CHLOE

Apart from an awkward two-minute pause to gulp some water from the bottles we bought in the local shop, we don't stop until we reach the patch of greenery shown on the map; the edge of the New Forest, just as I predicted; and we certainly don't speak. My tshirt is sticking to me, and trickles of sweat make their way every couple of minutes down my back and below the waistband of my shorts. 

The track we are walking along skirts the edge of the forest. Trees, hedges and brambles line the roadside to our right, so dense there isn't an opening wide enough for us to squeeze through into the safety and shelter of the wilderness. Birds sing high above us, the tops of the trees rustle and sway in the gentle breeze and our feet scrape the ground below us as we trudge along in the unforgiving heat. 

"We need to find a path of some sort," I mutter to Harry, as we pass along the overgrown edge of the forest that is too thick to penetrate without protective clothing. "Once we're in the thicket we'll be properly hidden from view. But I don't fancy our chances battling through those brambles. We'll be ripped to shreds."

We saunter along a little further, peering to our right through gaps in the trees. After about five minutes I am just contemplating suggesting changing clothes into something long-sleeved for protection and attempting to do battle with nature, when Harry suddenly says triumphantly, "There!"

I follow the direction in which his finger is pointing to see a tiny gap in the foliage, just wide enough for us to enter without worrying about being injured. With a hesitant glance at me he pushes his way forward, ahead of me, through the branches and into the undergrowth. His feet trample the bracken and nettles with a soft crunch as he stomps his way through, letting tree branches swing back behind him without a backward glance. I follow as close behind him as I can, trying to avoid being hit in the face. Within fifteen seconds we are out of view of the road, so thick are the bushes and trees that surround us, however this is both a blessing and a curse as we are now searching for a flat, smooth surface upon which we can pitch the tent. It is much cooler in here, under the shade of the high trees, with so little sunlight able to permeate the leaves to the forest floor.

A couple of hundred feet in we come across a tiny clearing where the sun beats down, the grass below our feet burnt and crisp yet just beneath the trees it is long, cool, soft and green. 

"Here?" I suggest, and Harry gives a casual nod. 

"It'll do."

I peer around us, turning a full 360 degrees to check there is nothing in sight that could give us away or cause alarm, but there is nothing. Literally, nothing. Nothing except green and brown.

Trees, bushes, leaves, twigs, earth.

Stones, bugs, bark, grass, nettles.

It is remote, beautiful and serene. 

Behind me Harry is bending over and unzipping the tent bag, pulling out the poles and shoving them roughly into their slots.

"Careful," I advise. "You don't want to rip the fabric. It will weaken the structure."

He pulls a face but to my surprise does as I suggest. There is a first time for everything, I suppose.

It takes only a few minutes to assemble the tent this time. Once it is erected Harry busies himself with carrying the bags inside, and then emerges a couple of minutes later with the unzipped fabric tent case, two bottles of water and a couple of chocolate bars. He spreads the case on the ground like a picnic blanket, chucks one of the wrappers at me, and sits himself down heavily, his legs bent up so his knees are by his face and his forearms are resting on top. I sit down next to him and unwrap my chocolate bar, my stomach growling. It is soft and warm, and almost completely melted. I have to rip the wrapper down the middle and pretty much lick the chocolate off the inside, and a quick glance at Harry shows he is doing the same. I throw him an amused look, which he returns with his eyes, and after a long swig of water I lie back on the makeshift mat and close my eyes, enjoying the sounds of the blackbirds chirping in the trees overhead, the smell of the foliage encasing us and the gentle rustling of the breeze.

I think of what I left behind in London: I think of my tiny, grotty little flat with its nicotine-stained ceiling, its temperamental boiler and its noisy neighbours. I think of the council estate, with the graffiti covering the childrens play area, the empty cans of White Lightning and the discarded broken Heineken bottles. I think of the Flute and Fiddle, with its sticky tables and soggy beer mats, its dusty carpets and grimy windows, its lazy staff and toothless customers. There is nothing there that would ever make me want to return. It may have been terrifying, packing up and leaving on a whim, but I already know it is the best thing I have ever done.

I glance at Harry, who has laid down beside me on his back, his hands clasped across his chest and his eyes closed. I study his face for a moment, taking in the beads of sweat gathering along his hairline and trickling slowly down the side of his face towards his ear, his strong, angular jawline, his smooth skin thanks to a shave this morning at the hotel and his short, dark hair forming soft curls that cascade backwards onto the forest floor beneath him. What does he have back in London? Does he miss his girlfriend? Is she waiting for him, wondering where he is, worrying herself sick about him? Or does she know what he did to Chris, and is she disgusted and sick with him for being capable of such violence?

"Harry..?" I murmur.

"What?"

"Do you miss home?" 

His lips twitch involuntarily, but not into a smile or a smirk. He doesn't answer straight away.

"A bit."

What do you miss?"

"People."

"Your girlfriend?"

Another pause.

"I suppose."

"You suppose?"

"I don't miss the nagging." 

I bite my lip to hold in a smile. If Harry behaves at home anything like the way he has behaved in the last few days since I have been on the run with him, his girlfriend deserves a medal.

"What are you grinning at?" he asks, rolling over onto his side, and resting his head on the palm of his hand, his arm bent at the elbow, looking at me.

"I was just thinking that your girlfriend must have the patience of a saint, putting up with you," I answer carefully, watching him for any warning signs of an impending explosion. 

"Why do girls always side with other girls?" he demands, his brow furrowing. "You don't even know her, yet you're siding with her over me."

I raise one eyebrow at him. "You're questioning my loyalty to you when all you've done since you met me is belittle me, talk down to me, and treat me like shit? Interesting."

He doesn't argue this point like I expect him to, but instead pouts at me like a petulant child. "You just automatically assume I'm the one in the wrong."

"You're an arse," I point out. "It stands to reason." 

"Thanks," he mutters sarcastically.

"Pleasure."

He regards me for a moment, a new smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "So, when did you grow a pair of balls?"

I stare back at him, and his smirk widens.

"In the last twenty four hours you're like a different person," he elaborates. "You're finally coming out of your shell. You're fighting back a bit."

"I suppose that does your head in too, does it?" I grumble, looking away from him and watching the shadow of a leafy branch dancing in the afternoon sunlight, casting dappled shade across the crisp, burnt grass.

"Nah. I like it."

He rolls onto his back again and resumes his previous position. It is my turn to roll over to stare at him. "You like me having a go at you?"

He turns his head back towards me, a genuine smile breaking on his lips this time. "You're showing some character at long last. You're giving me a bit of lip. It's far better than quivering like a timid little mouse every time I look at you."

"You're very intimidating," I protest defensively, and he says nothing to this but closes his eyes again. "So, your girlfriend," I begin casually, taking advantage of this more pleasant, talkative Harry. "How long have you been together?"

His smile fades a little, and his eyes remain closed. "A couple of years."

I was not expecting this. "A couple of years?!" I repeat, shocked. 

"Yeah. What's so weird about that?" he asks belligerently.

"Nothing - I just... you don't exactly strike me as the type to have a long term girlfriend."

"Yeah well, sometimes things don't work out exactly to plan."

"What's her name?"

"Sofia."

"Do you love her?"

He frowns and lifts his head to look at me, his brow creased in a mixture of annoyance, confusion and disbelief. "What sort of fucking question is that?"

"A fair one. Considering you wanted to know the ins and outs of my private life."

"I don't give a shit about your private life."

"Well maybe I don't give a shit about yours either," I snap, losing patience with him. Why does he have to ruin every conversation by getting grumpy at the slightest thing?

"Then don't asking fucking nosy questions."

"Ugh." I turn around onto all fours and crawl to the entrance to the tent to get away from his obnoxious behaviour. To my surprise, both airbeds are side by side in the front section, and through the adjoining flap I can see our rucksacks, carrier bags and food supplies piled in the 'bedroom'. "Why is all our stuff in the bedroom?" I ask, turning back round to look at him. "You've put the airbeds together."

There is a pause before he answers, without moving or opening his eyes. "I thought you were scared being on your own in the dark."

"I am, but -"

"Well then stop fucking complaining and shut up."

For once I don't cringe at his harsh words. I am so taken aback at him taking my feelings into consideration that I don't have anything to say, apart from a soft, "thanks."

"Yeah. Well. Just don't get too fucking close to me. And if you snore, you're sleeping outside on your own."

I say nothing else as I retrieve my puzzle book, pen and novel from my rucksack, resisting the urge to peek inside Harry's holdall at the mountains of money I know is concealed in there (he will surely hear me if I open the zip). I had planned on sitting inside the tent in a huff after he snapped at me just now, but his thoughtful actions regarding the sleeping arrangements have changed my view on him (for the time being at least), so I emerge from the tent again into the sunshine, swivel onto my belly and open the puzzle book.

I have a feeling I am being watched, and I can just tell Harry wants to ask about the book, but is battling with himself and doesn't want to appear too interested. I rustle the pages deliberately noisily to entice him, and it takes everything I have not to grin when from behind me asks, ever-so-casually, "What you doin?"

"Passing the time," I reply, just as casually. "Do you want to join in?"

He swivels round on the mat to lie on his belly next to me, and peers over my shoulder at the puzzle in front of me. "So, basically this is like being back at school."

I sigh patiently. "No. No one is teaching any lessons. This is just for fun."

"You want to do schoolwork for fun?"

"It isn't schoolwork," I tell him. "It's just a crossword. Or you can do a wordsearch, or sudoku, or any other of these puzzles."

He stares down at the crossword, and I turn the book towards him to show him the clues. It isn't a very difficult one - most of the clues and words are beginners level. "It's all Greek to me," he mutters, rolling away again onto his back.

"No - just look at it properly," I insist. "Don't give up before you've even tried, and then get grumpy because you think you can't do it."

He frowns at me but doesn't argue, and with a huff he rolls back onto his belly again and peers closely at the clues. He watches as I fill in a couple of the answers, and then points to one of the squares on the board. "That one - twelve down. It's garden."

I check the clue, and then fill the letters in. Before I have finished, he is pointing at another one. "Three across: Chess. Eleven across: Biology."

"OK OK, slow down," I mutter, hurrying to fill in the letters as he instructs. The next ten minutes continue in this way, with Harry dictating most of the answers and becoming most impatient when I don't write the letters in quickly enough. "Do you just want to write them in?" I offer, holding out the pen to him, but he pulls a face.

"No. I'm not that bored."

Bored enough to sit next to me and yell at me when I can't keep up with your answers, I think to myself, but I keep quiet. It is actually enjoyable lying here in the sunshine just getting along with Harry without him snarling at me for a change. And he might pretend to be all macho, and too cool for school, but I can tell he is enjoying himself and I don't want to ruin it. It seems a ceasefire has been called, and I am keen for that to continue.

We spend an hour or so completing a few puzzles in the book (Harry can't get his head around sudoku and gets most annoyed at it) before tucking into our sandwiches for tea. After we have finished eating I retrieve the road atlas from the tent and find our location, before plotting a route that will take us north east approximately twenty miles in the direction of Winchester, before continuing across the country towards the south east coast.

The walking and the heat has worn us both out, not to mention the lack of entertainment adding to the boredom, and by nine o'clock we are both yawning and making excuses to get into our sleeping bags. I grab a packet of wipes and pick my way across the bracken behind the tent to make some attempt at a wash. This is possibly the worst time of the year to be stranded without hot running water, although the alternative of camping out in the middle of winter would be just as unbearable. Each has its positives and negatives, I suppose.

Not for the first time I find myself wondering what the end goal is here. What are we going to do when the money runs out? My envelope of cash hasn't been hit too hard yet as Harry has paid for almost everything, but mine won't last too long, and even Harry's is bound to run out eventually. Then what will we do? We can't get jobs, as Harry is wanted for murder and surely at some point the police will figure out that I am with him, or at least missing from London and one of the last people to see Chris alive. How long before they issue a warrant for my arrest, if they haven't already?

My hands tremble as I wipe myself down as best I can with the baby wipes before returning to the entrance to the tent. "Can I come in?" I ask softly, and Harry responds with a murmured, "yeah."

He is already in his sleeping bag when I enter, lying on his back staring up at the roof of the tent. I retrieve my cami and shorts from my rucksack, and instruct him awkwardly not to look while I turn my back to him and change quickly. I huddle down in my sleeping bag, facing him, and after a second he turns his head to look at me.

"Harry," I begin nervously.

"What?" he groans.

"Why do you have to answer me like that?" I frown. "You don't even know what I'm going to say."

"I can tell by your tone that you're worried about pissing me off. And if you're worried about pissing me off, it's extremely likely that you're going to piss me off."

I can't argue with his logic, but I also have a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach, sort of a fluttering sensation that he knows the tone of my voice.

"I was just wondering if you had any sort of long term plan," I venture, keeping my tone soft and casual so he doesn't accuse me of stressing or trying to organise his life.

When he doesn't answer I elaborate further.

"You know, like some sort of idea what you want out of this. How you see this panning out. I mean, are you intending to spend the rest of your life on the run from the police? Because I don't think this sort of thing is going to blow over."

He sighs, still staring up at the blue lining of the tent. "In all honesty, I haven't got a fucking clue what I'm doing. I'm just winging it."

"But you're not going back to London?"

"I don't know, Chloe."

His tone isn't exasperated, but more resigned; weary.

"The longer I outrun the law, the more trouble I make for myself. But if I turn myself in I'll be looking at a life sentence in prison. I could be in my fifties before they let me out. I'm not ready to accept that fate just yet. But I know I can't live like this forever. Part of me thinks it would look better to a jury if I give myself up voluntarily. But the other part of me is... is too scared of what I will have to face."

This is the most Harry has ever opened up to me in the whole time we have been on the run. Hearing him talk like this, from his heart, is changing my whole perception of him. Up until now I have thought of him as a hard, impenetrable force that exudes bitterness, negativity and hatred. But this rare glimpse into his soul has made me see him for what he really is: a frightened boy in a hell of a lot of trouble, unable to see a way out.

"I'm so sorry, Harry."

"What have you got to be sorry for? You weren't the one that killed Chris. You were just an unfortunate witness that got dragged into this whole mess."

"I wish I could go back in time," I murmur. "I wish I'd never let you follow me home that night. I wish I had stood up to Chris before, so he wouldn't have seen me as such an easy target."

"That wouldn't have changed anything," Harry sighs. "I still would have beaten the shit out of him. He had it coming."

"Why?" I whisper.

"He'd been shooting his mouth off. Talking about me to the wrong people."

"What had he been saying?"

"Just bullshitting. Making idle threats, saying I'd gone soft since -"

He stops dead, as though someone has literally pressed pause.

"Since what?" I ask, my heart pounding as I realise I am closer to the truth than ever. Closer to understanding why I am in the middle of this mess, and how I came be here.

There is a beat of silence. Then, "nothing."

The tone of his voice - the forceful finality - indicates it would not be wise to pester him to continue. It is with a pinch of satisfaction that I understand that I have come to recognise his tone now, too, and am learning how to handle him. And it is with only a hint of reluctance that I let this go for now, because I know in my heart that he will open up about this again. I just need to get him into the right frame of mind, the right situation, and I'm confident he will tell me what exactly happened between him and Chris that ended up with one man battered to death and the other on a fruitless journey across the country with a key witness in tow.

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Thanks for the reads, votes and comments on the last few chapters! Keep them coming, they really do inspire me to update 😎