Twist Of Fate

Forty Eight

 CHLOE

Harry is cool towards me the next morning, and I know it is because I refused to open up to him the night before. His words aren't lost on me - I know it is hypocrytical of me to expect him to reveal the deepest, darkest memories of his past and refuse to divulge any of my own. But I also know that box must remain locked for both our sakes. Partly for reasons I know I don't yet understand, and don't want to understand. Sometimes ignorance can indeed be bliss. It is an indication of the progress of our relationship though, when his bad mood lasts only for the first hour or so of the day while we are packing up the tent and all our belongings. By the time we have made our way across the sand and back up to the road, the frostiness has thawed a little and we exchange pleasantries about the weather (warm and sunny) and our plan for the day's journey (walk, use local transport links, walk, use more local transport links, walk some more and find somewhere to camp). 

I am sad to be leaving Broadstairs but I feel stronger than when we arrived, mostly thanks to Harry's general comforting presence by my side during a poignant few days for both of us. I feel refreshed and ready to tackle this next part of our journey, and I am starting to brace myself for the conversations I know must happen in the not too distant future: about what the hell we are doing on the run, how we are going to get ourselves out of this mess, and what the future holds for each of us. This whole escapade feels like a sort of limbo; a chance for us both to figure out our lives, where we fit, what parts we play. Sort of like a state of unconsciousness; one that we will only wake from once we have both resolved our issues and worked out all the answers. And while the limbo is quietly terrifying, mentally exhausting and physically draining, being with Harry is the first real piece of happiness I have had since I lost my parents. I don't want it to end just yet, so I am fearful of pushing Harry for his own answers in case we figure it all out and our little bubble bursts. 

Today's focus is travelling north, and we spend the day on and off small, local buses and deliberately walking between stops on foot, to throw off any potential sightings. It has been several days since we did any trekking like this and by the time we reach Gravesend, just west of Dartford and a little too close to London for my liking, we are simply too exhausted to travel any further. Finding a small park not far from the bank of the River Thames, we put up the tent in the shade of some trees around six o'clock, and by six thirty I am struggling to keep my eyes open. I sleep through until seven the next morning, and then our journey begins again. It takes us five more full days of travelling in this vain (and washing in public bathrooms, which makes me want to heave) before we make it to the edge of the Peak District and where I finally feel comfortable checking in to a campsite with proper shower facilities. Keen to give our legs a well-earned rest, I pay upfront for two nights, determined to spend one full day here doing absolutely nothing.

Since all our efforts have been put into travelling, there has not been much conversation the last few days. We have trudged along mostly in comfortable silence; taking in the breathtaking scenery, talking when required but conserving much-needed energy. This has been possibly the best opportunity to see so many beautiful parts of the country that I would never otherwise have known existed. I wish I had thought at the start to make a note of our journey, so that maybe sometime in the future I can revisit some of these amazing little places when I have time to appreciate them fully. Maybe when we pass a gift shop somewhere I can buy a little notebook or something to jot it all down, although I suppose this is just another thing to carry, adding weight to the already backbreaking rucksacks we are forced to lug around containing all our wordly possessions.

I ponder all of this whilst under the showerhead in the campsite washroom, taking my time and scrubbing myself almost red raw until I feel properly clean. Thanks to the continual summer heat, neither of us have smelled particularly good during our journey here. Baby wipes and hand basins can only do so much. I have been reluctant to let Harry anywhere near me (tricky when sharing a tent), not that he has even tried. We have both been so wiped out from all the walking that neither of us has been able to do anything in the tent other than eat and sleep. My mind wanders to a country pub a stone's throw from the campsite, and then back to our first evening in Broadstairs when we went for a meal and acted like two normal people. We have survived on packet sandwiches, plenty of snacks and bottled water since leaving the South East, and I have been craving a proper hot meal ever since.