Twist Of Fate

Twenty

CHLOE

Over the next few days we make our way north east on foot. We start along the banks of the River Dart, before taking a tiny tourist ferry at a crossing point to the other side to Greenway. We spend a night on the edge of an open field near a village by the name of Stoke Gabriel, before making our way east, and then north again, pitching the tent in a wild-looking wooded valley called Clennon Gorge. The summer seems to have well and truly set in, even though it isn't even July yet, and after almost a week of washing in any body of water we can find (and at one point using our precious bottled water that we keep buying from any local shop along our route), I am begging Harry for an alternative and once again suggesting we spend just one night in a hotel, to get clean and have a good night's sleep.

The tent, air beds and sleeping bags have proved to be invaluable, but still no substitute for a pocket-sprung mattress, a duck-down duvet and proper feather pillows. I am also craving a hot meal, having lived off basic rations (plastic wrapped sandwiches, or worse, bread, butter and cold baked beans) since arriving in Dartmouth. We both agree that buying any sort of camping stove is not only risky in terms of drawing attention to ourselves with spires of smoke curling into the air giving away our location, but also impractical considering we are walking everywhere, and would have to carry not only the stove itself, but gas cannisters, cooking utensils and food. We are already struggling from the weight of all our luggage; our muscles aching every night from having heavy bags strapped all over our bodies.

"One night," I am suggesting, gingerly to Harry as we are packing up the tent in Clennon Gorge. "You know it makes sense. Warm, running water. A hot meal in the restaurant, or even a cafe. A proper breakfast the next morning. We would feel so much better."

He doesn't look up from his sleeping bag, which he is trying to stuff unceremoniously into its carry case without any success. I step over to him and take it from him.

"Here - let me do that. You have to roll it up tightly, to squeeze all the air out of the filling, or it won't fit back in."

He lets me take over, watching my hands as I pull the fabric against my body, pressing hard to remove the air and tucking the edges in as I go. By the time I get to the end it is small enough to slot into its cover, and I pull the drawstring tight before swinging it on my middle finger over to Harry. He accepts it without looking at me, and I know he is deliberately avoiding my gaze.

"So...," I press him, "what do you think? Shall we give it a go?"

"If we do," he begins, and I want to punch the air with my fist, "we need to get away from here. And I don't mean walk a couple of miles to the next village. I mean, we need to get on a bus or a train and disappear to a different part of the country."

I hadn't been expecting this. "OK...," I answer slowly. "Why?"

"Because if the police have managed to trace me to Totnes, they're gonna be looking in all the main towns around here, aren't they? So if I'm going to go somewhere public, it needs to be a million miles from where they think I am."

I mull this over for a moment. Actually, I think he's right. I understand we would be taking a risk by taking a hotel for the night, but less so if it was in a completely different area. "OK," I nod, and he makes eye contact with me for the first time in a long time.

"Yeah?" He sounds almost pleased that I have adopted his idea.

"Yes. But I don't think we should go to any big cities. The police presence will be a lot higher, and although we can blend into the crowd, there's more of a chance someone might recognise one of us. I think we should stick to the little towns and villages."