Twist Of Fate

Sixty One

HARRY 

I wake from a fitful sleep to a gentle breeze wafting into the tent through the partially open flap, the distinct smell of seaweed turning my stomach at this early hour of the morning. Seagulls are happily yakking to each other overhead, and as I open my eyes and realise it is daylight, my gaze falls on an empty space next to me.

I roll over and sit up, staring at the sleeping bag and air mattress that still bears a vague shape of Chloe's form, an incomprehensible sense of dread engulfing me. The thick, foamy crashing of the sea and the screeching gulls are the only noises I can hear; there is not a peep of Chloe inside or outside the tent. Pushing my own open sleeping bag off me, I grab a pair of boxer shorts and pull them up hastily before crawling through the tent flap and onto the sand, shading my eyes from the glare of the sun above as I scan the beach left and right for any signs of her. Towards the opposite end, past the entrance and towards the northern cliffs, I can see what looks like a man wearing shorts, a tshirt and a baseball cap throwing a ball for his dog who is jumping over the waves in excitement to reach his prize. Other than this, the beach is empty. 

I try not to panic; she could have simply walked to the café to fetch a cup of tea and a bacon roll. But I can't shift this feeling of unease that is creeping through my veins, breeding fear and uncertainty in the deepest, darkest corners of my heart. A quick glance at my watch tells me it is nearly quarter past eight: time we should be making a move to avoid being seen camping on the beach by any early morning beachgoers. Trying to act as normally as I can, I duck back inside the tent and start packing my belongings into the bags, taking some comfort from the fact that all Chloe's possessions are still here, so surely she can't have gone far?

My mind wanders back to our conversation last night, and my offer of letting her go while I turn myself in alone. I meant what I said - I wouldn't ever grass her up. I would keep her name out of this as much as possible to allow her to get far away from here and keep her freedom. She seemed so opposed to the idea, but has she had a change of heart and fled in the night, leaving me to face the police alone? She wouldn't do that - would she?

Once I have packed my own things I start packing Chloe's for her. When the bags are all full and she has not reappeared I remove everything from the tent and begin dismantling it, looking over my shoulder every couple of seconds, searching for her hunched figure walking awkwardly over the sand towards me. If she had gone for breakfast, she would have been back long ago. Eventually there is nothing left for me to do, and I glance up and down the beach to make sure nobody is around before arranging half the bags on my back and around my shoulders, including the holdall containing all the money, and trudge carefully towards the entrance, peering into the empty café as I pass in case Chloe is there. She isn't.

I make my way up the concrete slope and turn left at the top into the gravel car park. There is room here for probably a hundred cars. The parking area itself is a couple of hundred feet long, narrow, and extends south along the cliff top; a grassy, overgrown verge about ten feet wide runs parallel to the edge of the cliff on a gentle downward slope towards the edge and serves as a kind of barrier to signal to the parking cars where to stop to avoid driving off the edge. Beyond the end of the parking area the undergrowth, comprising of various heathers and long grasses, continues along the line of the cliffs, snaking into the distance in the direction of the town centre. 

There is a handful of cars parked now, and to my relief our stolen vehicle is still there, exactly where we left it last night. As I walk towards it and blip it with the remote, I catch sight of a lone figure on the cliff top beyond, sitting in a mound of heather, with her arms around her knees, looking down the gentle slope in front of her and out to sea. The sight of her makes my heart jump, and then pound with relief. I throw the bags haphazardly into the boot and jog towards her, calling her name as soon as I am within earshot. She turns to look at me and I realise with a jolt of unease that she is crying.