehicles on our way through to the next one. We strike it lucky and come at last to a bus stop, where to our delight (or rather, my delight and Harry's feigned indifference) there is a local bus due in ten minutes that will take us right to Winchester. When it arrives there are three people on it, none of whom take the slightest interest in either of us. It is nice to rest our weary feet for half an hour as it lumbers along, covering the distance it woud have taken us at least six hours to walk - probably eight in this heat. Sticking to my plan, once we arrive in Winchester I find another bus that will take us on to Guildford, although this one is a coach and is more designed for long journeys. The downside to these is that they more than likely have CCTV which we want to avoid at all costs, but the temptation to cover a decent amount of ground today, rather than crawling across the country at snail's pace (and hurting our feet into the bargain), is too great. I insist that Harry wears a cap and sunglasses the whole way to Guildford, to minimise the risk of being identified on camera, and I refuse to sit beside him on the coach, choosing instead to sit several rows away. This is pointless really, as if the police manage to track us this far they will surely know by now that we are travelling together, but it is more to avoid any members of the public, if and when questioned, reporting our whereabouts as a duo. The less the police have to go on, the better.

When we arrive in Guildford I manage a very quick wash in the bus station toilets (not an experience I ever want to repeat) before meeting Harry in a coffee shop across the road. He has already bought me a latte, and I slide into the chair opposite him with a grateful smile.

"I'm fucking starving," he mutters, browsing the menu that is sitting in a plastic holder on the tabletop. 

"You want to eat here?" I mutter back, and he lifts his gaze to stare hard at me. 

"You don't?" 

"Well, I've nothing against this place as such, except that it's very open and conspicuous. We're literally right opposite the bus terminal, in a busy town centre. It's too much of a thoroughfare. I prefer it when we're off radar, as you say."

"You're turning into a country bumpkin," he teases.

"I'm not, I just feel safer when there are less people around," I whisper. "Crowds like this make me nervous at the best of times. But when I'm with a wanted criminal I'm feel like I'm walking on eggshells."

"Everything makes you nervous," he says flatly.

"No, I'm getting better," I pout. "You even said so yesterday."

"Yeah, well, I was just being nice."

I can't stop the hard, derisive bark of a laugh that leaves my mouth, but I manage to contain the, "you - nice? Do me a favour!"  and mask it with a theatrical cough. Harry isn't fooled however, and glowers at me across the table.

"So - are you eating something here then?" I ask, pulling nervously at the furled edge of the wipeclean menu.

"Not now that you've killed the enjoyment out of it," he snaps, shoving it roughly back into its holder and glaring at me. "But I suppose I'm not even allowed to look at the menu if I'm not going to order anything?"

"I - I didn't say that," I reply hesitantly. I suddenly feel as though we are back to square one again, with Harry hissing furiously at me and me quietly trembling at the harshness of his tone.

"Am I allowed to drink my coffee at leisure, or would you like me to ask them to pour it into a paper cup so we can be on our way?" he continues, clearly furious. 

"Sorry," I apologise miserably, sitting back in my chair and looking away from him, trying to fight that hot feeling behind my eyes that I know is the onset of tears. I just don't understand him sometimes. He is the one who has insisted this whole time that we stay out of plain sight, and yet now all of a sudden he is happy to order a meal in a busy town centre café right opposite where we disembarked the bus. It seems as though every time I think I have got him figured out, and use my experience to avoid incurring his wrath unnecessarily, he moves the goalposts and finds a new reason to berate me.

For something to do, I reach into my rucksack, pull out the road map and open it on the table to check where we are, but Harry leans over and snaps it shut with a bang, causing the couple on the next table to look up in alarm and my stomach to drop another few feet into the soles of my shoes. "What are you doing?" he asks in a low, menacing tone, through gritted teeth.

I daren't say anything - I am wise enough to know this is a rhetorical question. He knows I am looking up our next route, but obviously I have missed something and shouldn't be doing this here, so I wait in silence for him to scold me and explain what I have done wrong now.

"Don't you think it looks a bit odd if you're staring at a fucking road map in the middle of a café?" he hisses. "We're in the middle of a town, for fuck's sake. No one in their right mind looks at a map these days - they use their phones. Stop drawing attention to us."

I bite my lip, really struggling now to fight back tears. I don't understand how it is fine for Harry to sit in plain sight and want to order a meal, but not OK for me to glance at a map for a couple of minutes while we drink our coffees. I know he is cross with me for suggesting we don't stay to eat, and I can only assume it is my attempt to thwart him, and his low blood sugar levels from not having eaten since first thing this morning, that are making him revert to his previous arsehole setting.

"I would have thought," I begin timidly, "that checking the map here is a little less obvious than walking around with it in front of my face, like I would have to once we get out of here if I don't plan where we're going."

He says nothing to this, but when I risk a glance at him I can see his jaw twitching in annoyance. I'm not sure if this is due to me answering him back or having a valid point, so I decide to sod what he thinks and reopen the map again, folding it in half this time so it takes up less room on the table, therefore being less conspicuous: my attempt at a compromise.

He doesn't stop me this time, but lets me pore over the tiny little lines on the page while I sip my coffee, and make a few notes on a napkin to refer to later.

"OK," I begin again in a low tone, pretending the last ten tense minutes never happened, "there are plenty of places we can camp out tonight if we continue to head east. But it's how quickly you want to travel.... we could get another coach all the way across to the east coast this afternoon I reckon. Or we could go back to the local bus services, and make a pit stop in any of these green areas," (I point to them on the map) "to remain as untraceable as possible. What do you think?"

He purposely hasn't looked at me the whole time I have been talking, although his eyes followed my fingers when I gestured to the areas on the map. He gives a little shrug, still refusing to make eye contact, and sits back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest nonchalantly. "Whatever."

"Fine," I snap, shutting the map a little more noisily than necessary. "If you are going to be deliberately awkward, you can take charge. Go ahead and order your food. Sit here until someone recognises you and calls the police. Or direct us where to go next, and walk straight into an ambush. Whatever."

I sit back in my own chair and fold my arms across my chest, mimicking his stance, furious at him for regressing to this horrible character again. Stupid me for thinking we had actually left this Harry behind us, somewhere along the country lane yesterday. Obviously he has been here all along, lurking in the background and just waiting until he was called to the stage.

Harry breaks the silence. "The local buses," he mutters. "Let's stick to them. They seem to have worked so far."

I wait, staring at him with my eyebrows raised, but he keeps his gaze resolutely down at the tabletop. Clearly this is him making one token decision to get me off his back so that I will resume my role as leader. 

"Fine," I snap again. "Have you finished your drink?"

I pick up my own glass and drain the dregs, just as he pushes his glass away and stands up. He seems to take longer than usual putting his bags onto his back, and I lead the way to the door, stomping just a tiny bit to let him know I am still annoyed with him for speaking to me like shit once again. Once we are out of the door and on the move again he draws level with me, shifting his holdall from one hand to the other uncomfortably. 

"Shall we buy a sandwich from Boots, or Marks, or somewhere?" he suggests a little awkwardly after a minute.

"Yes, I suppose that would make sense," I agree, as graciously as I can.

He nods, and I notice his step becomes slightly lighter and springier; because food is imminent or because he is off the hook I am not sure. But one thing I do know is that I just successfully challenged Harry and won, for the first time ever. And he didn't have a clue what to do about it.