Twist Of Fate

Eighteen

CHLOE

Dartmouth is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been in my whole life. The bus takes us along winding, country lanes with rolling fields stretching for miles into the distance. The roads are lined with hedgerows and tall trees filled with blossom, and more than once the bus windows are slapped gently by overhanging branches. The sky overhead is brilliant blue and cloudless, spotted only by several varieties of birds circling in the warm air. We pass many lone farmhouses, decorated with hanging baskets and window boxes containing vibrant petunias, pansies and geraniums and shrouded in the shade of gentle rustling beech or oak trees, looking out across an expanse of green. 

I am expecting a town, but Dartmouth is aesthetically more like a quaint little village, with its narrow, winding streets curling up and down hills, and colourfully rendered Victorian houses in soft pinks, baby blues, mint greens and brilliant whites. As the bus follows a one way system past a tiny little ferry terminal, alongside a harbour filled with stunning yachts and leisure boats and through crowds of tourists enjoying a warm, early summer weekend, I can see Harry staring out of the window with interest, and even - possibly - admiring the view?

We disembark on the South Embankment, opposite a large square housing a marina filled with small motor boats and lined with high buildings with intricate detail that look like they date back to the Georgian era. The second my feet hit the pavement I am hit by the smell of saltwater and seaweed, the faint hint of motor oil and the sound of seagulls crying overhead. I stop dead for a moment, breathing in with my eyes closed, as memories from my childhood come flooding back: my dad walking me along a high promenade overlooking the beach to my right with souvenir shops and cafes to my left, swinging me round by my hands until my laughter turned to squeals, begging him to stop, and enveloping me in his arms in a huge bear hug which I pretended to hate but secretly loved; my mum spending what seemed like hours walking along the sand with me, searching for shells of all different shapes and sizes to put into a pink plastic bucket with a white handle, pointing out a jellyfish that had been washed up on the shore and warning me not to touch it as it could still sting me even though it was dead...

"Chloe."

Harry's urgent murmur snaps me back to the present and I feel suddenly lightheaded and clammy as I open my eyes to see him staring at me, his brow creased and a strange look on his face.

"You look like you're about to throw up."

"No... I'm fine," I mutter faintly, and although he hesitates before walking off, he asks no further questions as we wander slowly along the embankment, past a champagne bar and restaurant advertising ice cream and lobster (hopefully not together) before the pavement widens along the edge of the River Dart. All the way along people are sitting with their legs dangling over the side, looking across to the beautiful houses on the hill on the opposite shore, no doubt imagining what it must be like to live in such a beautiful part of the world. 

I take a couple of deep breaths, feeling the fresh air calming me from within, and then pull out the guide book from the carrier bag. Studying the map helps me to focus on the here and now, rather than the painful memories of my past. I don't need to ask Harry if he intends us to stay at a regular campsite - I already know he is going to say he needs to be untraceable, and looking at the map of the area (and having seen a part of it on the bus ride here) I know there are miles of empty fields where we could pitch a tent without being seen, as long as we choose somewhere fairly remote with plenty of shelter. About a mile and half away, heading due west, looks to be a large expanse of green which I presume is open land that would be a good place to start.

"You up for a walk?" I ask Harry, who is squinting across the water with his lips pinched together.

He turns to me, his green eyes finding mine and sending a weird jolt, a bit like an electric current, through my body. I do wish it would stop doing that. "Suppose so," he says with a shrug. "How far?"