Twist Of Fate

Twenty Three

CHLOE

I am shaking as I undress in the bathroom, the taps on full blast and the complimentary hotel bubble bath sending a growing mountain of suds slowly towards the rim of the bath. I take a couple of deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself, but to no avail.

Never in my life have I encountered someone so vile. Why does Harry feel the need to torment me like this? Just when I thought he was capable of being nice, of acting like a human being instead of a feral animal, he starts making fun of me, asking personal questions and laughing at the idea of my sexual inexperience. What does he know? What has he heard?

Checking the bathroom door is locked, I lower myself slowly into the bath, closing my eyes as the warmth penetrates my tired bones. I have been looking forward to spending the night in a proper bed for so long, and now thanks to the shock revelation that the police are closing in on us a good night's sleep is looking unlikely. And after Harry's arseholic attitude just now, I wish I were strong enough to pick up my bags and stroll out of here, never to return. It would do him good to have to think for himself for a change. He wouldn't last five minutes without me telling him what to do and where to go.

Still breathing deeply, I lay back in the water and contemplate our conversation. Why does the whole world seem to revolve around sex? Why does it matter whether or not I have any sexual experience? What business is it of Harry's, or of anyone else's? Why does it matter to anyone what my sexual preference is? Why are some women judged negatively for enjoying sex and having multiple partners, yet men are applauded? Why are some women considered 'frigid' if they don't enjoy sex? Why do some men think it is acceptable to sleep around behind their partner's back, as long as they don't find out? Why do some men love the idea of two women having sex, but two men disgusting?

The questions whirl around in my mind, uncontrollable and unanswered. These things shouldn't matter, but it seems everyone has an opinion, an ideal, a standard. Whatever happened to respecting another's privacy?

It is times like this when I miss having a mother. Someone who can offer advice, a shoulder to cry on, or even just a hug when I am feeling down or alone. I have never had that close parental role model, not since my very early teens, so any sort of relationship dilemma I've had to figure out on my own. Not that there have been many. As I confided to Harry, I have never really had any close friendships or relationships in the last few years. I've been lonely as long as I can remember. All I have wanted, since my parents died, is a sense of belonging. A home, a family, people around me. I don't want to be the invisible girl that blends into the background; the forgettable face, the afterthought. I want to be the centre of somebody's universe, and to be loved unconditionally. Sometimes I can barely remember what that feels like, yet other times the memory of my parents' love is so strong it leaves behind a physical ache, even now, six years on. And right now I wish more than anything I could pick up the phone and call my mum, because she would know exactly what to say to make everything better. Instead I must work out on my own how to deal with the complication and anger that is Harry, and find a way through this mess without losing my sanity, my dignity and what is left of my self confidence.

***

"The news has just been on again," Harry mutters, when I emerge out of the bathroom an hour later in clean clothes, my hair wet and loose around my face. "There was nothing about you, just a more detailed report on me. They said I'm wanted in connection with Chris' murder, and that it happened in London a few days ago. They showed my picture again, and a CCTV image of me walking out of Totnes station. The camera angle doesn't show which way I went."

"Well that's good," I answer, looking at him earnestly as I sit down on the bed.

"Good?" he snaps impatiently, his brow creased in the familiar scowl. "How the fuck is that good? You've got a warped basis for comparison."

"It's good because we didn't walk up the road when we left the station," I reply, as patiently as I can. "We cut through the trees, up the footpath and into the recreation ground. And we stayed there for a good few hours before we left to get something to eat in that little cafe. With any luck they won't have any footage of us leaving the park, and they'll have to check every CCTV camera in the area to find where we went next, which will take them hours, possibly even days!"

"You're underestimating the power of the law," Harry says darkly, his eyes following my movements as I return my rucksack to the floor next to my bed and gently ruffle my hair with the towel in an attempt to remove the rest of the water. "Just because they haven't released footage of me wandering about, doesn't mean they don't have it. They could just be lulling me into a false sense of security. They could be outside right now, ready to storm the hotel!"

My gaze flicks to the window and back to Harry. His words are beginning to instill a sense of panic deep in my gut. He has a very powerful vibe of negativity about him; one that is infectious and overwhelming. He has the ability to turn any positive situation into a negative; any moment of happiness into one of darkness and worry. I get up off the bed, leaving the towel behind on the duvet, and cross the room to the window which is covered with a heavy net curtain. I don't need to twitch it to the side to be able to see outside - I have a clear view of the road, and there is not a police car in sight. I let out a large breath. I had half expected Harry's prediction to be accurate, such was his conviction.

"The coast's clear." I tell him.

"Yeah, for now."

I turn away so I can roll my eyes without him seeing. I don't of course have the courage to do it to his face, given his dour mood, but even doing it behind his back makes me feel a little better.

"I'll go out and get us something to eat for dinner later," I offer, picking up my towel again and rubbing my head a little more vigorously. "The woman on reception did say we could eat in the hotel restaurant, but we would have to book. But given the current situation," I add hastily, catching sight of Harry's murderous look, "I don't think that would be a good idea."

"I just want to stay in and keep a close eye on the news," he growls. "If I get wind of the police tracing me here, to whatever the fuck this shitty little town is called, I need to be ready to make a run for it."

***

It is almost six 'clock by the time I venture out to the petrol garage we passed on the way here, in search of some food, leaving Harry alone in the room to stew. There is an array of hot pasties on display so I grab a couple, along with some fruit and two pot noodles, and sidle up to the counter to pay. The cashier barely looks at me, let alone makes any attempt at conversation, so my visit is short and uneventful and I am able to hurry back to the hotel fairly confident that I have managed to maintain our anonymity. The evening news offers no further information, although the story is repeated on each showing, and Harry agrees there would be no point leaving now when we have already paid for the room and we don't have any reason to suspect the police know our latest whereabouts. My eyes are drooping by nine o'clock, not just from tiredness but from boredom at being cooped up in this room with only Harry for company for the last few hours. I deliberately avoid prompting Harry to make plans for tomorrow, and instead mull things over in the awkward silence, arranging things in my mind like a jigsaw, playing with the pieces until I can make them fit into something that seems feasible.

When he gets up to have a shower I take the opportunity to get undressed into a little camisole and shorts to sleep in, and slide under the covers of the bed. The mattress is a little lumpy, and rather soft and springy, but to someone who hasn't slept in a proper bed for almost a full week it is heaven. I listen to the sound of the running shower, wondering what new mood he will be in when he emerges out of the bathroom, clean and fresh and warm from the hot water.

I allow my mind to wander, back to Dartmouth harbour and its reminiscence of my childhood home. We will be on the move again first thing in the morning, and Harry has already expressed a preference for going to the seaside for a "free bath". I doubt he will have been formulating any sort of plan in his mind for getting us out of Frome unnoticed. And I'm certain he won't have a preference for a specific destination.

But I do. And as usual, I have a plan to get us there.