

### AMANDA MARTIN

### TWO-HUNDRED STEPS HOME

### VOLUME TEN

Amanda Martin was born in Hertfordshire in 1976. After graduating with first class honours from Leeds University she wandered around the world trying to find her place in it. She tried various roles, in England and New Zealand, including Bar Manager, Marketing Manager, Consultant and Artist, before deciding that Writer/Mummy best summed her up. She lives in Northamptonshire with her husband, two children and labradoodle Kara and can mostly be found at http://writermummy.wordpress.com or on Twitter or Facebook.

_Two-Hundred Steps Home_ is her latest work. Amanda is writing the novel in daily instalments on her WriterMummy blog as part of her 2013 365 post-a-day challenge. This ebook is Volume 10 and contains the 31 instalments from October. To catch up, visit the blog or her author profile at Smashwords.

### COPYRIGHT

Published by 3AD Publishing at Smashwords

Copyright © Amanda Martin 2013

Amanda Martin asserts the moral right to be  
identified as the author of this work

Also by Amanda Martin:

Two-Hundred Steps Home: Volume 1

Two-Hundred Steps Home: Volume 2

Two-Hundred Steps Home: Volume 3

Two-Hundred Steps Home: Volume 4

Two-Hundred Steps Home: Volume 5

Two-Hundred Steps Home: Volume 6

Two-Hundred Steps Home: Volume 7

Two-Hundred Steps Home: Volume 8

Two-Hundred Steps Home: Volume 9

Two-Hundred Steps Home: Volume 11

Dragon Wraiths

Baby Blues and Wedding Shoes

This novel is entirely a work of fiction although based loosely on the hostels and the Kiwi Experience tour of New Zealand. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

http://www.amanda-martin.co.uk

http://writermummy.wordpress.com

### TABLE OF CONTENTS

Title

Copyright

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

About the Author
ONE

The check-in clerk blanched as Claire's despair swelled into a crescendo. Words piled up behind the sobs, until they spilled out unstoppable. Claire gripped the desk and stared at the woman through her tears.

"Help me, please. I'm out of cash, my best friend just tried to kill herself and I'm meant to start my new job next week. I have to get home. Don't get me wrong, you have a beautiful country, but it isn't home." Her voice trailed off into a wail on the last word.

The clerk silently produced a tissue then picked up the phone on her desk.

"Get me flight number EK419. Now. Yes, I have a late passenger here, can we get her on?... I know the gate it closed. It's an emergency."

The clerk looked up at Claire. "Is that your only luggage?"

Claire nodded.

"Any liquids?"

Claire rooted through her rucksack and pulled out her washbag. Looking around for a bin, she dumped the contents in it, before stuffing the washbag in a pocket. After a second's hesitation, she dropped her water bottle in the bin too.

While she was emptying her bag of liquids the woman was in quick discussion on the phone. She hung up as Claire came back to the desk.

"Come with me."

Claire grabbed her bag and ran after the retreating form moving surprisingly fast in four inch heels.

She pulled out her passport and tickets as she ran, and had them in her hand in time to show the bewildered security official as the clerk swept her past the queue to the front.

The same happened at the X-ray machine. Watching the force of nature in front of her, Claire suspected she could have been smuggling out a kiwi bird and the guards wouldn't have challenged her. Claire didn't know which part of her sorry tale had inspired the woman to fight on her behalf; she just knew she wanted to give the woman a hug. Or a medal.

Within minutes they were at the gate, arriving as the rear stairs were withdrawn from the aircraft. Face burning from exertion and embarrassment, Claire followed her champion to the foot of the remaining ladder.

"Here you are. You'll have to check your luggage into the hold at Sydney. For now one of the stewards will store it for you." And, producing her first smile since Claire had arrived at her desk, the woman gestured up towards the plane. "Good luck. I hope your friend is okay."

As she climbed into the aircraft, Claire wondered if any other nation of people would have stuck their necks out so far for a total stranger.

_I hope she doesn't get into trouble_.

A few passengers began a slow handclap as she boarded the plane. Claire ducked her head and tried not to cry. Something in her expression must have told of her grief, as the clapping stopped and a steward ushered her to her seat just as her colleague began the safety briefing.

Claire slumped into the vacant space and fastened her belt. As the reality dawned that she was actually on her flight, Claire felt her limbs begin to shake.

I'm going home.

***

TWO

Claire regarded the airport through heavy eyes, expecting it to look different somehow. Surely the world had shifted on its axis during the long weeks she had been away?

Around her, people greeted loved ones, hurried towards men holding name cards, or – like her – shuffled head down through the waiting crowd, knowing no one was there to meet her.

Why would they be? No one even knows I'm arriving today.

Claire adjusted the straps of her rucksack and looked around for signs to the train station, hoping she could catch a direct train to Cambridge. Her first priority was getting to Kim.

Through every minute of the thirty-two endless hours it took to get home, concern for Kim had kept her from sleep. During the stopovers at Sydney and Dubai, with no iPad for company and no money for food, she had sat cradling her phone praying for news.

There had been just one text from Jeff, telling her that Kim was scheduled to spend a few days in the hospital so the staff could ensure she didn't make a second attempt on her life. Jeff had had to fight to stop her being transferred to a secure facility.

Poor Jeff. Poor Kim.

That was as far as Claire could think. Her own role in her friend's drama ate at her like a cancer, until she too felt an eternal sleep might be preferable to continuing to live every painful day.

Hanging in the limbo of a long-haul flight, lost to the world and unconnected to anyone in it, it wasn't difficult for Claire to imagine what drove her friend to her desperate act. Anything to make the emptiness go away.

The darkness pursued her now, as she shouldered her way through the happy faces. A lump lodged in her throat and she longed for solitude, so she could break down in peace.

"Claire!"

The voice brushed at her back, but she refused to turn and realise it was not her being hailed. Footsteps ran along after her, and she jumped as someone touched her arm.

"Claire, wait! I can't believe you came through just as I was getting coffee. I thought you might like this."

Turning slowly, Claire's eyes opened wide as she took in the reality of her boss standing in front of her holding out a giant cardboard cup.

"Conor. What are you doing here? How did you know I was landing today?"

Thoughts and emotions crashed in her mind like waves in a stormy sea. With numb fingers she accepted the coffee, the aroma seeping into her fuddled brain with all the comfort of home. When did she last have a proper latte?

"I follow your social media. Someone called Jeff wished you a safe flight home, said he'd see you today. It wasn't hard to figure out which flight you were on, there aren't so many from Christchurch."

Claire stared mutely, wondering if it was her destiny to be surrounded by stalkers. The last person to track her down through social media had been Michael. Honesty forced her to admit that her ex-boyfriend's tenacity had proved useful, rescuing her from a night passed out in a dark lane with a bump to the head. And now her future boss had come all the way to the airport from Dorset, on the strength of a Facebook update.

"Are you for real? What are you doing here?"

"You said that already." Conor grinned. "Come and sit down, you look bloody awful."

The words hit Claire like a blow, and the tears began to pour out as if the force had broken a pipe. She felt Conor guide her to a bench and sit her down, taking the coffee from her limp grasp.

For a while they sat and Claire rode out the wave of sadness and humiliation. At last she became aware of a tissue being offered underneath her curtain of unwashed hair. Accepting it, Claire dried her face and blew her nose.

"Sorry. I wasn't expecting anyone. You broke down the barrier, damn you."

"What happened? I thought you were having a great craic in New Zealand. Your blog posts and texts were all about sky diving and rafting, getting drunk and all that. You look like you've been in a concentration camp. Did you forget to eat?"

Claire shook her head, unsure whether Conor was berating her or trying to make her feel better. She couldn't think. She wanted him to go away, but didn't want to be alone. Feeling the tears building again, Claire dug her nails into her arms, wishing she could rip her skin off and fly into oblivion.

As if sensing Claire's distress, Conor patted her knee. "Come on, let's get you out of here. Where do you need to be? I am at your service."

"Shouldn't you be at work?" Claire's voice sounded heavy, the words hard to speak. Suddenly she just wanted to sleep.

"It's Sunday afternoon, I don't have to head back for a few hours. Where can I take you?"

"Cambridge. I need to be in Cambridge."

Claire saw Conor's nod through her curtain of hair. He rose abruptly and tugged her to her feet.

"Cambridge it is. Here's your coffee. Drink it, you look like you need it. And a shower." He sniffed, dramatically. "You definitely need a shower."

He grinned and, through the numbness, Claire managed to raise a smile.

***

THREE

Claire let the silence of the car wrap around her like a blanket. Now and then she glanced over at Conor, but he always had his attention on the road ahead, following the directions of the SatNav taking them to the hospital in Cambridge. She studied his profile, but wraparound sunglasses concealed his face. He drove with one hand on the top of the wheel and the other on the gear stick. When the tears came again, in fits and starts, he reached across and patted her knee; always removing his hand back to its resting place.

Claire sighed and stared out the window at the familiar landscape. Her head ached from lack of sleep and too many thoughts. The caffeine buzzed around inside her skull like a swarm of flies.

She didn't remember falling asleep, but she jerked awake as the car stopped and Conor said, in a low voice, "We're here."

Rubbing her eyes, Claire peered out the window at the busy car park and felt a shiver run over her skin. Now she had arrived, she wanted to be anyplace but here.

"Do you want me to come in with you?"

Claire turned towards Conor and her stomach lurched at the concern on his face. She nodded.

Conor opened the door and climbed out of the car. Claire noticed that he moved languidly and with an unexpected grace, as if he had all the time in the world. Before she knew it, he was opening her door and offering his hand to help her up.

"You look like some food would be a good idea. Do you want to eat first? I hear hospital food isn't as bad as it used to be."

Claire shook her head, feeling her greasy hair sticking to her scalp. "I'd really like a shower."

"We can probably do that. There are usually facilities for family in big hospitals. Do you want me to ask?"

She was about to agree, when she remembered that she'd thrown all her cosmetics away at the airport. "No, let's leave it. I'll shower when I get to my Mum's."

The words made her blanch. How was she going to get to her Mum's house without a car? Public transport didn't exactly run that way regularly and she doubted it would be running at all on a Sunday evening. Never mind what she would do if she got to her parents' house and was turned away again.

Swallowing down imminent tears, Claire decided to deal with one thing at a time.

"Is your Mum local? I can drop you there, after, if you like?" Conor's voice broke through her turmoil like a ray of light.

"No, you've done too much already. I'll manage."

"Don't be silly, Claire. You've just got back from a long trip away. Let someone help you for a change. You don't have to do everything by yourself."

Claire wanted to protest, but she didn't have the strength.

"Okay, that would be great, thanks. She's about an hour away, but it's in the right direction for you to get home."

Satisfied, Conor led the way into the hospital and over to the reception desk.

Claire felt her knees give way as she approached the drawn blue curtain. Memories of visiting Ruth, of the shock of seeing how ill she looked, ran through her mind and she hesitated. The receptionist had explained that visiting hours would end in twenty minutes. Deep inside, Claire felt relief: she thought she'd be lucky to manage ten.

With trembling fingers she drew aside the curtain and peered round at the bed. Conor stood behind her but had already said he wouldn't come in. She felt him gently place his hand on the base of her back and guide her forwards. Without the gesture, she thought she might have legged it.

A woman lay on the bed with a drip attached to her arm. Her closed eyes were sunk deep into her face and her cheekbones rose like armour either side of her nose. Claire wondered for a moment if she had been sent to the wrong cubicle. Then the woman's eyes opened and her face stretched in the shadow of a smile.

"Claire."

The voice whispered across the room and Kim tried to raise her arm, but let it fall back to lie on the covers. Her brow creased, in pain or frustration, and Claire took two steps forward to stand by the bed.

"Don't move if it hurts." She reached for the nearest hand and laid hers over it, ignoring the paper-dry skin and the chill of death that seemed to seep into her body through the touch.

"Where's Jeff?"

"He had to go home. He's been here for two days." Kim paused, as if the words were hard to speak. "The nurse told him he was no good to me if he collapsed."

She closed her eyes briefly, and Claire wondered if she might be sleeping. Her own breathing felt shallow, as the unmistakeable smell of hospitals and sickness invaded her senses. All the words she wanted to say, the questions and apologies, stuck in her throat.

Somewhere a clock ticked away the time until the sound of scraping chairs around them indicated that visiting hours were over. She gently removed her hand, not wanting to wake her friend. As she rose to leave, Kim's eyes flew open again and her gaze was sharper.

"Must you leave?"

Claire nodded.

"Will you come back tomorrow?"

She nodded again, unsure how she would get there but not prepared to let Kim worry about that.

"Claire? I'm sorry. For blaming you. For everything."

"Shhh." Claire walked back to the bed and dropped down to her haunches, so she could talk directly to her friend. "You get better, get out of here and home with Jeff. Everything will be okay. There will be another baby, another job, you'll see."

Kim's face crumpled. "No more babies. The doctors said I couldn't have any more. That was why..." She scrunched her eyes shut and Claire forgot to breathe. "I know now, that the miscarriage was nothing to do with the wedding or anything. I couldn't understand before, but I'm clearer now. I wasn't meant to have babies, that's all." She tried to smile and the sight wrenched at Claire's heart.

"We'll find a way, Kim. You stay with the people who love you, and we'll find a way."

With a squeeze of her friend's hand she fled from the bay.

***

FOUR

"Claire! What are you doing here?"

"Hi, Mum. Lovely to see you, too." Claire dropped her bag at her feet and ignored the look of barely-veiled horror on her mum's face.

"And who is this?"

Her mother's tone, a mixture of suspicion and approval, made Claire wince.

"This is Conor, he's my new boss. He gave me a lift home from the airport." She didn't want to explain; to talk about Kim or her own dire finances or anything. She wanted to crawl into her own bed and sleep.

Raising weary eyes to her mother's face, she released a sigh. "Can I stay? I know I haven't given you notice. If you've got people visiting, I'll sleep under the stairs. Or in the bath. I don't really care. I can't afford a hotel."

Her mother looked over her head, presumably at Conor, and flushed. "Of course you can stay. You are always welcome. And does your friend want to stay too?"

Claire snorted at the blatant matchmaking, then flushed, worried that Conor would take it seriously.

"It's grand of you to offer, Mrs Carleton, but I must be getting back. It's a long journey I've got ahead of me." He seemed to take it as his signal to leave. Walking forward, he turned to face Claire. "I'll call you tomorrow, to discuss when you'll be free to start work."

Holding his hand out towards her mother, he said, "It was nice meeting you, Mrs Carleton. Bye Claire." Nodding at them both, he turned and walked back down the path towards his car.

Claire felt as if a protective force had been taken away from her. Once he was in his car and driving down the street, her mother's forced grin dropped from her face.

"What on Earth is going on? I don't hear from you for weeks. Some men come and take away that rusty heap you left outside and now you've turned up out of the blue looking like death."

"Can I come in, Mum? It's a long story."

Her mother stepped back to let Claire into the hallway, before closing the door behind her with a bang. "And why did your boss pick you up from the airport? Are you sleeping with him? What happened to Michael?"

"Enough, already!" Claire's voice came out louder than she intended and she heard her mother suck air in between her teeth.

"Sorry. I'm tired. I've been travelling for weeks, I haven't slept for two days and I need a shower and some clean clothes. I'm sorry for not calling you first but I had– " she hesitated, "–other things to deal with. I'll explain it all tomorrow, okay?"

Without waiting for an answer, Claire picked up her rucksack and forced one foot in front of the other, along the hall and up the stairs. She reached her old room and paused in the doorway as she saw the suitcase by the bed, the perfume and make-up on the dressing table.

Claire walked numbly down the corridor to the spare room. With an in-held breath she pushed the door open, but the tiny room showed no evidence of being in use. Claire dropped her rucksack by the door, kicked off her shoes and crawled under the covers.

***

FIVE

Claire stared at the girl sitting at the kitchen table. She looked to be in her late teens or early twenties. Her short blonde hair stood up in spikes from her head and she had a ring through her nose.

As if sensing the scrutiny, the girl glanced up and smiled. "Hi, you must be Claire. Melanie said you were staying."

_Melanie? When did Mum let people call her by her first name? And who the hell are you?_ Politeness kept the words unspoken.

"Yes, hi, I'm Claire." She waited for the girl to introduce herself. After a few moments, she seemed to get the hint.

"Sorry, I'm Dotty. Your mum said I could stay for a while. I'm working locally for the summer, before I go to uni."

Claire blinked, trying to process the information. Her head ached; she wasn't entirely sure what time or day it was, although it looked like Dotty was eating breakfast which suggested it was probably morning.

I'm going to wake up in a moment and still be on the coach having a bad dream. Mum, let some random girl stay? In my room? For the whole damned summer?

She felt like she'd fallen down the rabbit hole and landed in a fantastic world of impossibilities. Her stomach growled and she remembered her priority.

"Is there any food?"

Dotty nodded. "Sure, I baked some bread yesterday; I think there's still half a loaf." She gestured towards the counter.

Like a sleepwalker, Claire crossed the familiar kitchen and retrieved what looked to be a walnut loaf from the breadbin. Hacking off a chunk, she smeared it with butter, too hungry to worry about toasting it first.

Claire perched on the edge of the nearest seat and concentrated on chewing the bread, glad not to be able to make further conversation. Her mind tried to place Dotty, wondering if she was some distant cousin or a God-daughter her mother had forgotten to mention. It didn't make sense: her mother hated having young people in the house. She'd practically held a street party when Claire had finally moved out; the last of the three children to leave the nest.

"I'm heading into Cambridge this morning, is there anything I can get you?"

Claire's gaze flew over to the young girl's face and her heart lurched. "Do you drive? Have you got your own car? I could do with a lift to the hospital, if it's not out of your way."

Dotty grinned. "Definitely not out of my way, that's where I'm going. I'm volunteering for PALS before I start my social work degree."

Claire had no idea what PALS was, but she wasn't going to turn down a free lift, even if it meant an hour in the car with the girl. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something about the fresh-faced brightly smiling woman irritated her.

"Great," was all she said. "How long have I got? I need to scrounge some shampoo from Mum so I can have a shower."

"I'm leaving in about twenty minutes. My stuff is in the family bathroom, you're welcome to borrow what you like."

The girl stood, rinsed her breakfast bowl, dried it and put it away. With a wide smile, she nodded at Claire and left the room.

Claire munched on her bread and tried not to cry.

***

SIX

Claire brushed the curtain aside and peered round into the bay. Kim lay with her eyes closed and Jeff sat beside her, gripping her hand with both of his. He looked up at the movement.

"Claire! Welcome home."

She pulled the curtain closed behind her and took a step forward. "Thanks, Jeff. I think you're the only person pleased to see me." Then, realising this wasn't her drama, she forced a smile on her lips. "Kim's looking better this morning."

"Yes, your visit really helped. The nurse said she slept well for the first time last night. Just as well, someone from PLAN is coming in to see her soon."

"PLAN?" Claire wondered for a moment if that was what Dotty had said she was working for, but couldn't remember. She prayed the young girl wasn't about to turn up here as well. An hour in the car had been more than enough time with her endless enthusiasm.

"Psychiatric Liaison people. To see if Kim is safe to come home, or whether she needs to go to a secure ward."

"Oh." Claire looked around for another chair and carried it over next to Jeff's. "What do you think?"

Jeff dropped his head, although he didn't let go of his wife's hand. "I don't know." He exhaled loudly, as if breathing out his doubt. "What a mess. Who knew an accidental pregnancy could have such awful repercussions."

Claire sat in silence, unwilling to probe. The weeks she'd spent gallivanting around New Zealand felt dirty, somehow, when she considered what Kim and Jeff had been going through in her absence.

As the silence stretched on, Claire tried to sift through the questions in her mind to find one that was safe to ask. _How's married life,_ or _How's work?_ weren't exactly appropriate. She was just grateful that Jeff apparently felt no blame towards her for her own role in the catastrophe.

As if sensing her thoughts, Jeff raised his head finally. "It was never your fault, you know. I wish Michael had kept his stupid mouth shut, of course. It wasn't the end to the wedding we had hoped for. Kim's boss went off on one, with the whole cast taking sides. Kim took it well, though. Fought her own: said she'd sue him for being a misogynistic bastard if he took her role away." He paused and a smile flickered across his face. "She was magnificent: you'd have been proud." He sighed.

"It was all fine for a few days. Then she got cramps; she was in agony. When we got to the hospital they said it was too late." His face crumpled and Claire realised, for the first time, that Kim wasn't the only one who had lost a baby.

Jeff's eyes were red when he raised his head to look at her. "And then when they said she couldn't have any more kids. It broke her, you know. I didn't realise she really wanted to be a mother – we never talked about it that much. Maybe you don't realise you want something until someone tells you you can't have it."

He fell silent and they sat listening to the sound of Kim's breathing. When Jeff spoke again his voice was low. "After that, she wasn't Kim anymore. She cried all the time, at the tiniest thing: TV adverts, pictures of kids, pregnant women in the street. The doctors diagnosed her with depression and gave her some pills but she wouldn't take them. Said they made her feel worse. And then..." He stopped.

Claire knew what happened next; she'd been there, in a manner of speaking. Her mind was full of words but none seemed adequate. How could you relate to someone who had been through so much? She wanted to do something to help. Whatever Jeff said, it was still partially her fault.

"If it helps with the psych assessment, I'm happy to come and stay for a while, look after Kim."

"What about your job? I thought you were starting a new job this week?"

Claire thought guiltily about Conor, everything she owned him and how much he'd put his own neck on the line to hire her. She thought about how much she was looking forward to getting back to work, having a purpose again. Not to mention some money to pay off her credit cards."

She shrugged. "It's just a job."

***

SEVEN

"I do understand, Claire, I really do. But you have to see it from my perspective."

The tired resignation in Conor's voice made Claire's mouth go dry. She could imagine him running a hand through his hair and trying not to yell at her. She gripped the phone tightly and waited for him to tell her she no longer had a job.

With an exhalation of breath, Conor spoke into the silence. "How long do you need?"

Claire felt a flicker of hope. "Psych Liaison says she needs monitoring for several weeks if they're going to let her go home. If Jeff takes anymore time off he's going to lose his job." She tried to keep her voice matter of fact.

"What about your job, Claire? Isn't that important."

The hope died with the cut of his voice, and something inside her broke. "You don't get it," she burst out. "This is my fault. If I'd been a better friend she wouldn't be in this mess. I have to fix it."

Another pause followed her words and she braced herself for the consequences. When he spoke again, however, Conor's voice sounded speculative.

"Maybe what she needs is a holiday? A road trip round Cornwall with her best friend would do her the world of good, don't you think?"

His words broke into the fog of Claire's mind and dispersed it like a ray of sunshine. "The PLAN lady didn't say anything about her having to stay home in bed. I think they want to see her on a regular basis..."

"Then they can Skype or call her, or she can go to a local hospital. It's June, Claire. What better way to find a reason to live than visiting the most beautiful places the country has to offer, in the summer? You'll have to book ahead if there are two of you staying in the hostels, and you should probably take a tent for the nights you can't get a bed. But it should be fun, yes?"

"Maybe you're right, "Claire said eventually. "I'll have a chat with her and Jeff."

"You do that." Conor's voice became business like again. "Don't take too long, I can only stall for so much time and I'm running out of excuses."

Claire inhaled, then blurted out ,"Thank you. I do really appreciate what you've done for me. I don't know why but I'm grateful."

"I'll tell you why, because you have the skills and experience to get the job done. Don't let me down."

Claire swallowed. The curt business tone unnerved her, reminding her that Conor was her employer not a friend.

"I won't," she said, before hanging up the phone. She hoped she was right.

***

EIGHT

"You want me to do what?" Kim's tired voice rose in agitation.

"Come to Cornwall with me. Just for a week or two, until Psych Liaison are off your case. It'll be fun. The forecast is great, and Cornwall is meant to be beautiful."

"Well it isn't. I had a gig in Newquay once and it was horrible." Kim folded her arms, reminding Claire strongly of Sky.

"That's just one town. Milton Keynes is a boring town of concrete and roundabouts; you wouldn't judge the whole of the Midlands on it, would you?"

Jeff caught Claire's eye and signalled that he wanted a quiet word. Claire gave an imperceptible nod.

"Just think about it, okay? Now, would you like a cup of tea?"

Kim nodded, then sank her head back against the sofa. Although she'd seemed brighter once they'd reached her apartment, she'd soon slumped into despondency; drifting into a dark place beyond Claire's reach.

In the kitchen, Jeff filled the kettle before turning to face Claire. "Don't give up. She's just being stubborn. Perhaps don't mention the bit about the tent– Kim hates camping."

Claire shivered, remembering Jeff's attempts to get the friends to see sense before she went to New Zealand. Determined to carry the high ground, Claire lifted her chin and took Kim's tea back into the lounge.

Kim lay with her eyes closed, but they flew open when Claire put the mug down with a clink. Claire happened to be watching her friend's face, and saw the muscles tighten into the obstinate mask from earlier. She didn't know whether to be irritated or amused by the wilfulness of her friend's reaction.

Determined not to rise to the bait, Claire perched on the sofa and said in a bright voice, "So, am I to have a travelling companion? We never managed the girly holiday when we were younger – maybe this is our opportunity?"

Kim remained silent and Claire searched her brain for a way through the wall. "You can help me keep up with the blog, if you like? As I'll be working for Conor this time, I might struggle to write something every day. Fancy trying your hand as a blogger?"

A flicker of interest passed across the pale face and for a moment Kim looked less unhappy. Then it was gone.

"Isn't there a theatre in the cliffs, down at the bottom of Cornwall? I'm sure we could try and get tickets to a play – all paid-for research of course. Give us something to work towards?"

At last Kim turned to face her friend, and the tension dropped from her face.

"Alright, enough already, I'll come. It's not like I have so many other options."

It wasn't exactly a grateful acceptance speech, but Claire didn't mind.

"Fabulous. I do just have one favour to ask, if you are coming."

A wary look crept across Kim's face.

"What's that?"

Claire smiled.

"Can we take your car?"

***

NINE

Claire ran her hands around the steering wheel and smiled. The endless grey tarmac outside the window flashed passed as she pressed the accelerator, and her smile widened. After weeks trapped on a coach, it felt great to be free.

"Oi! Steady on. My car isn't used to going above fifty."

Claire grinned sheepishly at her friend. "Sorry, Kim."

Kim grimaced and Claire felt some of her elation seep away. Kim had found fault with everything since their departure early that morning. Although she tried to be sympathetic it was starting to grate.

I have to remember she was in hospital until last night. This must all be so overwhelming.

Claire flushed guiltily as she thought back to her conversations with Kim. Her friend had wanted a few more days to recover but, conscious of her money and Conor's goodwill both slipping away, Claire had pushed her friend to leave immediately.

And it doesn't do to dwell, I can see that. Keeping moving is the thing.

She thought Kim had fallen asleep and so her voice made Claire jump.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

"Oh crap, really? You poor thing. Hang on, I'll find us somewhere to stop." Claire searched alongside the motorway for a sign to indicate how far away the services were. She didn't fancy stopping on the hard shoulder. At last a blue sign informed her that it was three miles to the next service station.

"Can you hang on for five minutes?"

When Kim didn't respond, Claire glanced over. Her friend was slumped forward with her hands covering her face.

Crap, crap, crap. Stupid idiot. I should have listened to her, let her stay home and rest. I'm sure Conor would have understood. Now she's going to end up back in hospital and it will be my fault. Again.

Gripping the wheel with slippery hands, Claire indicated for the turning and guided Kim's hatchback up the ramp to the car park. Parking close to the grass, Claire jumped out and ran round the car to help her friend.

Within minutes they were perched on a picnic bench, although Claire was grateful that her friend hadn't yet vomited. It was too early in the morning for that.

"What can I do? Do you want water? Something to eat? What did the doctors say?"

Claire wondered if she should call Jeff. The hospital hadn't given much advice when they'd discharged Kim. Only to say that she needed to be watched; to make sure she took her anti-depressants and to check back in from time to time. Nothing about the physical side effects of the overdose.

Helplessness washed over Claire as she watched Kim staring at the floor, her face a pale tinge of green. It wasn't worth it. No job was worth making her friend more sick.

"Sorry, Kim. I rushed you into this. Do you want to go home? Back to the hospital? We're only about two hours away."

Kim shook her head, but didn't speak. Claire's mind raced with options, her throat aching with supressed tears.

This isn't how it's supposed to be.

"I'm okay." Kim's voice drifted up to Claire amidst the noise of the busy car park. "The stuff they made me drink – the charcoal – I feel like it's still in my mouth, in my stomach. It was awful." She gave a dry chuckle. "Makes my poo black too. Like I've eaten a mountain of liquorice."

Claire strained to hear Kim's words; her ears muffling out all the other sounds until her focus was completely on her friend. She wanted to ask more, ask her if she thought she might do it again, but it felt like prying.

"Could I have some water, please?"

Claire nodded, then hesitated, unsure whether to leave Kim alone while she went into the shop.

"I'll be okay, I promise," Kim said, interpreting Claire's indecision. "I'm not going to do anything stupid. I don't want to die. It was just then, at that moment, I didn't know how to live. I wanted the pain to stop. I felt like I was trapped in a burning building and it was jump or be burnt alive." Kim clasped and unclasped her hands, and Claire watched, mesmerised.

"I'm still not sure if I know how to live, but I'm fighting it. You're here, now, and Jeff. We'll find a way."

"I'm here," Claire agreed, but the words tore through her.

I'm here, but you shouldn't be coming to Cornwall. You need constant care, and a therapist to help you. What if I get it wrong and you try again and we don't stop you. What then?

Fear, indecision, guilt all dragged at Claire. She had to start her job, to pay off the bills before the credit card companies made demands. But Kim needed her.

I don't think I can do this.

The darkness washed around the edges of Claire's vision, and the world pitched and fell, as if she and Kim were cast adrift on a sinking ship. She wasn't sure she had the strength to keep them both afloat.

***

TEN

Claire strode across the car park, muttering prayers under her breath. She could see Kim still slumped forward on the picnic bench and thanked the gods that at least she hadn't run off or stepped in front of a lorry.

Pulling on her last reserves, Claire hitched on a smile and forced herself to walk slowly for the last few paces to her friend.

"Here you go," she said brightly, hoping Kim couldn't hear the fake smile in her voice. Kim glanced up to see what was being offered.

"I can't drink caffeine," she said, the words falling like autumn apples to smash on the floor.

Claire inhaled deeply. "It's not coffee, it's a hug in a mug." She sat next to Kim and pushed the paper cup towards her. "Go on, you know you want to."

Kim turned and stared suspiciously at the cup. Then the frown lifted and her lips turned up slightly at the edges.

"Hot chocolate? I haven't had one in years. Hot chocolate is for kids." But she took the offered cup and wrapped her hands around it, as if they were in the grips of winter rather than basking in a pleasant summer's morning.

"It's full of sugar and warmth and memories. It will make you feel better." Claire took a gulp of her latte, burning her mouth.

Serves me right for suggesting depression can be fixed with a hot drink. Idiot.

The girls sat without talking. Claire saw from the corner of her eye that Kim took a sip of her drink and then another. The green pallor in her cheeks faded as the warmth and the sugar got to work. Claire felt one knot of tension unravel: it wasn't much, but it was a start.

After half an hour, Kim sat up straight and looked around, as if surprised to find herself in a service station car park.

"Where are we?"

"Toddington Services."

Kim managed a laugh. "I'm none the wiser."

"Sorry. We're on the M1, about a third of the way to Dorset. What do you want to do? Are you okay to go on, or do you want to go home?"

Kim released a pent-up sigh; puffing the air out from her cheeks as if she were trying to blow away the dark clouds.

"Fuck knows."

The emptiness in her voice made Claire flinch. Without thinking, she put her arm around Kim's shoulder, gripping her tightly and ignoring the unusual feel of bone under her hand. The shoulders began to shake, and she realised Kim was crying.

"Shhh. It will be okay, I promise. We'll figure it out."

"How?" Kim's voice shot out through the tears. "How will it ever be okay? I can't have kids. You don't want children: you can have no idea what that means." And she pulled away from Claire's embrace.

"I'm trying to understand, Kim. And I don't know about the kids anymore. A lot has changed for me, too." She wanted to continue, but managed to hold the words in. Instead she tried to think of something to say that wouldn't fan the flames of Kim's grief.

"There are other ways. You could adopt: there are babies all over the world who would love to have you for their mummy."

"But they wouldn't be _my_ babies." Kim's sobs grew stronger, her slender body shaking like a leaf in the wind.

"What about surrogacy, then?" Claire had no idea whether it was possible, but she wanted Kim's tears to stop. They made her feel helpless.

"Jeff and I don't have the money for something like that; we're not rich like you."

Claire laughed bitterly. "I was never rich. And now; now I don't even know how I'm going to pay back the credit card company, before they try and find something to repossess. I'm broke."

Kim looked over, one eyebrow raised in disbelief and Claire bit back the sudden desire to yell at her friend that she wasn't the only one with problems. Her financial predicament was of her own making and paled into significance next to Kim's woes.

"I'm serious," was all she said. "I'd barely cleared my debts by the time I decided to pack in my job and fly to New Zealand. Those weeks as a gullible tourist, spending money left and right, has maxed out both my credit cards. If I don't start work for Conor this week I'm totally in the shit."

Kim's eyes narrowed, as if she found the concept of a poor Claire too hard to fathom. Then she wrapped her arm around Claire's waist and squeezed.

"Then we're both in the shit together. We'd best get shovelling." And she smiled.

_It's true,_ Claire thought wryly, as she returned the embrace, _misery does love company._

***

ELEVEN

"So, this is the place that's lured you away from city life?" Kim looked out the window at the painted houses, dull beneath the clouds covering the summer sky, and snorted. "It's not really your style. Is there even a Starbucks in this town?"

Claire tried to ignore the mockery in Kim's voice. "I won't be living here, at least not for a while. And, for your information, I no longer need to live within five minutes of a decent cup of coffee. I've broadened my horizons." She dropped her prim voice and added, "Besides, there's Starbucks in Poole, so I can nip over on the ferry."

The girls laughed and, for a moment, it felt like the old days. Then Kim sighed. "You'll be so far away. I feel like I've hardly seen you since you left home."

"That was nearly ten years ago. We've never seen much of each other – we went to different schools and different universities. You moved in with Jeff, I went to Manchester. We don't have to be in walking distance to be friends you know."

"It's not the same. I wanted to bike over and talk to you, and you weren't there." Her voice held a hint of accusation and Claire braced herself for further attacks.

Kim sighed again. "Sorry. I know this isn't your fault. Jeff says I accused you of causing the miscarriage – when you came to see the play. I don't really remember; everything is foggy. If I did, I'm sorry."

"That's okay. I'm sorry I thought Michael could be trusted to keep his big gob shut."

"Things are definitely over between you two, then?"

Claire thought about all the things her friend didn't know about; Josh and the unnamed Scottish man and even Neal. For the first time it felt like a hundred years had passed since they'd last spoken."

"Definitely."

"I can't say I'm disappointed. He never seemed right for you. Too boring. You need someone to make you laugh." She stopped. "Poor Jeff, I've made his life a misery and he must be grieving as well. Even though it was only early on, it was his baby too."

She fell silent again, and Claire glanced over, worried she was crying. Her face revealed dark thoughts, but she seemed in control of her emotions.

Turning her attention back to the road, Claire followed the SatNav's instructions to take them to their B&B. They hadn't managed to get beds in the hostel and Claire had to admit she wasn't disappointed. She wasn't entirely sure Kim was up to staying with strangers.

The B&B overlooked the bay. Claire looked out at the slate grey water, topped with white. The skies had grown darker and darker as they drove south and now they hung ominously overhead. Claire hoped it wasn't a sign that they should have stopped driving and turned back.

"What do you want to do?" She looked over at Kim, who was also staring out across the sea. "Are you hungry?"

Kim looked blankly at her and the gloomy light from the window highlighted her sunken cheeks and the flatness of her eyes. She turned her face back to the window without speaking.

When she didn't answer, Claire filled the silence with bright and brittle words. "Well, I'm hungry. Plus I need to contact Conor, see if we can catch up tonight. Then we can carry on into Devon and Cornwall tomorrow. You'll like Conor, he's full of Irish charm."

She ran out of words. It felt like trying to get through to Sky when she was having a tantrum. Only much worse. All the emotions in Kim were raging on the inside; like watching a storm through thick glass.

"Do you want me to take you home?"

"I want to go to sleep and never wake up."

Kim's words poured like ice water over Claire. Her mind went blank. She wanted to bundle Kim in the car and take her back to Jeff, or the hospital. To people better suited to deal with the despair. Instead she took a deep breath, letting the air fill her lungs, and forced her lips to smile.

"Well, I'm not going to let you do that. Let's go for a walk along the beach, spend some coppers in the amusement arcade then let Conor buy us dinner. It will all seem better tomorrow."

She tugged her friend gently and was relieved when she allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. As she led her from the room, Claire looked one last time at the wind-tossed sea and hoped she was right that it would be better in the morning. It couldn't be worse.

***

TWELVE

"So, ladies, where will you be off to in the morning?"

As Conor smiled at them, Claire noticed that the wary expression was beginning to leave his face when he looked at Kim. Since their first introduction, an hour or two before, he had acted as if her friend were a bomb about to explode.

Kim had said very little through dinner, although Claire was relieved to see her eat some of her food. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

She turned to Conor to answer his question. "I think we'll aim for somewhere in Devon, tomorrow. The weather is meant to get better, and it would be a shame to spend too much time in the car. I thought we might head along the coast to Exeter: then I can get a feel for some of the local Dorset towns before we leave the county."

Conor nodded, but Claire got the impression he wasn't really listening. They hadn't talked much about the job during dinner. It unnerved her. A job was meant to come with a contract and a start date and, most importantly, a sense of how much and when she would be paid.

As if reading her mind, Conor caught her eye. "As I said before, we can't do much in the way of expenses, but you will be getting paid. As it's on contract for six months, I can pay you weekly if that would help?"

Claire nodded, wondering if it was so obvious that she was completely skint. It was hard to read her new boss. Sometimes, such as during her travels when he texted her, he felt almost like a friend or a benevolent uncle. At other times, like this evening, he was every inch her boss; keeping his distance and maintaining a flow of polite, neutral conversation. It made her feel like an idiot.

Did I imagine the tone of friendship in his texts, or read more into them? And what about picking me up from the airport: what was that all about? What on earth is it going to be like, working for him every day?

She shivered. For the first time she felt a sense of apprehension. In some ways it was easier to manage a boss like Carl, who made it his mission to keep her on her toes. What did you do with someone who seemed like your friend one minute and your master the next?

Claire glanced at Kim, hoping to be able to pick her brains later, to see what she made of Conor. Kim had her hands wrapped around her mug of hot chocolate and was staring into the dark liquid as if it held the secrets of the future.

If only.

Noticing the darkening bags beneath her friend's eyes, Claire decided it was time to head back to the B&B. She had hoped finally sitting down with Conor to discuss work would leave her feeling more settled and sure that she had made the right decision. Instead it felt similar to waiting in the aircraft, trying to anticipate when the man strapped to her back was going to jump out and drag her with him.

Maybe I shouldn't have burned my bridges quite so emphatically with Carl. Perhaps they're right when they say better the devil you know.

She looked up and caught Conor staring at her, his eyes glittering in the low light of the restaurant. Her mouth felt dry. Reaching for her drink, she nearly knocked it flying across the table. Glad for an excuse to look away, Claire tried to ignore the hot flush rising up her cheeks.

***

THIRTEEN

Claire pulled into the car park with a sense of relief. Travelling in the car with Kim was beginning to stretch her nerves to breaking point.

I wonder if this is how Bethan felt, travelling with me around New Zealand?

With a guilty flush Claire decided that Bethan probably had more patience. Assuming her dark moods had been of equal blackness, and she suspected they had been, it was a bit like trying to run holding a fragile vase full of excrement. One careless step and the darkness slopped over the side, making everything awful. And all the while there lurked the constant fear that one misstep might shatter the vessel into a thousand pieces.

The town rose around them up into tree-lined hills where white villas sat majestically overlooking the bay. She'd never been to Lyme Regis before and her only knowledge of the town came from a TV adaptation of Jane Austen's _Persuasion_.

"Apparently Jane Austen loved this town," she said, as Kim joined her on the pavement.

"I guess someone has to," Kim responded, staring round with distaste.

Claire bit back a retort and looked instead for somewhere they could get a cup of coffee and some cake. She definitely needed cake.

After Kim had turned down the first two cafés for being too busy or too twee, they'd finally settled in a small independent coffee shop that featured a display of divine looking cakes.

Claire wrapped her hands around her mug and read the sign on the wall out loud; "Money can't buy happiness, but it can buy tea which is the same kind of thing." She laughed. "Substitute that for coffee and I couldn't agree more."

"I wouldn't have thought you'd be laughing about money, if you're as broke as you claim you are." Kim's voice cut through Claire's happiness like a cheese wire.

Claire inhaled sharply, and the words came out before she had time to think. "Give it a rest, Kim. Your life sucks, I get that. Mine's not exactly rosy either. It's not going to get better if you stomp around thinking your cup is half empty all the time." She stopped, her face flaming, and immediately reached out her hand in apology. Kim stared at her through round eyes.

"God, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean that." She tried to lay her hand on her friend's, but Kim snatched her hand off the table and crossed her arms.

"I'm not sulking, Claire. I'm not choosing to be low. I have depression. The doctor explained it; it's an imbalance of chemicals in my head. I can't control it. You wouldn't ask me to just get up and walk if I had a broken leg."

The heat continued to pound in Claire's face as Kim's words hit out at her. She hung her head. "I know. I understand, really." She wanted to add that she felt the same; that the world had closed in around her in the past weeks, but suspected Kim wouldn't appreciate her saying, _oh yes, me too._

They sat in silence and Claire sipped at her coffee, more for something to do than out of any enjoyment.

_This was a mistake._ _What was I thinking?_

She tried to think of a way out, but nothing presented itself. The idea of travelling with Kim for even a few days, never mind the weeks it would take to get around Cornwall, filled her with dread. And she was meant to be working, not babysitting. How was she supposed to research the tourist activities and compile her recommendations - how was she even going to think straight - with Kim pouring her woe on them all the time. But she couldn't send Kim home, even though they were in her car. She wasn't sure Kim was safe by herself and it was a long way back to her apartment.

Claire felt like she was back in Puzzling World, stuck in the maze, lost and confused. Only now she couldn't climb a tower and figure the way out.

Draining her coffee, she stood up and shouldered her bag. "Come on then, let's get moving."

One foot forward; that was the only way.

***

FOURTEEN

"Hi, Jeff, it's Claire." She looked over at the sleeping form on the bed behind her, and lowered her voice. "Is it okay to talk?"

"Sure, what's up?"

"I'm worried about Kim. I don't think she was ready for this trip." Claire hesitated, then rushed on. "Or me, for that matter. I'm not exactly a bundle of joy these days, and I think we're bringing each other down. I don't know what to do"

She heard Jeff suck air in through his teeth. "What do you want me to do? I'm back at work this week. I don't think the boss will appreciate me taking any more time off."

The curtness of Jeff's tone surprised Claire. She'd always envied Kim for finding a man both handsome and understanding.

"What about her parents; could she stay back home for a while?"

Jeff let out a bark of derision. "She'd relapse for sure if she stayed with her mum for more than five minutes in her current state. Even at the hospital her constant fussing got on Kim's nerves. You know what she's like."

Claire frowned, trying to match Jeff's words with what she knew of Kim's mother. When they were growing up, she'd always wanted a mother like Kim's. Her own mother had shown little concern for anything Claire did, provided it had no impact on her, while Kim's mum had watched over Kim's every move. Was it fussing, or was it just being a caring mother?

"I don't know, Jeff. I think Kim probably needs someone to fuss over her. Make sure she's taking her tablets and eating, that kind of thing. Someone who won't fall out with her if she fights back or mopes." She thought guiltily about her outburst earlier in the day. She couldn't imagine Kim's mother saying anything so harsh.

Jeff's sigh echoed down the phone. "Why are you ringing me then? Take her to her mother's, if she'll go."

Claire wanted to ask Jeff what his problem was. He was a different man from the one she'd spoken to at the hospital.

Maybe he's just had a bad day at work. This has all got to be pretty tough on him, too. A few months ago they were a normal carefree couple. Now they're married and his wife is suffering from depression.

Forcing a lightness into her voice that she didn't feel, Claire said, "Sorry, Jeff. I should have thought of calling her mother first. I'll send you a text to let you know what we decide."

As she hung up the phone, Claire hoped Jeff wasn't having second thoughts about his new wife.

"I don't want to go to my mother's. She'll fuss around me every five minutes. You should have seen her at the hospital." Kim pouted.

"Yes, that's what Jeff said, but– "

"You called Jeff?" Kim's face grew darker.

"I wanted to pick his brains, that's all."

"I don't want you all talking about me behind my back, like I'm a child."

Claire took a deep breath. "We're just worried about you, darling, that's all. I don't think a road trip is the right thing for you at the moment. It's tough, moving on every day. Lord knows I'm sick of it, and it's my job."

"Doesn't seem like a hard job to me." Kim folded her arms and glared at Claire.

Forcing herself to remain calm, Claire went to sit on the bed next to Kim. "You've only done one day, and we're in a B&B. Some of the hostels aren't particularly soothing places to be, especially if you're sharing a room with some noisy blokes or chattering girls. You're mum's place is lovely and peaceful and I'm sure if you ask her to give you some space, she will."

Kim stared at the floral pattern on the carpet and Claire forced herself to be silent. After a long pause, Kim sighed. "I guess you're right. At least Mum won't try to get rid of me."

"I'm not trying to get rid of you, silly! I just want you to get better so we can go have some fun." She held her breath, worried Kim would resent the idea that she needed to get better.

Eventually Kim unfolded her arms and put one around Claire's waist. "Me, too." She laid her head against Claire's shoulder. "Promise me we'll go on a girly holiday, somewhere hot, just you and me? When I'm better."

Claire smiled for the first time that day, and returned her friend's embrace.

"You're on."

***

FIFTEEN

"Hello, Mrs Jenkins, lovely to see you."

Claire shuffled her feet as the woman opened the door, and the smile on her face felt more like a grimace. The closer they had got to Kim's parents' house, the greater the number of butterflies in her tummy. She hadn't spoken to Kim's mum since the wedding, and she had no idea whether she, too, blamed her for her daughter's miscarriage.

"Claire! Come in, come in. My, you girls made good time." She held the door open, ushering Claire and Kim into the hallway.

"Hi, Mum," Kim muttered, wrapping her arms around herself. Her mum moved towards her, as if to give her a hug, but stepped back again and quietly closed the door.

"Go into the kitchen, we'll have some tea," she called, as Claire and Kim headed down the corridor.

Claire felt a warm contentment wrap around her as she walked down the familiar hallway, following the patterned tiles that danced like summer flowers all the way to the kitchen at the back of the house. The place hadn't changed much since she'd last visited and she tried to work out how many years ago that had been.

"Gosh, it only seems like yesterday you girls were here for the summer," Mrs Jenkins said as she bustled into the kitchen behind them.

Claire smiled at the memory, wincing only slightly as she worked out it had been nearly ten years before.

"It was very kind of you to let me stay, Mrs Jenkins."

She remembered the few weeks she and Kim had worked together in a local hotel, during their first university vacation. Kim's parents' had only just moved to the house, having decided to leave the area where Kim grew up after she left home to go to university.

Kim had resented the move but, looking round, Claire couldn't blame the Jenkins at all. Upping sticks to the West Country gave them a lot more house for their money. The beautiful detached property, surrounded by lawns and mature trees, was like a mansion compared to the small terrace Kim had grown up in.

"You were never any bother, Claire. It was good to see my Kim having fun." She smiled fondly at her daughter, ignoring the sullen frown on Kim's face. "Thank you for bringing her home to me. This is where she belongs."

The word home resonated through Claire like the chime of a bell. That was it: this place was a home. Every detail, from the cat asleep on the comfy sofa in the conservatory, to the muddy boots and raincoats they'd passed in the hallway. It was a million miles away from the sterile magnolia box her parents called home.

"Would you like some tea?" Mrs Jenkins moved into the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

Kim wandered into the conservatory and curled up on the sofa next to the cat. As she turned to stare out the window at the garden beyond, the sun highlighted the bags under her eyes and emphasised the grey hue of her skin.

Claire went to stand close to Kim's mother, while the woman took mugs from a cupboard.

"How is she?" Mrs Jenkins murmured.

Claire glanced over at Kim to see if she was listening. Her face was still hidden, so Claire risked answering in a low voice. "Not great. Her world seems so black; I can't get through to her. She needs some space, I think, and someone who can watch over her, make sure she eats."

Mrs Jenkins nodded, as she poured water into a floral teapot. "I suggested she come home, when I saw her in the hospital, but she didn't seem keen."

"She still isn't, I'm afraid." Claire thought it safer to be honest. "She's worried you're going to fuss over her." Her ears rang as she realised how cruel her words sounded. "Sorry, I didn't mean to say that."

"Nonsense, dear, it's only the truth. I don't mean to fuss. But with her sister moving overseas straight from university, I probably did cling on a bit too tightly. It's hard, when they fly the nest." She sighed. Then, placing the cups and the teapot onto a tray, she carried them through to the conservatory.

"Would you like some tea, Kim?" Her voice sounded light but Claire was watching her face and saw the worry in her eyes.

Kim merely shook her head and continued to stare out of the window. Mrs Jenkins poured tea for herself and Claire and the women sat at the table.

"Will you stay the night?" She smiled at Claire, who shook her head.

"I can't, I'm afraid. I need to catch a train back south at half past two. I've only just started a new job and I can't afford to take time off right now. I'm hoping I'll be able to come and see Kim in a week or two, if that's alright with you?"

"Of course, Claire. You are welcome here anytime. Would you like a lift to the station? I'm sure Kim will be fine here by herself for half an hour."

Kim made a noise, as if protesting at their talking about her . Claire looked over, but didn't know what to say. She drank down the last of the tea, and went to sit next to her friend.

"I'm sorry to rush off, Kim, but Conor thinks I'm still in Devon. I daren't stretch his tolerance any further. I've left your car keys on the hall table."

Kim kept her face turned to the window.

"Please, Kim. Don't be like this. We're all worried about you, that's all. Your mum will look after you much better than I could; give you time and space to heal. Only you can put the pieces back together again."

Eventually Kim turned to face her, and there was evidence of tears on her cheeks. Claire braced herself for more anger, but Kim merely put her arms around her and held her close.

"Thank you," she mumbled into her hair. "I'm sorry to be a burden."

"You are not a burden," Claire said, emphasising each word. "I don't want to hear you talking like that. I just want you to take care of yourself. Promise me you won't do anything silly."

Kim remained silent, and Claire pushed her away so she could see her face. With her hands on her shoulders she looked into her friend's red eyes. "Promise me!"

"Okay."

"No, properly: like you mean it." Claire glared at her, feeling as if they were both fifteen again.

Kim crossed her heart with one finger. "Cross my heart and hope to die." She pulled a face. "Sorry, wasn't thinking. Cross my heart and promise not to die?" She raised her eyes to Claire's face.

"That's better," Claire said primly. Then they both collapsed into giggles.

***

SIXTEEN

Claire's head pounded in time with the noise of the train: chugga thud, chugga thud.

Digging her thumbs into her temples, she tried to massage the pain away, but the contact only gave it somewhere to focus. It felt like someone had slotted a clamp either side of her skull and was now cranking the handle.

Gritting her teeth against the discomfort, Claire focussed on the tiny screen, cursing each time the train's lurching motion causing her to press a wrong key.

How do people use their phones for anything other than making calls? My fingers must just be too big.

Claire carefully tapped the screen above the tiny black arrow and prayed the website would give her the right page.

I miss my iPad.

She dwelt on why she'd had to sell it.

I miss money too.

The thought wandered around her mind like a lost puppy, while she waited for the page to appear. It wasn't money, exactly, that she missed. She'd never had any before, not really. Her extravagant lifestyle in Manchester had been funded mostly by credit. Despite the large salary, she'd always seemed several months' pay in arrears. But, so long as the money was coming, it felt like hers and that was enough.

Now, for the first time, she was experiencing life without the expectation of that monthly sum, and it was an uncomfortable place to be. Even with knowing that she was working finally, and money was on its way, she knew she was at least a month's salary in arrears, with the bills she had run up in New Zealand.

How do people live without credit? How do they pay the bills, or eat? Never mind run a car.

The webpage slowly revealed itself, one picture at a time, like some kind of digital striptease. The wait stretched endlessly but, when all the text and images were visible, the story was still the same. Hiring a car to travel around the south west was way beyond her budget.

Who knew I would ever miss my little Skoda.

With careful precision, Claire opened a new search window and tapped out "Skoda" with the tip of her index nail. The page, when it appeared, was not what she was expecting.

They still make them? That looks more like a Volkswagen. I can't afford that.

Without really knowing why, she changed the search term to "Second hand car" then added "Exeter". A few painstaking clicks later and she was looking at a list of second hand cars that were the same price as hiring one for a few weeks.

Her heart thudded beneath her ribs and her throat ached for a cup of tea. The throbbing in her temples increased as she scanned the list of cars. Age, mileage, alloy wheels, five speed, four speed, petrol, diesel. The words seemed important but they might as well have been in Icelandic for all the sense they made to her.

With an overwhelming feeling of inadequacy, Claire realised she'd never actually bought a car before; her university runabout had been provided by her parents and, after that, her wheels had always belonged to the company. Even the Skoda.

Dropping her phone into her lap, Claire let her head fall back against the grimy seat. Staring at her own reflection in the window, her mind chewed on the growing sense of failure. Her image looked pale and haggard and her whole body ached.

How pathetic. I've been driving for ten years and I've never bought a car. I've never bought a house or had a mortgage. What do I know of the real world? I've lived in my stupid little bubble and been so proud of myself for being a success. What bollocks.

A tiny voice suggested she call Conor and ask him to source a car for her. She immediately quashed it. She did not want to owe Conor any more favours. A mental image of his eyes glittering with pleasure at her helplessness made her shudder.

With a sigh, Claire picked up the phone and staggered down the moving carriage to the corridor. In the end there was only one person a girl could call.

As the phone connected, Claire leant back against the wall and swallowed down tears.

"Dad? Hi, I'm glad you answered.... What? It's Claire. Claire.... Yes, I'm okay, how are you? How's the book coming along?... Great, that's great. Look, I need a favour.... No, it's not that. I need some advice.... Dad, how the hell do I buy a car?"

***

SEVENTEEN

Claire looked around at the endless rows of cars and tried not to panic. Remembering her father's advice, she pushed her shoulders back and pasted a smile on her face. Confidence, that was the key. That, and knowing he had agreed to lend her five hundred pounds to buy her first car. She felt eighteen years old.

Claire peered through the window of the nearest vehicle, despite the price tag hanging from the window. She wondered if there was anything in her price range.

Probably tucked at the back, out of sight.

She sighed. There was no denying that it hurt to be looking for a tatty rust bucket rather than a nice Audi or BMW.

I made my choices, I guess.

"Can I help you, madam?"

The voice greeting her was closer than she expected, and it made her jump. Turning to face the source of the voice, she had to suppress a giggle. He looked about ten years younger than her, in a shiny suit that didn't seem to fit very well.

"I'm looking for a car."

"Well you've come to the right place." He laughed, then stopped as Claire raised an eyebrow at him. "What kind of car are you looking for?"

The salesman looked her up and down and she could imagine him taking in her stretch jeans and polo shirt, the sunglasses holding back her heavy brown hair, and trying to decide what would best suit her.

"How about a nice Range Rover, or the BMW X5?" He looked around, as if surprised to discover there weren't any parked right by him.

Claire didn't know whether to be flattered or horrified that he clearly took her for a yummy mummy. "I'd love one, but my budget doesn't stretch I'm afraid. I just need a runabout that will take me around the West Country for a few weeks. When I return to the city I won't need it." She hoped her cover story – that she was on assignment from a City job – didn't sound too forced. Then she wondered why it mattered what some lad in the sticks thought of her.

"Oh, right." The salesman's face fell dramatically and Claire half expected him to stick out his bottom lip. She guessed he was paid commission.

There's not going to be much coming from me, I'm afraid. Better luck next time.

She followed the man through the sparkling sea of cars to the back of the lot where, as she suspected, the two or three cheap cars lurked unwanted and unloved.

Her Dad had explained they would be trade-ins and there wouldn't be much choice, as the garages usually off-loaded them at auction. "I don't need choice," had been her response, "I need reliability."

Her dad had sucked air in through his teeth and asked her if she had breakdown cover. It didn't bode well.

The salesman started rambling on about low insurance groups and minimal tax. Claire let the words wash over her as she peered in the windows of the brown, beige and grey cars huddled together as if for protection.

Why do older cars look so furtive? As if they're glad to have escaped the crusher?

Even with the fondness she had developed for the Skoda, Claire still shuddered as she opened creaking doors to be greeted by the stink of stale smoke and overpowering air fresheners.

She climbed inside the least awful car and flinched as her hands touched the sticky seats. Quickly climbing out, Claire smoothed the grimace off her face and turned back to the salesman.

"Is this all you've got?"

He nodded, all his exuberance gone as he realised he was unlikely to make a sale.

With a shrug, Claire looked them over again. "Which is likely to be the most reliable?"

The boy shook his head, to indicate he had no idea.

"Well, can I speak to your boss, then, please?" Claire stood with one hand on her hip. The salesman hesitated, then nodded again and strode across the parking lot.

It was several long minutes before an older man threaded his way through the cars towards her. Claire had had time to regret her request. It was easy to keep up a front with the inexperienced salesboy, but a manager was likely to prove tougher.

"Can I help you, madam?" The man asked, in a deep gravelly voice. His eyes twinkled and his face showed signs of habitual laughter.

Claire felt herself relax slightly. "I need a cheap runabout to get me round the West Country without breaking down. I've only got five hundred quid." She gave a wry smile. "The Company doesn't believe in exec cars, and I've never needed one before." That was mostly the truth.

She half expected the man to rub his hands in glee and sell her the worst of the lot. Instead he smiled, and gave an understanding nod.

"It's going to be tricky to find reliability for that kind of money. What you need is something that'll be cheap to fix."

It wasn't what Claire wanted to hear. Maybe hiring a car would be a better option after all.

"We've got a nice Vauxhall Cavalier. You could probably fix that yourself if it broke down." He gestured towards a boxy red car in the corner that Claire hadn't noticed before. She walked over and peered through the window. She felt some of the tension leave her neck and shoulders as she saw a neat black interior. When she opened the door it smelled clean and cared for.

"Owner didn't want to part with her, but the wife popped out a fourth and they had to get a seven-seater." The manager walked up beside her. "It's only done forty-thousand miles. Twelve months MOT, six months tax. It's got a sunroof and electric windows, which is pretty good for a twenty-year-old car. It'll get you forty to the gallon, which you'll need if you're putting in some miles. Petrol, too, so cheaper to run these days. Not like it used to be."

Claire climbed into the car and let the man's words flow around her like summer rain. It was bigger than the Skoda, more comfortable too.

"You'll need to watch the oil and water," the man continued, "they can get a bit thirsty. Should be cheap to insure though. Small engine."

With her hands on the steering wheel, Claire sat back and let her body sink into the seat. A car. Her own car. To drive wherever she need to go. A smile spread across her face.

"I'll take it."

***

EIGHTEEN

Claire drove along the twisting tree-covered lane and let her mind drift, enjoying the empty car and empty roads. She wondered how Kim was settling in at her parents' house and hoped her friend wasn't holding any grudges.

I guess that's probably too much to ask for. If she'll forgive me when she's better, that will be enough.

The sense of freedom filling her spirit made her heart ache with a mixture of joy and guilt. It was good to be free of the coach and the schedule, and – if she was honest – free from Kim's constant misery. Did that make her a bad person?

As if running through the events of the year, her thoughts turned to Josh. She hadn't heard from him since his return to Fiona, and she hoped it was because he was pouring his energy into making his marriage work, and not because he had found his escapism elsewhere.

I really should send him a note, make sure he's okay.

She added it to her list of things to do and tried to push it out of her head. Another face tugged at her mind, someone else she hadn't contacted recently enough. Ruth.

Damn. I meant to call in and see her before I left for the south. In all the confusion with Kim and not having a bloody car, I forgot.

Remorse twisted at her stomach and she vowed to ring her sister as soon as she got to the next hostel.

That's assuming I ever get there.

Claire pulled the car around another sharp bend and tried to rein in her frustration. On the map, the tiny white road along the edge of the county had seemed to promise stunning sea views or at least beautiful scenery. So far it had delivered mostly urban roads and tree-lined lanes. She knew the sea was somewhere to her left, but it didn't show itself very often.

I think the first thing I need to do is buy a new guide to Britain. Goodness only knows what happened to mine.

It was hard not to feel like her life had come full circle, as she followed the SatNav's directions into town. It had been less than four months since she'd driven to Berwick-upon-Tweed with little idea of what the future held in store for her. In all those weeks she'd stayed in so many different places, home and abroad, that they were all beginning to merge together.

The hostel, when she arrived, looked like just another Victorian terrace in a wide street of cream houses. It didn't feel particularly touristy, but she could at least see the sea in the distance as she pulled up outside.

With a sigh, Claire found somewhere to leave her new car, grateful that it had travelled the short distance without breaking down, and went to check in.

Inside, the building felt more like student digs than a hostel. The website had suggested it was a good base for seasonal workers, and Claire figured that probably explained most of the residents. It gave it a strange feel, as if she were intruding; coming to crash on someone's sofa. More than anything, it made her yearn for a place of her own.

Forcing a grin, she strode up to the reception and dropped her bag. "Hi, I'm here to check in."

***

NINETEEN

"Hello?"

"Ruth, hi, it's Claire." She held her breath, waiting for the tirade. There was silence, and she imagined her sister's mouth hanging open like a fish as she tried to decide how angry to be.

"Hi, sis, how are you? How was New Zealand? The pictures on the blog looked amazing."

It was Claire's turn to hesitate. The warmth in her sister's voice and words momentarily froze her brain.

"Er, it was lovely. Bit cold, in the south. It's good to be back in the UK. Um, sorry I didn't stop by when I got home."

"That's okay, Mum said you had some problems with Kim or something. I hope she's okay?"

Still the uncharacteristic mellow tone. Claire felt like she was talking to a stranger.

"Yes, Kim's been, um, poorly. She was going to come travelling with me but we decided she needed to stay with her parents for a while."

"I'm sure that's for the best. Have you started your new job? Didn't I read on the blog that you were working for Dorset tourism or something?"

"What? I mean, yes I started work this week. I've got three months to prove my worth."

"I'm sure you'll manage it; after four months on the road you must have a pretty good handle on what tourists want. And at least you're not working for that silly man any more, or a faceless corporation like Happy Cola."

Claire shivered. She'd never known her sister to show so much interest in her life before or to talk for so long without saying anything about how awful her own life was. She felt like she'd woken in an alternative reality.

"How's Sky?" That would be safer territory.

"She's great. She's spending time with Chris at the weekends, so I've had a chance to get some rest, catch up on reading and housework, that kind of thing."

"Huh? I thought you said she'd see Chris over your dead body?" Claire's head reeled with the change of direction.

"Yes, well, it nearly came to that, didn't it?"

Ruth's matter-of-fact tone didn't fool Claire, but she was glad of it. She wasn't sure she could handle any more lachrymose languishing. Even so, the idea that her sister was willingly making contact with the ex-husband she swore she'd never see again was too much to take in.

"Blimey, I've only been away a month and the world's on its head. What made you change your mind?"

"Sky. She kept asking to see her dad and her new sister. At first it made me cross, with her and you."

Claire braced herself for the attack she knew was coming. "I'm so sorry about that. I didn't mean to bump into him."

"It's fine. You've done me a favour. We've agreed that Sky will spend every other weekend with him, and Bryony and Eloise of course."

That was too much for Claire. "Hang on. Sorry, I can't get my head around this. _Bryony_? Not _that woman_? What the hell happened, Ruth?"

"It was time I forgave him. I didn't make life easy for him, when Sky was born. I see that now. And family is important. Sky probably won't have any other siblings through me; she should be allowed to know her sister."

A suspicion creapt into Claire's brain, only to be dismissed. Something about the way Ruth spoke, her measured tone and air of calm forgiveness, made her sound like a missionary. As if hearing Claire's thoughts, Ruth's next words confirmed it.

"I've started going to a new church on Sunday. They made me see that life's too short for grudges. You should come, Claire, next time you're home. They're wonderful people."

"Sure, I'll do that," Claire muttered. Part of her felt relieved that Ruth had found a new focus in life, but another part of her worried that Ruth had been brainwashed by some cult.

I watch too much TV. A church in the midlands isn't going to be a brainwashing cult.

With a wry smile, she pushed the foolish thoughts aside. "I have to go, Ruth, but I'm so glad to hear that you're getting on well. I'll give you another call soon. You take care."

As she hung up the phone, Claire's mind whirled with new emotions.

***

TWENTY

The fireball sun hovered low in the sky, painting the clouds in lavish strokes of indigo and scarlet.

Claire followed her feet around the harbour, her mind moving as restlessly as the boats moored in the water. Beneath each straining white craft the sea rose and fell in gentle swells.

The scene was not the picture-postcard view of perfect reflections, that she'd seen hanging in a shop window during her evening stroll. Somehow, though, the endless motion of the tethered boats matched her mood. She could empathise with their constant urge to pull free and leave the safety of the shallow waters.

Around her an eclectic mix of buildings climbed the hillsides to overlook the town. A two-tone church watched paternally from above, while apartments and villas gathered to gossip on the opposite hill.

The moniker of _English Riviera_ suited the place. It lacked the polished style of the Mediterranean, but still sat resplendent in its English charm.

The sun sank lower in the sky, its dimming brilliance picked up by streetlights and hotels, as if the baton for luminescence had been passed down to the them.

Calm fell over the water and, like children finally exhausted by their play, the boats ceased their bobbing and lay still. Gradually the surface of the harbour flattened until Claire could see the yachts and buildings reflected in perfect symmetry.

Her wandering steps led her out towards the sea which stretched not to the horizon but to more lights in the distance. She tried to work out what place she could see, but the geography of the area had yet to settle in her mind.

Turning her head back towards the town, Claire was surprised to see a bright white wheel dominating the skyline. The Ferris wheel hadn't been noticeable in the daylight, with the houses and hillside behind it. Now it illuminated the harbour like a giant watching eye.

Around her Claire heard the sounds of Friday night revelry notching up a gear.

I guess in some ways we will never be like the Mediterranean.

From what she could remember of trips to Italy, night-time revelry mostly consisted of walking up and down the main street catching up with friends, followed by a late meal and even later celebrations at some nightclub in the hills.

Not drunk and rowdy teenagers collecting in groups and vomiting on the pavement.

As if to punctuate the thought, a huddle of bodies stumbled past and several people tumbled into the gutter amidst howls of laughter.

Her skin prickled as she sensed one of the men watching her. Aware of how far she had walked from the hostel, Claire forced herself to turn slowly and amble back towards town.

"Hey, pretty lady, wanna have some fun?"

Claire ducked her head and pretended not to hear. She felt his gaze piercing her shoulder blades, and every nerve zinged with the need to run. Reminding herself she wasn't in a dark lane, but out in the open with plenty of witnesses, Claire concentrated on keeping her steps measured.

With a silent bark of derision she realised how soft she'd become in the months since leaving Manchester.

_Once upon a time I would have told him where to go._ She sighed. It seemed there was no end to what she had lost thanks to Carl's machinations.

As soon as she was some distance from the group she lengthened her stride until the buildings came forward to greet her, providing the illusion of safety.

She tried to take in the details dispassionately; to generate ideas for her tourism report for Conor. Instead a wave of sadness washed around her, as if the harbour water had risen in a sudden squall to drench her tranquillity.

Ringing loud in her mind, as clear as if she had shouted it out to the hidden ocean, came the thought that she didn't want to be here. No matter how beautiful the view or how peaceful the sounds of boats settling together like a flock of roosting birds, it was just another step in her endless journey.

What the hell am I doing? All I know about being a tourist is that I don't want to be one anymore.

Folding her arms across her chest, Claire ducked her head and let her urgent feet carry her back to her borrowed bed.

***

TWENTY-ONE

Claire meandered down the high street and watched the busy shoppers scurrying from store to store, their hands clutching bags of all sizes and colours.

As she looked about her at the town centre, with the endless row of cream buildings towering over her, Claire felt a strange sense of displacement. It was Saturday, and she didn't know what to do with her day.

Trying to view everything as a tourist, to take in what worked and what didn't, occupied part of her mind. In the back, however, like chattering children in the cinema, her thoughts kept making disturbing observations.

What did I used to do at the weekend, when I had a normal life? When I wasn't working, sleeping off a hangover or visiting my parents?

With a pang she realised that, up until last Christmas, weekends had been spent with Michael. Even then, she couldn't really remember what they did. On a Sunday they read the papers in comfortable silence in one of the many coffee shops. Saturdays usually meant the cinema or going out to dinner or maybe a walk in the park. Mostly they spent too long in bed or talked about work.

What do single people do? Do they just go shopping, and spend all the money they've worked so hard to earn during the week? Go to theatres and museums by themselves? Meet with friends? Read a book? Clean the house?

She'd been shocked when Ruth had reminded her it was only four months since she'd left for Berwick-upon-Tweed. Normal life seemed such a long time ago. Still, she guessed that four months of never really knowing what day of the week it was, and there being nothing to mark the difference in days except some things were shut on a Sunday, made it feel much longer.

Claire wondered if that was what had prompted Ruth to start attending church on Sunday, once she had free time without Sky. Was it for a sense of routine? Or to meet people?

As she let her feet direct her into a café for lunch and a latte, Claire became conscious of an overwhelming sense of the futility of things.

We go to work, to earn money, to buy stuff to make ourselves happy because we've spent all week at work. What on Earth is that all about?

It was easy to feel there was no point at all without someone to share it with. But looking back on her time with Michael, it hadn't seemed all that different. Of course she had enjoyed his company, in and out of the bedroom. But what did they ever actually talk about but the latest scandal at work or where to go for dinner. That all seemed pretty meaningless too.

Is that why Michael wanted children? To give life some purpose.

She thought about her time with Sky. It certainly filled the day with things to do, but she couldn't see how it gave life meaning. Headaches, heartache, insomnia, but not meaning. If not work, or children, or friends or lovers, then what?

Claire wrapped her hands around her mug of coffee, waiting for some low-paid barista staff to bring her an overpriced Panini, and wondered if somehow she'd missed the point.

***

TWENTY-TWO

Claire pulled out her phone and glanced at the screen to see who was calling. A smile spread across her face and she looked around for somewhere to sit before selecting answer.

"Hi, Conor." Her voice rang out into the afternoon sunshine, and she blushed as two passers-by turned to stare.

"Good afternoon, Claire, how're things?"

Claire looked down the high street and wondered whether to be honest. "Great, they're great. I'm in Torquay."

"How's Kim?" Conor's voice held a hint of wariness.

"Good, I hope. She's with her parents." Claire chose not to reveal that she'd taken a day off to drive her friend home.

"Oh." She waited while Conor processed the information. "For the best, I suspect. I wish her a speedy recovery."

The business-like tone of his voice caused the smile on Claire's face to falter. Just when she felt she knew him, he said or did something that reminded her he was her boss.

As if in confirmation, Conor continued in a brisk tone. "How is the report coming along? I know it's only been a week, but three months will fly by." He didn't need to add that his neck was on the line alongside hers.

A week?

Claire was startled to realise she had been home from New Zealand for so long. It felt like only a day or two since Conor had collected her from the airport.

"Er, yeah, good. Spending time in the English Riviera has helped to frame things."

"It's a nice part of the country," Conor said without inflection.

Claire wondered if he thought all places inferior to the Isle of Purbeck or whether he was disappointed that she hadn't travelled further in the few days she'd been on the road. With a flush she realised she'd spent half her time dealing with Kim and the rest buying and getting used to her new car.

If I'm not careful I'm going to get sacked before I receive my first pay cheque.

She vowed to spend the next twenty-four hours writing something up before Conor called her bluff and asked for an initial report.

"It occurred to me that we haven't provided you with the means to compile your findings or send regular updates. I'm in the area tomorrow evening, ready for a meeting first thing Monday. I'll bring a laptop with me, and you can update me on your first impressions."

Claire's heart plummeted and the bacon and brie Panini she'd just eaten sat heavy in her stomach.

Crap.

"Where are you heading tomorrow?" Conor continued. "My meeting is in Plymouth so I'll be staying in the town overnight. I can recommend the hostel at Salacombe for tonight, if they have space. It's about an hour from Plymouth but I won't be in town until the evening anyway. The views are amazing. It's closing down later in the year as they haven't been able to renew their lease with the National Trust. It would be a shame to miss out."

The casual way Conor demonstrated his thorough knowledge of the local area made Claire's ears buzz with fear.

I am so out of my depth. I thought this would be an easy assignment – a jaunt around a few more hostels and a quick presentation at the end of it. There is so much I have no idea about.

Conscious of how much needed to be done in the next twenty-four hours; Claire took note of where Conor wanted to meet up, and made her excuses.

Time to get to work.

***

TWENTY-THREE

Claire typed some words into the search box and hit return. The library felt cool, despite the sunshine outside, and she wished she'd brought a jacket. Scanning down the list of results, Claire tutted and changed her search parameters. Still nothing.

What did I expect? That the internet would magically produce a report on tourism in the south west? If it was that easy, Conor would have done it himself rather than hiring me.

She sat back in her chair and listened to a mother reading stories to her two children. She admired the way the woman poured her heart and soul into her reading, bringing the characters to life and speaking in different voices.

Dragging her mind away, Claire turned back to the computer, cursing the lack of funds that stopped her replacing her tablet.

At least Conor's bringing me a laptop.

The thought didn't make her smile. Conor was also bringing himself; his expectations that she was capable of delivering a report on tourism in less than three months' time.

What do I know about tourism? I'm amazed I even made it through the interview.

She tried to think back over the weeks to when she'd sat facing the men in suits, and had sold herself and her talents. What had she said that had captured Conor's enthusiasm and made him move heaven and earth to hire her? The intervening weeks in New Zealand appeared to have leeched all business thoughts from her brain.

At last her random searching came across a website promising to help the tourism industry develop the visitor experience. Flicking through the pages, Claire realised she didn't even understand the terminology. Phrases like "Primary visitor research" and "In-depth stakeholder interviews" left her none the wiser. In her experience stakeholders were the company directors and clients paying her wages. Who were the stakeholders for tourism?

People like Conor, I guess. Or business owners, people running B&Bs. I don't know. And how do you interview them all? And what the hell is primary visitor research? Is that what I'm meant to be doing?

Claire rubbed at her temples and let out a sigh. Fighting back tears she, loaded the library catalogue and looked instead for books on the subject. Choosing the most basic looking ones she went off to discover whether they were on the shelves or not.

Damn, it's like being back at school.

As she wandered around the gallery looking for the books, Claire glanced over at the fiction section below, and thought how nice it was to be back in a library. There had been little reason to visit one, once she had graduated, and she'd forgotten what restful places they were.

The sound of children laughing rose up from the lower floor and Claire smiled. In her student days the noise would have irritated her but it seemed fitting.

It's nice the kids still come to a library, instead of spending all day on their phones and computers.

Finally locating the section she needed, Claire grabbed a handful of books and went to find a desk. Then she realised she didn't have so much as a pen or notepad with her, and went back to reception to see if she could borrow something.

Honestly, Claire, you need to get your act together and start taking it all a bit more seriously, or Conor is going to see straight through you.

For some reason making Conor unhappy worried her a lot more than it ever had with Carl. In fact, annoying Carl had become something of a game.

I knew what I was doing then. I don't want Conor to think I'm an idiot, that's all.

Trying not to dwell on it, Claire returned to her books and set about learning something about Tourism.

***

TWENTY-FOUR

Claire looked at the neat stack of printed paper in front of her and smiled. Stretching her neck left and right she wondered what the time was. Her tummy's growling suggested it was a long time since lunch.

"Excuse me?"

Claire turned quickly and winced as her tight neck muscles protested. Rubbing her hand against the pain, Claire looked in mute enquiry at the librarian she recognised from the front desk.

"I'm afraid the library's closing now." The woman's expression was apologetic, as if the worst thing in the world was interrupting a studious person.

"What time is it?" Claire blinked, her eyes tired from their unaccustomed labour.

"Six o'clock."

Claire stifled a swear word and thanked the woman, who walked off to gently alert the other people still working around her. Claire quickly gathered together her papers, glad the library had allowed her to write and print her notes. It felt good to be more prepared for meeting her boss the following day. Then her calmness evaporated as she remembered the rest of Conor's call.

Damn I didn't call the hostel. He really will despair of me if I can't even get that right.

Hurrying out the building, Claire searched for her phone and tried to remember the name of the hostel Conor had suggested she stay in for the night. Her breathing quickened as her brain refused to come up with the information. Forced to load the YHA website, Claire hoped there weren't too many hostels around Plymouth.

In the end it was easy, and she had the number. Deciding to call as she walked, Claire looked around, frowning in the afternoon sun, and tried to remember where she'd parked her car. With a brief prayer to her travel gods that it hadn't been stolen or towed away, she strode off in what she hoped was the right direction.

"Good evening." The deep voice startled Claire, as the phone eventually connected.

"Yes, hello," she said breathlessly, slowing her pace. "I know it's short notice, but I wondered if you might have beds available for this evening?"

"Yes, we have several. How many did you need?

"You do? Marvellous. It's just for me."

"How long will you be staying."

"Just one night. Will I be able to get dinner as well?"

"Yes, that shouldn't be a problem."

"Okay, thanks. I'm just leaving Torquay so I'll be there in however much time that takes."

"Follow signs for the National Trust Overbecks, the road is quite steep I'm afraid, but you won't have any problem parking as it's after 5 pm."

Claire thanked the manager for the information and hung up the phone with a sense of relief. Maybe the fiasco could be averted after all.

The water stretching out ahead of her sparkled in the evening sun, and white boats bobbed on the waves. Claire felt her mind drawn back to the sandy beach she had driven past, wondering if there was time to stop and take in the view. Her tummy gurgled and she decided to press on to the hostel.

The narrow lane wound up the hillside and Claire had to drag her eyes away from the scenery in order to stay on the road. Conor wasn't kidding about the view, it was spectacular, overlooking the estuary and surrounded by mature woodland. Negotiating another switch back in first gear, Claire gave her new car a pat on the dashboard.

"Come on, you can do it. I know it's steep; you're doing great."

The car grumbled in reply and Claire eased it around the bend, relieved to see the car park up ahead. Her heart felt lighter than it had in weeks, as she pulled her bag from the boot and went in search of the hostel entrance. Wandering along the path, through exotic trees and down endless steps, Claire thought ruefully that it wouldn't be somewhere to come with small children, and then wondered what had made her think that.

At last the building came into sight, but Claire turned instead to face away over the water. It was idyllic.

What a shame that they're closing it. I wonder if they struggle to get visitors: it's not everyone who would struggle up that lane, and it's not the most family-friendly location.

She imagined what it would be like coming with Sky; constantly worrying that the girl might have disappeared into the gardens or fallen down the stairs.

I guess a baby would be okay, as long as you had a sling rather than a pushchair.

Puzzled by the odd direction of her thoughts, Claire soaked in the last of the view, then went to check in.

***

TWENTY-FIVE

"It's beautiful here. You must be gutted that it's closing down." Claire looked over at the manager, then back out the window at the view. "The thing I love about the YHA hostels is that so many of them are in amazing buildings or locations like this."

"Unfortunately some of those buildings are actually owned by the National Trust. If they don't make money, then you can understand why they might decide to call it a day."

The manager's reasonable words didn't fool Claire. She could hear the bitterness carefully concealed beneath the steady conversational tone.

"Your problem has to be access, yes?" Claire thought about some of the places she'd stayed in during her trip around New Zealand. "Why don't you pick passengers up from the station? That's what they do in the sticks in other countries."

The manager smiled. "And who is going to do that? Or pay for the minibus or the insurance? All these things cost money."

Claire gritted her teeth and forced a smile. "What about the coastal walk near here, what is it–?"

"The South West Coast Path?"

"Yes, that's it. Could you set yourself up as a waypoint, with special offers for walkers? There's a website that organises accommodation for walkers: you could speak to them."

The manager's smile lost some of its sparkle. "Luggage Transfers? We're already on it, thanks."

Claire flushed and turned away. All her research had filled her mind with ideas, but clearly it wasn't her place to start preaching to random people. She also saw that part of her report would need to include ways of getting businesses to buy into her recommendations. Wading in, assuming they knew nothing, was not a good tactic. The need for Stakeholder interviews were starting to make sense.

"What changes would you make to enable the hostel to remain open?" She shone a grin at the man, and saw his frown ease a fraction.

"The place needs refurbishing, for a start. The company is pouring millions into doing up the city centre hostels, but what about here?"

Claire sat back and listened to the man spill out his grievances, wondering if it would be too obvious to make notes. As she listened to him talk, her mind ran through ideas for how the beautiful, remote, hostels could be kept open. In New Zealand, the bus tours took willing tourists to out of the way places, providing guaranteed visitor numbers.

Maybe what the UK needs is a Magic or Kiwi bus equivalent, linking these places together and making it easier for people to travel off the beaten track without a car.

She remembered Josh walking to the hostel with Beth and Chloe in the Lake District, relying on public transport to bring them over from Keswick. Her brain lit up like a beacon as the ideas rushed into her brain. While the manager talked on about all the things that could be done for his hostel, Claire's mind pulled together a vision of the future that left her skin prickling with excitement.

***

TWENTY-SIX

Claire smiled as the sun streaming in through the window, gently woke her; warming her skin and sending sun fairies dancing across her eyelids. With a sense of impending adventure, she pushed back the covers and wondered what was causing the fluttering of anticipation in her stomach.

As she rose and walked to the window, Claire remembered where she was. The gorgeous hostel perched on the hillside with views to die for. It was still early and the other occupants of the room were sound asleep. Pulling on yesterday's clothes, Claire crept from the room and headed for the kitchen.

The silence continued throughout the hostel, and Claire wondered just how early it was. The kitchen clock said 6 a.m. and Claire laughed, the sound echoing around the empty room.

When did I last wake at dawn without an alarm clock?

Her body felt alight with energy, and Claire thought she would burst if she didn't do something with it. She wolfed down a quick breakfast, scalding her mouth on too-hot tea, then paced quietly back to her room to grab her boots and bag.

Her disastrous discussion with the manager the previous evening had revealed that the South West Coastal Path ran almost from the door of the hostel. The manager had raved so much about the spectacular views that Claire had decided to walk some of the route before driving to Plymouth to meet Conor.

Thinking about the meeting gave her butterflies, so she pushed the thought aside and stuffed snacks and a jumper into her bag. The manager had said a map wasn't necessary, as the path followed the coast all the way round to Hope Cove. Having checked the map, she suspected she wouldn't make it quite that far.

The hostel remained silent as she let herself out and into the tropical gardens of the National Trust property. With a deep breath Claire inhaled the scent of plant life soaked in dew, smiling as it sparked memories of the New Zealand bush. She shivered as the early morning air raised goosebumps across her skin, and set off towards the path.

The sun greeted her again as she left the trees and reached the path, and she soon settled into her stride. To one side lay the estuary, sparkling blue beneath her. _That's a long way down._ Claire looked around, as if only just realising how high up the path was along the cliffs. _I hope it isn't too steep._ She remembered being up near Old Harry Rocks and shuddered.

The path grew steadily steeper, until it was nothing more than a trail of rocks climbing vertically towards the azure sky. Forcing herself not to look back or down, Claire concentrated instead on keeping her footing on the uneven path.

It would be so much more convenient if I hadn't discovered that I'm scared of heights.

She chanced a look at the view, and swallowed the bile that rose up her throat. Beneath her, crumbling rocks appeared to tumble in slow motion to the sea, as if frozen in the very act of falling. The sea itself rippled in a palette of blues and greens, darker and more foreboding than the sparkling strip of water seen in the distance from the hostel. On a sunny day it seemed merely stark. Claire couldn't imagine what it would be like in a storm.

Encircled by the stunning vista, Claire wondered for a moment what had possessed her to fly half way round the world, bankrupting herself in the process, to admire the beauty of another country, when she'd barely scratched the surface of her own.

If I thought the Lake District was pretty in winter, that's going to be nothing to what this place is going to be like in June.

As the sense of adventure built within her, Claire pushed on up the steep path towards the outcrop of rocks silhouetted against the sky above her. The change from light to dark left sunspots in her vision and she blinked to clear it.

Then the world went sideways. Slipping on loose shale, Claire lost her footing and began to slither back down the path towards the cliffs. Thrashing like a landed fish, Claire grabbed around at the grass in an attempt to slow her passage, as the rocks tore at her bare legs and arms.

At last her frantic attempts worked and she came to a halt at the very edge of the path. The rocks loosened by her passage continued on over the edge, falling away to the sea far below.

Claire lay panting, unable to process anything but the fact that she was still alive. Slowly, one piece at a time, her body began to yell out its grievances. Clawing her way back up to a flatter part of the path, Claire assessed the damage. Both shins and arms wept blood, and a tentative exploration of her face revealed a similar story.

Great. I look like the victim of a traffic accident.

She bit her lip against the pain and humiliation, glad no one had been there to witness her fall. Bad enough that she felt like a peeled plum and was going to be sore for days. Then another thought crept in unwelcome and she groaned.

Conor's going to die laughing.

***

TWENTY-SEVEN

"Oh my goodness, what happened to you?" The manager's face creased in horror as Claire limped in through the hostel reception.

She tried to smile, but the movement pulled at the scabs forming on her face, so she settled for a tiny crook of the mouth.

"I had a falling out with the cliff-side path. Nothing serious. I don't think it was even hurt." She took a few more steps, before slumping against the wall. "I don't suppose you have any plasters?"

Hurrying forwards, the manager took her arm and guided her to a chair. "Do you need to go to hospital? It's only ten minutes away."

Claire thought about sitting in another A&E for hours, waiting for a nurse to tut-tut at her and roughly dress her wounds. Been there, done that. "No it's fine, thanks. I'll just have a cool bath and stick some plasters on. It'll be fine."

The manager frowned. "If you're sure. We don't have a bath, though. Only showers."

With a sigh, Claire nodded. "Of course. God I miss baths. A shower, then. If you could find some plasters, that would be great."

The manager nodded and went to retrieve some from his first aid kit. As she waited, Claire looked around for a clock. She had no idea how long it had taken to walk back along the coast path, and her phone battery was dead.

When the manager came back, she took the plasters gratefully, hoping they'd be enough. "What time is it, please?"

"It's around 4pm."

"Seriously? Crap. I have to be in Plymouth for six and I haven't packed up or anything. Is there any chance I can stay another night or two?"

The manager checked his computer and nodded. "No problem. We can sort the money out later, if you like?"

Claire gave him a grateful nod; then pulled herself upright and shuffled back to her room. She wasn't sure if it was shock, or the tumble down the hill, but every bit of her body ached. All she wanted was a long bath, a glass of wine and a sleep.

No time for that. Like it or not, I have to go and face Conor. Maybe if he's sympathetic about my trashed face, he won't press me too much about the report.

The shower was slow and painful. Claire hadn't realised how much of her body she had grazed in the fall, and even tepid water felt like knives cutting into her skin. Cautiously rinsing bits of rock and dirt from the deepest wounds, Claire cursed as several of the abrasions began to bleed again.

_I'm just going to have to wear long trousers and hope the restaurant has air conditioning._ She looked in the mirror, wondering whether to put plasters on her face or leave the wounds bare. _Not much I can do to hide that._

Unsure whether to laugh or cry, Claire pulled out the contents of her rucksack and tried to find something suitable that wasn't crumpled or dirty. For the first time in weeks she missed her pristine rows of dry-cleaned suits and dresses; now currently folded and packed away at the storage unit.

_I might as well sell the lot. Conor's going to sack me and I'm never going to need a suit again._ For some reason the words didn't make her feel as miserable as she thought they would.

By five o'clock Claire had managed to ease herself into the car, ready to drive to her meeting. It was going to be tight, and she hoped that Conor met traffic and was late. It was only as she put the car into gear that she remembered the dead battery on her phone.

Damn. I hope I don't break down.

Manoeuvring the car down the twisting driveway pulled at the wounds on Claire's arms and she gritted her teeth against the pain.

_Maybe it wasn't such a good idea booking in for another night._ She thought about trying to do the drive in the dark, after a night out, and with her muscles stiffening from her fall.

Ah well, if it comes to it, I'll have to sleep in the car.

***

TWENTY-EIGHT

Claire had no idea what time it was as she swung the car into the hotel car park. Her twenty-year old banger didn't have a dashboard clock and the black rectangle of her phone had as much life as a house brick.

I really ought to invest in a watch.

Smoothing down her trousers, Claire locked the car and headed into the hotel. As she walked, she let her heavy hair fall over her face. It wasn't going to pass close scrutiny, but she could live without the curious stares of strangers as they tried to work out if she was injured or deformed.

The hotel lobby echoed with the clipping sound of her heels as she paced to the reception desk. When she spoke to the woman behind the counter she was surprised to hear a wobble in her voice.

"Hi, I'm meeting someone for dinner. I doubt he will have made reservations, is there somewhere I can wait?"

"Are you Miss Carleton?"

Claire's face grew hotter, and she gave a minute nod.

"I'm so glad. Mr O'Keefe said he tried to call you, to inform you that he was running late, but was unable to contact you. Please wait in the lounge, and he'll come and find you when he arrives."

Damn, damn, damn.

Claire nodded her acquiescence at the receptionist and followed her directions to the lounge.

I can't believe he tried to ring me when my phone was flat. Now he really is going to think I'm incompetent.

Claire ordered a latte and chose a seat in the dark shadows at the corner of the room. She wished she'd brought a book, and vowed to replace her much-missed tablet with her first pay cheque, assuming one actually arrived and Conor didn't sack her for ineptitude in her first week.

For want of something to do, she pulled out the notes she'd made at the library, and tried to cram the information into her beleaguered brain. The facts and figures refused to stick. Her mind buzzed with concern at her boss's imminent arrival and her body yelled in pain every time she shifted in her seat.

She had taken to counting the bottles behind the bar by the time she heard a familiar voice calling her name.

"I'm over here," she replied, raising a hand, and making sure her hair still hung low over her face.

"Claire, hi, I'm so sorry I'm late. Last minute hiccup. I tried to call you." Conor strode over to where she sat, wheeling a small case behind him and carrying a suit bag over his shoulder.

"Sorry, my battery died while I was out walking today and I didn't get a chance to charge it. You know smart phones; they only stay charged for about ten minutes." She kept her voice light and hoped that honesty was the best policy.

"Beautiful day for a hike. Where did you go? No, wait, let me just run these things up to my room. Why don't you go through to the restaurant and I'll meet you there?" He waited only for her to signal her agreement, and then he was gone.

Claire felt strangely flat, as she watched him weave his way through the tables and back out towards the lifts. As he disappeared out of sight, she had to remind herself this wasn't a date, it was business.

***

TWENTY-NINE

"Alright, Claire, I'll bite. What happened to your face?" Conor's tone was a mixture of amused friend and disapproving parent.

Claire looked up from her starter and grimaced. "Damn. I hoped you wouldn't notice."

Conor laughed, his eyes lighting up like a sunlit sea. "You look like you rode downhill on your bike with no hands on the handle bars and hit a pothole. I did that once, and my face looked something like that."

"That's not so far from the truth." Claire ducked her head and let her hair cover her face completely. "I slipped, on the coastal path. I thought I was going to fall off the cliff. Thankfully I managed to stop at the edge." She shivered at the memory. "Unfortunately I left some of my skin behind."

"It's not just your face?"

Claire mutely shook her head, and waited for Conor to laugh some more. When he didn't speak, she looked up again and was surprised at his expression. His face contracted in a tight frown, reminding her of Michael for a moment. She bristled in defence, but his eyes widened and he smiled.

"Well, I'm glad you didn't fall off the cliff. I went to too much trouble hiring you to have to find a replacement." The lightness of his tone belied the sympathy in his gaze.

Unsure what to make of it, Claire turned her attention back to her food. She was glad he hadn't laughed, as Josh might have done, or told her off, which would have been Michael's reaction. This mixture of business-like detachment and compassion wrong-footed her. Her hands shook slightly as she raised a forkful of salad to her mouth, and she lowered her arm quickly, hoping Conor hadn't noticed.

"So, aside from trying to kill yourself at Salcombe, how has your trip been so far? How is the report coming along?"

Claire inhaled and took a shaky sip of her drink. "Good, thanks. I'm beginning to get a feel for it. I had a long chat with the hostel manager, and spent some time in Torquay. It would be useful if you had a template or set of guidelines for me to work to, just so I can make sure I'm delivering what you're expecting."

Conor nodded. "Of course. There are some standard templates and previous reports on the laptop. I realise we haven't given you much to work with. I'm surprised you haven't been more demanding, to be honest."

With a deep flush, Claire realised she wasn't living up to her role as a consultant. Conor obviously expected her to be more proactive, to request information and guidelines. She had been so wrapped up in her drama with Kim and getting a car, she hadn't taken the job very seriously.

As if reading her mind, Conor cleared his throat. "How is Kim?"

"I haven't spoken to her since leaving her at her mum's. I've been caught up in my research."

"Good." Conor seemed to realise that sounded harsh, as he laughed uncomfortably. "I meant good that you've cleared your head to get stuck into the project. I confess I was concerned that your mind wasn't really on the subject. It is important, you know? Your contract extension depends on the quality of the report."

His words made Claire's stomach constrict. As she analysed his tone, though, she realised he wasn't telling her off. It was almost as if he was urging her to do well, so he wouldn't have to sack her.

All the spent adrenalin from her earlier fall and the race to get to the hotel, combined with the ideas roiling in her brain, left Claire feeling dizzy and disorientated.

Why do I always feel like there are two or three different conversations going on at the same time when I talk to Conor? His face says one thing, his voice another and his words something completely different.

With a gulp of wine, Claire suppressed a sigh and hoped she would learn to read her boss soon, before she went mad.

***

THIRTY

Claire pushed the chocolate cake around her plate with the fork. It looked delicious, but she couldn't face eating it. She couldn't remember the last time she'd sat down to a three course meal and was surprised to find her ability to eat and eat had vanished.

"Not hungry?" Conor's voice cut through her reverie. "I thought women had a separate stomach for dessert?"

Claire laughed. "Yes, normally. I guess I'm out of practice. There isn't much call for fine dining when you travel by yourself."

"I wouldn't know." Conor's face became thoughtful. "I've never been anywhere by myself, unless for business, and then I usually eat with colleagues or clients."

A memory trickled into the back of Claire's mind. "Oh yes, didn't you say you'd rather pull your teeth out than be alone?"

Conor's eyebrows flew up into his sandy curls. "Impressive. I probably said it makes my teeth ache, but close enough. That's why you're so good, Miss Carleton, you're as sharp as a tack."

The look in Conor's eye made Claire flush and she hid her reaction by taking a drink of her wine. The alcohol warmed her as it ran down into her body, and she had to remind herself she had a long and tricky drive back to the hostel. It wouldn't do to be tipsy.

Conor maintained eye contact without speaking. Eventually Claire felt compelled to fill the silence. "So you've never been on holiday alone?"

Her boss shook his head. "No. I don't really do holidays. Not since the family used to come to Dorset every year, when I was a kid. My job is one long holiday. I don't really feel the need to sit on a beach to relax."

"There are other kinds of holiday!" Claire thought about all the activities she'd done in the last few months. Then she recalled that, before beginning her assignment, beach holidays had been the only type of vacation for her, too. "What do you do when you're not working?"

Conor took a long drink of wine, then wrapped his hands around the glass and looked contemplatively into the dark liquid. "There isn't much time when I'm not working, to be honest. But I guess I like to go to bars and listen to the bands. Go to the cinema, that kind of thing. What did you do, in Manchester, before your boss banished you to the back of beyond?"

It was Claire's turn to ponder. "Much the same as you." She thought about her trips with Michael, and wondered if Conor ever dated. Back at the interview she had taken him for a ladies' man, but the more time she spent with him, the more that didn't wash.

"There's no significant other, then?" she found herself saying, keeping her face on her plate and the patterns she had made with the ice cream.

"Oh, plenty of those, darling, don't you worry." His voice took on the brash Irish lilt she remembered from before and she looked up at him in surprise. A flash of bitterness crossed his face, to be replaced with the cheeky charmer expression that he'd worn after the interview, when she'd vowed never to be one of his conquests.

_Not that I need have bothered. He's not made any effort to conquer me, that's for certain._ She swirled the wine in her glass. _And that's a good thing, of course. With him being my boss and all._

She watched as Conor drained his glass and refilled it from the bottle. His eyes had the sparkling glitter of someone heading towards half cut, and Claire became conscious of an urgent need to escape.

***

THIRTY-ONE

"Should you be driving? It's pretty late and the road up to the hostel isn't for the fainthearted. You can always kip on my floor." Conor turned to face Claire as they reached her car but she couldn't read his expression in the dark.

"Are you calling me fainthearted?" She pursed her lips into a pout that would make Sky proud, ignoring the last part of his suggestion.

"I wouldn't dare."

Claire raised her eyebrows at her boss, challenging his remark.

"Seriously." He nodded emphatically. "You scare the bejesus out of me; you have since the day you walked into my interview like you owned the room and everything in it."

"Now I know you're winding me up. You and your bunch of suits sat there like the bloomin' Inquisition. My knees shook so hard I thought I was going to crumple in a heap on the floor."

"That would have been worth seeing." Conor grinned and leaned back against Claire's car. His shirt stood open at the neck and his hair looked dark beneath the hotel lights. Claire jingled her keys hoping he'd take the hint, but his pose suggested he had no intention of moving anytime soon.

"Do you regret taking the job?" he asked suddenly, making her jump. "I know you hated your old boss but this isn't exactly your thing, is it? No glamorous board meetings or FTSE 100 clients here: just a bunch of boring old men in a sleepy backwater. I get the impression you'd rather not have come back from New Zealand."

Claire wrapped her arms around herself and swallowed down irritation at her boss's drunken loquaciousness. "I was more than ready to come home – even if I hadn't run out of money. I'm not good at being a tourist sheep following the pack."

Conor frowned at her words and she hurried on. "This is different: I see what you're trying to achieve and I understand your passion." She swept her arms wide to encompass the town and area. "This is a beautiful part of the world. I feel comfortable here."

Inhaling the tangy salt air, Claire thought carefully before continuing. Conor might be drunk but that didn't stop him being her boss.

"Yes, I can't lie: part of me wanted to go back to having a regular job with a decent car and my own apartment. I miss having a bath! But this part of the assignment won't last forever. I can settle down somewhere in a few weeks, when I'm done." She imagined being stuck in the Dorset town Conor loved so much and shivered.

Conor pushed himself away from the car and came to a standstill in front of her. A heady wave of aftershave washed over her, making her legs tremble. He stood so close she had to stare up at him to avoid fixing her eyes on the top of his chest, peeping out from behind his shirt.

"I can't wait," he murmured, gazing intently into her face. His arms twitched forwards, then dropped loosely at his sides.

Claire contracted her brows in mute question and he added, "I can't wait until you're settled close by. I'm looking forward to getting to know you better."

His voice crept in her ears and trickled beneath her skin, leaving behind a trail of heat. The only thing that existed on the whole planet was his body, inches away from hers. His eyes shone wide and vulnerable in the darkness, showing no trace of the brash ladies' man.

In painful slow motion he lowered his face towards her and she could almost taste the heavy red wine on his breath.

"I'm drunk," he said, as if in explanation, "but that's only obscuring my good sense, not my feelings. I've wanted to do this since you swung your hips into my interview and blew my life apart."

The air caught in Claire's lungs and her ears felt muffled, as if a blanket had dropped over her. In the back of her brain a voice screamed, but the sound of Conor's rapid, shallow, breathing drowned it out.

After a tantalising pause their lips met, and the world exploded.

###

This story is continued on Amanda Martin's daily blog at http://writermummy.wordpress.com

Need to catch up? Visit the author profile at Smashwords

If you enjoyed this e-book, please leave a review.

### ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Amanda Martin was born in Hertfordshire in 1976. After graduating with first class honours from Leeds University she wandered around the world trying to find her place in it. She tried various roles, in England and New Zealand, including Bar Manager, Marketing Manager, Consultant and Artist, before deciding that Writer/Mummy best summed her up. She lives in Northamptonshire with her husband, two children and labradoodle Kara and can mostly be found at http://writermummy.wordpress.com or on Twitter or Facebook.

Also by Amanda Martin:

BABY BLUES AND WEDDING SHOES

Amanda's latest release, the chick lit novel _Baby Blues and Wedding Shoes_ is available now.

5 out of 5 stars **"** **Wonderful, engaging story** **"**

" _Wonderful, engaging story by a talented writer. Pleasantly surprising depth in a plot which one might have initially assumed would be a predictable meet-cute, boy meets girl, happily ever after. A more thought provoking story evolved than expected in the beginning. Author has a nice way with descriptive words which makes one feel nearly in the room. Readers with an appreciation for a bit of reality and a bit of hopeful romantic wishful dreaming will not be disappointed by this lovely tale. Well done."_

DRAGON WRAITHS

_Dragon Wraiths_ , a Young Adult novel. Read the reviews:

4 out of 5 stars " **Pacey and engaging** "

" _This is a wonderful romp for the YA audience that definitely crosses over to Adult (which is me!). Amanda writes in a wonderfully emotive and poetic yet also pacey style and I was at once absorbed and engaged with the central character. I wouldn't call myself a fantasy fan by any stretch (the work Tolkien just makes me want to snooze...) yet I was completely onboard with this parallel world and I found the transition between them, and the entire storyline credible. I found a Harry Potter-esque sensibility to the author's use of intriguing devices and methods for the real and fantasy worlds combining - but this is not to say there is any pastiche going on. Thoroughly recommend the book - and am hoping there's a sequel on the cards!"_

4 out of 5 stars **"** **Thoroughly enjoyable read** **"**

" _Thoroughly enjoyable read. Loved how dragons and humans worked together. Very original and entertaining._ _  
_ _It's a fast paced novel that any age with imagination could enjoy. I'm way out of YA age and still loved it. The ending really made me smile._ _  
_ _I'd read another by this author."_

