Twist Of Fate

Forty Three

CHLOE

Something has shifted between us: the power balance, maybe? It feels more than just the atmosphere, because that is as strained and awkward as ever as we pack the tent up a couple of hours later once the worst of the rain has subsided and begin walking back along the road towards the little village of Kingsgate. The admission from Harry that we need each other is huge. I accepted a long while ago that I need him (and loathed myself for it), and I suppose I have also known that I am valuable to him in some sort of weird way. But for him to say this out loud, and appear almost comfortable with it, seems to have changed everything.

We reach a fork in the road and I look longingly to the left which I know will take me back towards St Peters where my parents are, but I force my feet to carry me to the right towards an area called Cliftonville on the outskirts of Margate, where I know we will be able to find shelter for tonight. I make a mental note of a large recreation ground called Northdown Park, which has an area of trees that would hide the tent from view should we decide to stay here a bit longer, but plough on to where I know the hotels and guest houses are in search of somewhere discreet that will keep us out of harm's way. 

It is heading towards lunchtime, and along the roadside are various cafés and eateries, with tourists (and probably locals) enjoying expensive coffee and a spot of lunch. I feel exposed walking past so many people like this, struggling under the weight of the tent and all our bags. I suppose we are lucky that it isn't as hot and sunny today, as the tables outside would be packed with holidaymakers staring at us as we passed.

I take one of the less popular roads, a little out of the centre of Margate, and scan the buildings as we pass for a 'vacancies' sign. It doesn't take long before one catches my eye and I slow down as we pass it, glancing to my left and to my right, up to the top of the building and then down the side alley to check for possible quick escape routes in case the police turn up again like they did at the little place in Frome. I cross over the road and come back along the opposite pavement, much to Harry's annoyance.

"What are you doing?" he mutters, impatience evident in his tone.

"There's a b and b over there with a vacancies sign," I mutter back. "I'm just checking out the area before we go and ask for a room. If the police track us down and come knocking, we need a fast way out of here without being seen."

He doesn't say anything, but a glance in his direction tells me he is more than a little impressed at my forward thinking. His back straightens and in the reflection of a car window I see him casually looking over at the building in question, and then glancing over his shoulder in what can only be described as covert manner. I stifle a giggle: this isn't remotely funny, but suddenly it feels as though we are villains in a cartoon, exaggeratedly tiptoeing around.

"What do you think?" I ask him once we have passed it for the second time.

"Looks fine to me," he shrugs. 

"Do you want to do the talking, or shall I?" 

He ponders this for a couple of seconds. "Should we go in together? Or would one of us alone be less suspicious?" 

It is my turn to consider the options. "Good thinking. Let me go in and book the room. Why don't you wait here and I'll come and get you when it's all sorted?" 

"You'll need cash." 

While he is rooting as inconspicuously as he can in his holdall, I take a moment to appreciate his tone has lightened and is less of his usual grunt. It is softer and friendlier that I have heard in a while. He hands me a wad of notes that I stuff into the side pocket of my backpack, refusing to allow myself to wonder where he got this money and if he will ever let me in on the secret. I leave a couple of my bags with Harry on the pavement and make my way up the path to the front door of the bed and breakfast, pushing it open and walking into a bright, airy hallway with wooden floors and a couple of green potted plants on the reception desk. The receptionist is wearing a navy suit with a bronze rectangular pin badge that says 'Laura Cummings', heavy makeup and a bored expression. She looks through me as I enquire about the room, taking the fake details I give her and barely batting an eyelid when I give her my story about a stolen wallet and needing to pay upfront in cash. She tells me the room will be available after two o'clock, so I head back to Harry and together we wander back along the street towards the cafés we passed to get some lunch.