

### AMANDA MARTIN

### TWO-HUNDRED STEPS HOME

### VOLUME TWELVE

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 installments on her WriterMummy blog as part of her 2013 365 post-a-day challenge. This ebook is Volume 12 and contains the final 31 instalments from December. Find all the volumes on 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: The Complete Journey

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

"Leave him alone." Claire's voice whipped across the empty space, stopping Robert as he was about to follow after his son.

"I will not have a child of mine talk to me like that." The urbane smile was gone, replaced by a dangerous red flush. "Two weeks with you and they've turned savage." He pulled his arm free of the wide-eyed woman by his side, and once more turned to go.

"I said leave him!" Claire's shout echoed off the white walls and glass doors. Robert turned slowly to face her, his eyes wild.

"Stay out of this, Claire. You've had nothing to do with the boys all their lives; don't start playing Auntie now; it doesn't suit you."

"It suits me better than father suits you. When did you become such a monster, Robert? You were always a whiny child, but I don't remember you being such a wanker."

Jack sniggered behind her, and Claire flushed as she remembered there was still one of her nephews in the room. She looked over and gave him a rueful smile. "Jack, why don't you go and see if your brother's alright? I'm just going to have a chat with your dad."

With a mischievous grin, Jack nodded and silently left the room. Claire noticed that he gave Gabriella a kind smile, and Claire wondered what the poor girl must make of her welcome. Judging from her bemused expression, Claire decided she probably didn't speak very good English.

Just as well.

She dismissed her from her mind and turned her attention back to Robert. He stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at her, his chin jutting out pugnaciously. He looked ridiculous. Claire felt the anger drain away, taking all her vicious words with it.

"What possessed you to bring her here? As far as I can gather, the boys haven't even met her yet, and you turn up two hours late to collect them and coolly announce you're engaged. What planet are you on?"

"I don't see how that's any business of yours."

"When you ask me to look after your children, while you're off seducing a girl half your age, then you make it my business. Are you having a midlife crisis, is that it? A beautiful wife and two gorgeous boys not enough for you?"

"Francesca, beautiful? All this time alone living like a peasant has screwed with your brain. The woman's a bitch. All she cares about are her vacuous friends and her spa treatments."

Privately Claire couldn't disagree. She didn't know her sister-in-law that well, but from what she could remember of her at the wedding years before, she didn't have many redeeming features.

"You married her, Robert. For better or worse. I was there."

"Grow up, Claire. No one believes in that, ''Til death do us part' crap anymore. I grew tired of her whining and her constant demands."

"So you threw her over for a younger model, leaving your boys stuck in the middle. Very mature, Robert, very grown up."

"I'm not going to take relationship advice from my harlot of a little sister, who can't even keep a man for more than a few months."

Claire reeled from his words as if they were a blow. With rapid breaths, she took three quick strides across the room and slapped his smug, arrogant, face as hard as she could. She smiled in satisfaction as his head snapped back, even as the numbness and pain shot up her arm.

"Get out, Robert. Now." She pointed at the door, ignoring the throbbing in her wrist. "Go and leave the boys with me. You don't deserve them."

Robert felt his cheek with fingers, before looking up with hatred in his eyes. "Are you insane?"

"No, I'm not. I'm perfectly lucid. I will take the boys to Mum's house and they can stay there until Francesca comes to collect them. Or they can transfer to a British school and come and stay with me in the holidays. Anything has to be better than having you hurt them any more with your towering indifference."

She panted, as if she'd run up the cliff from the sea, but her mind felt clear. Knowing she would regret it in the morning, Claire stalked past her brother and went to find Jack and Alex.

"Boys, come and say goodbye to your father, he and Gabriella are leaving."

***

TWO

"Thank you for letting us stay, Nana." Alex's voice wobbled between child and adult, as he gave Claire's mum a rather formal embrace.

His face still showed the pallor of expended emotion; pale and drawn despite the tan he'd gained during his time in the South West. Claire wanted to pull him into a proper hug, one with feeling. The greeting they'd got from her parents was lukewarm at best.

_I guess I wouldn't like it if someone turned up on my doorstep and asked me to take in house guests._ She thought about it and her lips twisted into a wry smile. _Mind you, it's no more than both my siblings have done to me this year. Suddenly Auntie Claire is the only one with all the time in the world._

She pushed away the bitter feelings, and turned to make sure Jack was alright. He'd been less affected by their father's announcement, chattering excitedly on the long journey from Cornwall to Cambridgeshire. As they had neared their destination, however, he had become more subdued and, since their arrival, he had hovered in the background.

A quick glance showed her he wasn't in the room and she went in search of him, leaving Alex to forge a stilted conversation with his nana. Her father, Claire noted, had also disappeared and Claire felt disappointed at his cowardice.

She found them both, eventually, hidden in her father's study.

"There you are!"

Her voice made them jump and their faces flushed with guilt. She concealed a smile at how like naughty schoolboys they both looked, despite a gap of half a century between them.

"What are you two up to? You've left Alex battling on with Nana."

"He'll be fine," Jack said brightly, "he's good at charming the old biddies." Then he realised what he'd said, and blanched.

Claire's dad laughed – a loud guffaw – as much at Jack's stricken expression, it seemed, as at his words.

"Don't worry, son, your secret is safe with me. Your nana can be a tough nut to crack, but she's soft underneath."

Claire privately wondered if that were true, but said nothing. "So, what are you two doing?" She perched on the edge of the desk and looked at them with one eyebrow raised, her arms folded across her chest in an expression of severity that was all act. Seeing Jack locked away with her father gave her a warm glow of satisfaction, but there was a game afoot and she was prepared to play her part.

"Pops was showing me his book. Did you know he'd written a novel, Auntie Claire?"

Claire switched her gaze from Jack's eager excitement to the look of sheepish guilt on her Dad's face. "Is it finished then? I thought it was a thriller? It doesn't sound like something a young boy should be reading."

"Oh, Claire, I'm not a baby. I've read James Herbert and Stephen King."

"Really?" Claire was genuinely shocked. Even she didn't have the stomach for some of the more gruesome horrors. She wondered if she should forbid Jack from reading books liable to give him nightmares. Then she looked at his face and had a flash of realisation. Whatever difficulties in Jack's life, he had yet to experience real fear and horror and so the stories were just stories. They probably had less impact on him than on an adult who could read the truth behind the fabrication.

Suddenly she grinned. "That's amazing, Dad. I'm so proud of you. Can I read it, too?"

Her dad's grin was as wide as hers. "I thought you'd never ask."

Back in the lounge, Claire saw that Alex was manfully trying to engage her mum in conversation, and her heart went out to him. Even she struggled to find a topic of interest when talking to her mum.

As she walked in, her mum looked up, and her expression was honey-laced venom. Startled, Claire took a moment to gather herself, then said,

"Jack and Pops are in the study, Alex. Why don't you go and see if they'd like some tea and cake? It's been a long time since lunch." They had been offered nothing on arrival. If her mum wasn't going to play host, then she would show her how it should be done.

Alex jumped up like a man given a reprieve on death row, and practically ran from the room.

"Okay, Mum, out with it," Claire said, as she heard his footsteps retreating down the hall. Her words took the wind from her mum's anger, and Claire had to swallow a laugh.

"I'm surprised you have to ask. You turn up, unannounced, with Robert's boys in tow, and without so much as a by-your-leave tell me that they're staying here for an undetermined length of time, because _you_ saw fit to send their father home. I think you have some explaining to do, young lady."

"I'm not a child, Mum, you don't need to take that tone. Robert's behaviour was unacceptable. He arrived two hours late, with a chit of a girl on his arm, and announced he was engaged to her. His treatment of the boys is disgusting and he's so far up his own arse they have to ship in daylight."

"Claire! Really!" Her mother's face went pale. Then her expression changed and she became a frail old woman. When she spoke, her voice was querulous "I don't know why you're shouting at me; it isn't my fault."

For a moment Claire was almost fooled. But not quite. "Oh, give over, Mum. Quit playing games, I've had enough of that from Robert." She wanted to add that yes, it probably was her fault, at least in part. If she'd taken time to teach Robert some manners he might not be a total git. Realising such a discussion with her mother was an exercise in futility, she took a deep breath and controlled her temper with effort.

"Jack and Alex are your grandsons. You should be proud of them; they are amazing boys. If I could, I would keep them with me longer, but I have trespassed on Conor's goodwill enough already. I'm only asking you to let them stay for a week; take them to see Ruth and Sky. Poor Jack doesn't remember his cousin at all. They won't be any trouble. I have money to buy their tickets, and I'll contact Francesca and ask her to meet them at Stansted."

Her mother's face remained petulant and Claire snapped. "For God's sake, Mum, don't be such a cow. I know you couldn't give a monkeys about me or Robert, and I doubt Ruth gets a look in now she's got her life back on track, but this is your chance to make amends and be a decent human being. Why don't you give it a try, you might find you like it?"

Before her mum could answer, Claire stalked from the room.

***

THREE

"I heard you were back." Ruth said with a smile, as she opened the door. She looked past Claire, as if expecting to see someone behind her. "Where are my gorgeous nephews?"

Claire laughed. "Mum's been on the phone then? I had to leave Jack and Alex with her. I've got to get back to Cornwall this evening."

"You're insane. What's that, twelve hours of driving in one day? Why don't you stop here the night and leave first thing? There's no point trying to find a hostel in the dark."

Claire followed her sister down the corridor into the kitchen, marvelling at the change in her since she'd last visited. Even the house felt different: brighter, somehow, and with a positive vibe Claire couldn't quite put her finger on.

"No Sky?" She said, rather than answer her sister's question. It was tempting to stay the night, but she needed to think about it. For some reason she was keen to put as many miles between her and her family as possible.

"No, it's the last day of term today, and Chris has taken her on holiday for a week."

"Blimey, how do you feel about that?"

"It's fine. I know Chris and Bryony will look after her, and she really does love spending time with her baby sister. Besides, I'm going away myself this weekend." She saw Claire's raised eyebrow, and flushed. "With the church! We're going to Oxford to see the Baptist Missionary Society library collection at the university."

Claire's eyes opened wide, but she didn't comment. What did she know about what religious people did for kicks? It sounded worse than a four-hour lecture on contracts, but then Ruth might feel the same about surfing or walking the coastal path. It took all sorts.

"I'm going to service tonight, why don't you come?" Ruth threw a sly glance over her shoulder at her sister, as she reached into the cupboard for the sugar. "You can make sure I haven't got mixed up in some cult."

"I don't think that!" Claire heard the high squeak in her voice and winced. Gratefully accepting the tea from Ruth, she sought for a change of subject. "What did Mum say on the phone? She must have called you before I'd driven down the street."

"Before you'd left the house, pretty much. She's not happy with you. What did you say to her? She wittered on about ungrateful children and being shocked at how rude you've become. It was quite a rant, actually." For a moment it was the old Ruth, and Claire smiled warmly at her. Then her sister pursed her lips. "You probably shouldn't fight with Mum, though. It's not very dutiful."

Claire wanted to defend herself, but she didn't know how to talk to this new moralistic Ruth. She gave a noncommittal grunt, and said instead, "Jack can't wait to meet Sky. Oh, damn, how long did you say she was away with Chris for? He'll be gutted to miss her."

"They're back next week. Thursday, I think. I can check. Can't the boys stay with Mum and Dad for a bit longer?"

"You spoke to Mum, what do you think?"

Ruth frowned. "Hmmm, yes, you might be right. Never mind, I'm sure we'll work something out." She drained her tea and looked at the clock. "I have to go, are you coming?"

Claire thought about the long drive back south, and shrugged. The morning would be soon enough. "Sure, why not?"

Claire looked around the room. It wasn't a church, it was a school hall. She'd sat in one just like it, not that long ago, to do her final exams. And before that, for school assembly, lunch times, end of term reviews. It had a herringbone wood floor and long wooden benches around the walls.

The hard plastic of the grey stackable chair dug into her legs, as she looked up at the stage, where a white screen held a welcome message for the congregation. In the corner a group of adults were setting up a band, with guitars and microphones. She guessed it would be a different sort of music to the stuff they played at the sixth form concerts.

Next to her, Ruth waved in greeting to people she knew. Every now and then someone would stop and talk, holding their hands out to Claire in welcome and gushing with enthusiasm at her presence. She felt like a fraud.

Fidgeting on her seat, Claire began to think that the drive to Cornwall might have been preferable. She hadn't been in Church in years, discounting the odd wedding or christening and, even though this building wasn't made of stone and stained glass, the feeling of righteousness was just as strong.

A hush fell, as a man walked into the centre of the room towards the vacant lectern. He held his hands up in salutation and proceeded to greet his flock with gusto. He turned towards her when he hailed, "visitors new and old," and she felt her cheeks catch fire. Overhead the strip lighting shone down, and she found she missed the dark corners of a traditional church.

Then the singing started. Claire looked in surprise at Ruth, standing with eyes closed and arms aloft, fervently hurling her words at the ceiling. As Claire read the lyrics on the screen and tried to sing along without being heard, she noticed more people waving their arms while belting out their praise.

She felt embarrassed for them, in all their effusive sincerity. It might not be a cult, but it wasn't for her. Peace radiated from her sister, though, and she decided that was good enough.

When the service was finally over, Claire sat waiting for Ruth to finish her goodbyes. She was watching her sister's face as a shy-looking man in his thirties walked towards them. Ruth's cheeks held a faint blush and she caught her lip between her teeth. It lasted only a moment before her expression reflected only friendly pleasure.

"Mark, I didn't see you earlier. I'd like to introduce you to my sister. Claire, this is Mark: he's organising the trip to Oxford this weekend."

_I'll bet he is,_ Claire thought, as she shook the hand held tentatively towards her. _So that's the way the wind blows?_ She looked from Mark to Ruth and back again. _I wonder if they know it yet._

***

FOUR

The motorway stretched endlessly ahead of her, and Claire's mind wandered over the events of the night before. Despite the temptation to grill her sister about the mysterious Mark, for once she had held her tongue. It was entirely possible that her sister was unaware of a nascent attraction and teasing her about it now might break it completely.

It had been an interesting twenty-four hours with her family. It felt like everyone had changed so much in such a short time. Well, maybe not her mum. But her dad was no longer the distant, reserved, businessman she remembered from childhood. As if retirement had freed him from a role he wore with reluctance, he'd become more approachable; more human. She had left him and Jack chatting about their favourite authors.

Claire glanced over at the passenger seat, where a proof copy of her dad's book sat on top of her handbag. It felt odd to think her father had written it.

Then there was Ruth. No longer the needy, miserable, sister she'd been only months before, she now carried herself with a quiet confidence and a security that she said knew her place in the world and was content. Although she felt less able to relate to the new Ruth, Claire was glad she'd found a path she was happy with.

And what about me? Have I changed? What do they see, when they see me? I don't feel any different, but I suppose a few months ago I wouldn't have been driving to the middle of nowhere in a rusty car with anything other than horror.

The trill of the phone cut through her thoughts. Claire glanced down to see who was calling. No name came on the screen, but the number looked familiar. Thinking it might be Conor, she grabbed the handset.

"Hello?"

"Claire, hi, it's Kim."

"Kim! How great to hear from you. Listen, I'm driving at the moment, and this clapped out old car doesn't have anything as posh as hands-free. Can I call you back in," she looked out the window and saw a sign for a service station in ten miles, "say, twenty minutes? I'm due a stop."

"Sure, no problem. I'll go and make myself a cup of tea."

Claire hung up the phone and tried to work out why Kim had sounded strange. And then she realised what was different. She'd sounded happy.

"So, what's the gos?" Claire cradled the phone to her ear, and sipped at the hot latte in her other hand.

"Are you safe to talk now?"

"Yes, I'm at the services, coffee at the ready."

"Good." Kim fell silent, and Claire wondered if she'd imagined the happiness in her voice earlier. As the silence stretched out, Claire tried to think of something harmless to say.

"How _are_ you?" She didn't want to say more than that, but it was enough.

"You mean, am I still nuts? No, the doctor thinks I'm making good progress. I'm hoping to go back home soon. Jeff's still busy, so they want me to stay with Mum until they're sure I'm safe to be by myself, but I feel okay."

"You sound great." Claire smiled, aware of a real sense of relief to hear her friend on the road to recovery.

"Helena is coming home." Kim blurted the words out and it took Claire a moment to process them.

"Your sister? I thought she'd put down roots in Hong Kong? She didn't even come home for your wedding."

"Yes, well, I don't think it's entirely her idea." Kim's voice bubbled with suppressed mirth. "I shouldn't laugh, but it's so out of character for Helena." She giggled.

"What happened?" Claire tried to remember what Kim's sister was like. She was older than Kim, and was the driven, business orientated one, full of ambition.

"We don't know." Kim laughed. "But it's got to be pretty bad. I've got bets on her having slept with a client. Mum's saying nothing, but I think she's worried that she's up the duff."

Silence fell again, and Claire wondered if Kim was dwelling on her own lost baby.

"Be bloody typical if she is." Kim's voice had lost some of its humour. "Maybe I could convince her to give it to me and Jeff."

Claire winced and took a gulp of coffee, cursing as she scalded her mouth. Her brain hummed with useless words and she pictured Kim sinking back into the dark place.

"Whatever the cause, it's brilliant that she's coming home under a cloud. It'll take the heat off me as the useless one. Anyway, I wondered if you're around? She'll be home next week; it'd be great if we could all catch up."

With a frown, Claire tried to read beneath Kim's request. She hardly knew Helena. There was a four-year age gap, from what she could remember, and Helena had been a shadowy figure at school, one who refused to associate with her younger sister.

"I'm in Cornwall, or I will be soon." She heard Kim's intake of breath, and quickly added, "But I'm sure I could shoot up to yours one weekend. After the Carnival though. Conor would kill me if I wasn't around for that. I can do early August."

Kim agreed somewhat reluctantly and Claire felt a pang of guilt for bursting her happy bubble. She wondered why Kim needed moral support to face her sister, and filed it away under things to worry about.

***

FIVE

Claire's stomach began to squirm as she drove the almost familiar road into town. Conor wasn't expecting her for two days and she wasn't sure how he would greet her early arrival. When she'd finished her conversation with Kim she'd realised how stupid it was driving all the way to Cornwall only to have to travel back to Dorset two days later for the Carnival.

How did it creep up on me so quickly?

The fortnight with the boys had passed in a blink, despite each day feeling a hundred hours long. How did time work like that? Being both fast and slow?

She let her mind drift over the unsolvable problem, ignoring the mounting tension as she headed into the centre, wondering where she was going to find a room for the night. Her accommodation was booked for the Carnival week, but she had no idea if there would be space at the hostel for the two extra nights. The idea of telling Conor she had nowhere to sleep did strange things to her tummy.

The car park at the side of the hostel wasn't full and Claire took it as a good sign. She'd forgotten how gothic the building looked, all grey stone and higgledy-piggledy windows. Looking around at the tired hostel, with the grimy details she hadn't noticed on her last stay, she began to have second thoughts about arriving early. In her mind she saw the clean and bright hostels of southern Cornwall, with the crisp sea breeze and the rolling surf calling her out to play.

In the distance she could see Swanage Bay glistening in the afternoon sun, with the barrow climbing up behind. It reminded her of a phone call with Conor, what felt like light-years ago, when she'd hiked along that barrow into town. The day he'd called and offered her a job. With the knowledge she possessed now, would the outcome of that day been different?

Claire looked around the tiny room that would be home for the next week or so, and sighed, hoping she would be so busy with whatever Conor needed her to do that she wouldn't be in the hostel all that much. The darkness of the building felt oppressive and it smelt like mouldy carpet.

As soon as she'd left her bag on the only available bed, Claire headed out into the fresh air and followed the long road down the hill to town, in search of coffee. She knew she should call Conor straight away, but her mind went blank every time she thought of it.

It felt strange, wandering through Swanage again. During her time travelling around the South West, she had remembered the town through Conor's eyes; through his passion and sense of belonging. Coming again, unannounced and fresh from the very depths of Cornwall, the town felt small and dated. The endless grey stone hemmed her in and the shops seemed insufferably twee.

She tried to compare it dispassionately with St Ives or Penzance. The former was similar in a way, with the same steep, winding streets and small shops, surrounded by the beach and the ocean. If anything the streets were more narrow and the stone buildings just as forbidding in wet weather. But, inside, one felt welcoming and the other didn't.

Without realising where she was going, Claire's footsteps took her down to the shore near the pier. The sun dipped behind a cloud and a shadow fell over the concrete slip, where a father and two sons were pulling their canoe out of the sea. The air felt cooler by the bay, relieving some of the oppressive heat of the day. Claire ordered a coffee and sat on the picnic table staring out at the boats on the water.

Forcing herself to dial without thinking, she called her boss and waited for him to answer. Her heart beat loudly in her throat.

"Hello, Conor speaking."

The deep Irish voice made Claire jump when it came suddenly on the line. She didn't answer immediately, and felt foolish when Conor said, "Hello? Claire is that you?"

"Yes, sorry, hi Conor. I had a mouthful of coffee."

He laughed, but it was a tight sound and he spoke again immediately. "Is everything okay? I'm rather busy."

"Yes. Sorry to disturb you. I just wanted to let you know I'm in town. For the Carnival."

"I thought you weren't coming until Friday?" The flatness of the question drove Claire's heart into her stomach.

"I had to take the boys to my mum's house and it seemed daft to drive right past the door back to Cornwall." Her titter made her cringe. "So, I'm here ready to help. What can I do?"

The line went quiet, and Claire sipped at her coffee. Her hands shook and she dropped the cup with a clatter back into its saucer.

Eventually Conor spoke again. "Great. That's great. Listen, we're not really ready for you. Can you hang fire and I'll give you a buzz?"

Claire murmured her assent and disconnected the call. Wrapping her hands around the warm coffee cup, she shivered as she stared out across the sea.

***

SIX

"Okay, Claire, I need you to call all the marching bands, confirm their running order and remind them we start an hour earlier this year. Then I want you to speak to the Fireworks people, make sure they know the signal to commence their display. After that, can you head down to Sandpit Field and help with the set up."

Claire scribbled notes on the paper she'd borrowed from the secretary, when she'd realised what kind of meeting it was going to be. Looking round the table at the other volunteers, Claire's heart sank. This wasn't really her thing. She tried to catch Conor's eye, to at least get a smile from him, but he had his head bent over his master list. When he looked up, it was to tell the next person round the table what their tasks were.

I've been in Swanage for forty-eight hours and Conor hasn't so much as said hello and welcome.

It was obvious that he was busy with the Carnival, but Claire found herself searching her memory to try and discover if she had done or said something to incur his displeasure. Even the busiest person had time to smile.

A voice in the back of Claire's mind reminded her that world war three could have broken out, when she had been face with an imminent deadline, and she would have shrugged it off as irrelevant. She was taking it all too personally. For once she hoped her watching voice was right.

Claire slumped, exhausted, onto the grass and hoped she had done enough. Two days of endless phone calls, of questions she couldn't answer and complaints she didn't understand, of running round town, climbing the stupid hill to the hostel, and grabbing sandwiches on the run, and she'd finally made it through her list of tasks.

She hadn't seen Conor since the meeting on Friday and they'd only spoken on the phone to exchange information, like a verbal relay race. The actual start of the Carnival the day before had passed in a blur. She'd missed the firework display, after crashing on her bunk to close her eyes for a moment and waking up four hours later. Conor hadn't asked why she wasn't there.

I thought he was meant to like me? If you really like someone surely even work doesn't get in the way of good manners?

Around her, the chatter of thousands of happy people rose like a swarm of flies. Somehow she hadn't noticed the people filtering into town, until every verge and patch of beach was covered with them. It was strange to see the quiet town full of colour and life; like seeing a familiar landscape under three feet of water. She wished they would go away.

Up ahead the sound of drumming drifted on the sea breeze. The chatter of the crowd dropped in anticipation and heads turned to catch their first glimpse of the parade. The rhythmic sound came nearer and there was something stirring about it. Realising she'd never actually watched a parade before, Claire rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat forward, camera at the ready. At least if she got some snaps for the blog it wouldn't be a completely wasted trip.

Claire had to blink her eyes again as the first marching band came into view. Striding through the crowd were two dozen Spidermen with full head coverings, some drumming on the traditional white military drums, others lined up behind playing brass instruments. The crowd chuckled and Claire joined in, appreciating the spectacle.

For the next few hours the show rolled in front of her like the toy TV she'd had as a child that turned with a dial and played plinky music. There were girls in blue with pompoms and girls in red throwing batons; there were cars and bikes and floats; there were carnival girls with costumes to rival Brazil, all feathers and fans and structure, towering over their heads.

The Carnival Queens walked by in red and salmon pink, beaming and waving at the crowd. Musketeers and movie makers, and all manner of fancy dress costumes sashayed past, all to the sound of music; military drums and Latin beats, Rock and Roll, Pop and the unmistakeable Caribbean kettle drums.

Claire found herself clapping and cheering and swaying her shoulders with the crowd. For two hours she forgot that her head hurt and her feet throbbed and her heart ached most of all.

Mid-afternoon, just as the last of the parade members were straggling past, the Red Arrows flew overhead with a roar that silenced the rising hubbub. Mesmerised, Claire watched their plumes of smoke in red, white and blue, as the red jets crossed in the sky in breath-taking formations, with the steely grey sea stretched out beneath them.

The sun had disappeared behind a veil of cloud, easing the heat and glare. Claire watched the end of the display without blinking, her brain whirling with the sensory input of the last few hours. And this was only the second day. There were still so many more events happening over the rest of the week.

Okay, so maybe Conor has had his hands full organising all this.

The thought rose like a bubble inside her, lifting some of the gloom that had been weighing her down. Determined to help him with his impossible task and not to mind his distraction, Claire pushed herself away from the grass bank, stretched cramped muscles, and went off in search of her boss.

***

**SEVEN**

Claire looked in the mirror and pulled a face.

I look ridiculous. Why did I let Conor talk me in to this?

She tugged at the wig, which had slipped sideways, and pouted her bright red lips. She swished her skirt and struck a pose. "Happy birthday, Mr President..." she sang off key and laughed.

Fine; I'll be Marilyn, seeing as the theme is Hollywood, but if there's karaoke I'm out.

With a sigh Claire turned from the mirror and pulled on her cardigan. Despite the warm temperature outside there was no way she was walking across town without some protection.

As she strode down the road in her sandals, with her heels in a bag over her shoulder, Claire's mind wandered over the events of the week. They were mostly a blur of phone calls and running across town to fetch and carry. She'd stayed awake for the fireworks on Wednesday, but had watched them from the hostel bedroom, not wanting to stand on the beach by herself.

Conor was still the elusive Pimpernel. She caught sight of him from time to time, hurrying to a meeting or helping out at an event. She'd been wrapped up in her own tasks, liaising with the shops over their storefront competition and doing a dozen other menial tasks.

Just when she was starting to think Conor was avoiding her, instead of simply being busy, he'd called out of the blue and asked if she wanted to take part in the Wheelbarrow Race on Friday night. Once he had reassured her that it was a pub crawl rather than a sports day event, she had reluctantly agreed. Then he'd mentioned the need for fancy dress.

"You're kidding. I don't do dressing up," had been her response. Conor had only laughed. "You do now," he'd replied with a wicked chuckle.

"Are you ordering me, as your employee?" She'd put on a prim tone, wondering if the banter was a wise idea, given his attitude all week. He'd paused for a fraction of a second before saying in a softer voice, "Of course not. I thought it might be fun is all."

She'd had to agree at that point.

More fool me.

Her walk through the residential streets drew amused glances from passers-by, as she took the route into town, and she regretted not waiting until she got to the pub before putting on the wig. A group of lads wolf whistled from the other side of the road and she toyed between ignoring them and telling them to get lost. Instead she turned, bent forwards, pouted, and blew them a kiss. They looked shocked and then laughed; their appreciative chuckles drifted along behind her as she continued walking.

I guess I'm going to have to try and get in the mood.

She gathered that all of Conor's colleagues – _my colleagues_ , she amended – would be taking part in the pub crawl. It seemed strange to be socialising with people she hardly knew, and she wondered what they made of the woman Conor had hired against the Board's better judgement.

Her footsteps slowed as it dawned on her what the evening would entail. Pub crawls meant getting drunk. Did she really want to leave herself vulnerable amongst strangers? The last time she'd been on a work do and under the influence she had heard things about herself she'd rather not have done. It was an experience she didn't choose to repeat.

But it was too late now. She could see the pub up ahead; identifying it as much by the group of oddly dressed people milling outside. And by the wheelbarrows.

Bastard. He said there were no real wheelbarrows. I am going to kill him.

"Claire, you're here!"

Conor pushed through the crowd and came to meet her. "You look amazing," he said as he approached. "This gentleman definitely prefers blondes." His tone was light but it brought the blood to her cheeks.

He came to a standstill too close for comfort and Claire concentrated on his outfit. He was dressed as Elvis, complete with white suit and big hair. It looked good. The words of anger died on her lips at the warmth in his expression and she dropped her gaze to stare at the pavement between them.

"Are you okay? Have you changed your mind?" Conor's soft tone held too much understanding for her liking. Deciding the only course was to brazen it out, she threw back her shoulders and looked him in the eye.

"No, not at all. Bring it on."

"That's my girl." His smile was swift and genuine. He looked like he was about to say something else, when a voice hailed him from amidst the crowd.

"Come on, Conor, stop hogging the fit bird and bring her over."

It was Conor's turn to look embarrassed. "Sorry, Claire," he murmured, "Some of the lads have had a head start."

"It's okay, it's nothing I can't handle." Claire took off her cardigan and draped it over her bag. In full costume she felt better able to enter into the spirit of things. Still, in the back of her mind she knew it was going to be a long night.

***

EIGHT

Claire's head whirled as she downed the drink on the table in front of her. She remembered now why she hated pub crawls. It wasn't just getting drunk too quickly, and trying to move in a straight line when the world was spinning, it was the bloated tummy and the sloshing sensation as yet another quantity of liquid was consumed too fast.

She reeled and felt a steadying arm wrap round her shoulders. "Whoa, there. You don't have to keep up, you know. The real race is over. This is just the lads from the office now: no need for bravado." The voice whispering in her ear seemed hardwired to other, more intimate, parts of her body. She focussed on staying upright and turned to him with a bright smile.

"I'm fine, Conor. I'm a bit out of practice is all. Not much call for getting drunk on your own. No good reasons at any rate. It's been a while."

Conor gave her back a quick rub, then dropped his arm. He didn't move away, however, and Claire found his presence at her side comforting. She looked around blearily, trying to see who was still with them. She recognised most of the faces, although they all looked a little worse for wear.

"I think maybe I should push the wheelbarrow on the next stint," she said to Conor. "If I climb back in, I might fall asleep."

"My poor Claire," Conor said with a smile. "You have been a good sport."

"Well, after you went to all that trouble to find me a cushion I could hardly refuse, could I? Just please tell me there's no photographic evidence."

Conor raised his eyebrows and said nothing. Claire groaned. "Great. I guess that was inevitable. Maybe no one will remember who I am."

Her boss let out a loud laugh. "Sorry, m'darling, not much chance of that. Your pouting and liberal blowing of kisses have been the highlight of the evening, although my personal favourite was your attempt at the iconic fanned skirt image in the pub before last."

The groan was louder this time, and Claire dropped her head into her hands. "I thought I'd imagined it. Please tell me I didn't really put their fan on the floor and stand above it? I didn't even think I was that drunk."

"You are and you did." He grinned. "Kept your modesty quite well though. Until you fell over at least."

Only the gentle affection in his voice stopped Claire from running out the room. In fact he'd been the perfect date: attentive, supportive and encouraging. There had been a hint of distance to begin with, but as the alcohol flowed and the eyes blurred that had dissipated. She felt the warmth of his body next to hers, through the thin fabric of her dress, and suddenly shivered.

"Are you cold? I can get your cardie, although it feels pretty warm in here. Would you like some fresh air?"

"I'm fine." Something in his expression caught her attention. "Though yes, now you mention it, some fresh air might be a good idea."

Conor grasped her elbow and led her from the room. She heard him tell their colleagues that she was going to be sick and their friendly laughter followed them out. It was on her lips to tell him she didn't feel ill, when it occurred to her that he might be protecting her reputation, as the two of them left the pub together.

Ever the gentleman. Nothing like the man I took him for at my interview.

Claire shivered again as the cool night air brushed her skin. It wasn't cold, although the oppressive heat of the day had eased with the setting of the sun. Despite the bustling noise of the pub spilling through the open doors and windows, it felt eerily quiet out in the night.

They were somewhere away from the High Street, having left the hubbub of the carnival behind. The race proper had finished much earlier and Conor had led his colleagues on a longer tour with the drinks on him, as a thank you for all their hard work. Above them, inky blackness stretched away, punctuated by thousands of pin-pricks of dazzling light. The sheer expanse of the sky made Claire dizzy, and she leant against the whitewashed stone wall for support.

"You're not really going to be sick, are you?"

Claire shook her head, regretting it immediately. "No, I'm fine. You might need to push me back to the hostel in that wheelbarrow though; I can't see me making it up the hill." She looked around. "Not that I have any idea where I am."

"We're not that far away. We're in the Muddy Duck. Swanage isn't a big place."

"I'm none the wiser. Besides, we're in the Black Swan." She gestured at the sign above their heads. "And you think _I'm_ drunk!"

Conor leant back against the rail, propped up on his elbows, and smiled tolerantly. "Muddy Duck is what the locals call it. You know, a black swan is just a muddy duck? At least I think that's where it comes from. I'm not really a local."

"Don't tell me, your kids' kids would just about be accepted?"

"Not that bad, but you have the general idea."

They stood together in silence, listening to the sounds of revelry from inside the building. People came and went through the door to Claire's left, but they seemed to have a pocket of unbreakable stillness around them.

Claire felt tension build like an approaching storm. Suddenly all her senses were on overdrive: her ears picking up every sound, her nose taking in the scent of Conor's aftershave and the stink of stale beer and cigarettes. Despite the gloom, she could see Conor as if he stood beneath a spotlight. He was watching her, his eyes and teeth shining in the darkness, competing with his brilliant white suit.

The silence took on texture. Conor pushed away from the railing, and the movement tightened the knot in Claire's stomach and caused her heart to race uncontrollably, like the wheelbarrows had along the High Street earlier. Conor came to stand directly in front of her, looking down with a question in his eyes.

Claire raised her gaze to meet his. She flinched as his eyes narrowed slightly. He reached forwards and gently pulled off the wig, letting her hair tumble down around her face.

"That's better."

His eyes sought hers again, still asking the unanswered question. She didn't need to search hard for a reply. It was a question she'd been waiting for. With a quivering smile, Claire gave a nod. At her response, the tension seeped out of Conor's face, and he leant forwards slowly to brush his lips against hers.

Claire let herself sink into the kiss. Conor's hands tangled into her hair, cupping her face and pulling her close. She wrapped her arms around him, running her hands over the contours of his back, feeling the lithe body beneath his costume. A gentle breeze blew up the street and across their skin, bringing with it the scent of night and the salty tang of the sea. Claire inhaled deeply and lost herself in the moment.

***

NINE

Pain throbbed behind Claire's eyes: a steady staccato beat of agony that increased in severity when she tried to raise her head. Slowly her other senses came into focus. Without analysing them, her brain sorted through the various inputs. The sound of steady breathing, close by. The scent of aftershave and sweat. The feel of tangled sheets against naked skin. Finally the pieces of the puzzle clicked together and Claire sat upright, before collapsing back onto the bed as the room span around her.

She groaned, and heard the rhythm of the gentle snores change as the form next to her shifted. Her body froze; every nerve zinging. The fog in her brain cleared instantly, like a gale had swept through and brushed the mist away.

With a snuffling sound, the breathing returned to its gentle rhythm. Claire exhaled and lay still, staring at the ceiling, trying to decide what to do. The events of the previous night were sketchy at best. She remembered the wheelbarrow and the dress, the wig and the blown kisses. A vague image of standing over a fan in the iconic Marilyn Monroe pose flashed into her head and she winced.

Slowly, as if building up to the final reveal, her brain skipped forward to the kiss outside the Black Swan. Then, speeding on fast forward, she remembered Conor's whispered suggestion that they go back to his place. The taxi ride, more kissing, stumbling up to his top floor apartment.

The memories became blurred again at that point, whether from self-protection or alcohol she couldn't say. Her position now, naked in Conor's bed, told the rest of the story.

Bugger.

Don't sleep with the boss. Wasn't that a rule as old as time? Claire tried to feel bad about it, but found she couldn't. Instead, despite the hammering in her brain and quivering in her limbs, she could tell a broad smile stretched her numb and tender lips. She put her fingers up to feel them.

I must look like I've had Botox. Please don't let me have to face any of Conor's colleagues today.

The thought reminded her of something else. It was the last day of the Carnival: Conor would have things to do. She probably had things to do, if she could but remember what they were. She looked over at the sleeping man beside her. His face lay in the shadows, with only a glint of light coming through the dark curtains. It looked peaceful, though. Too peaceful to wake him just yet.

Claire carefully rolled off the low bed and pulled on a t-shirt lying next to her on the floor. It smelled of him. With a smile she padded from the room to explore. It didn't take long. The apartment was tiny: just a bedroom, kitchen diner and a bathroom the size of a small cupboard. The ceilings sloped above her head, making it feel more compact, despite the bright white walls and cupboards.

With a frown, Claire wondered why someone would choose to live in such a tiny apartment outside London. The quality of the finish suggested it wasn't cheap lodgings. Why not have something a bit more homely, with room to breathe?

She walked over to the patio doors, up two steps, and on to a tiny balcony. As she stepped out, she gasped. The sun peeped over the horizon, its light reflected in the sea. Beneath her, the beach stretched out, with pristine sand glistening in the morning light. She could just make out someone walking a dog in the distance. There appeared to be a path leading down from the apartment to the beach. Over to the left she could see the barrow, where she had walked from Old Harry Rocks. It was stunning.

I thought Conor hated being out in nature, away from the steaming pile of humanity? That's what he always says.

After a while she became aware of a breeze on her legs, and realised she was standing on the balcony in only a t-shirt. With a mortified blush, she turned and went in search of coffee.

The tiny kitchen yielded instant coffee and old milk that more closely resembled soft cheese. Claire eventually found some sugar, behind the tins of beans and packets of pasta. With a shrug she made two mugs of black coffee and heaped the sugar into both. She left one by the kettle, and took the other back out to the balcony, making sure she was covered up.

The cup was almost empty by the time she heard footsteps. The scrape of the mug against the granite worktop was followed by the sense of someone coming up behind her.

"You're up early. Thanks for the coffee."

Conor came to stand beside her on the balcony, without touching her. Claire looked at him, trying to analyse his mood. His hair stuck up at all angles, and he'd only stopped to pull on his trousers. His bare chest was more contoured and tanned than she would have suspected when it was hidden by a shirt and tie.

They stood in silence, sipping at the strong black liquid. Fire rippled across Claire's skin and her head swirled with words. Eventually she chanced another glance at Conor, and the look in his eyes fanned the flames, burning a trail down her body. She became acutely aware of her lack of clothing.

"You're still here." He smiled as he stated the obvious.

"Yes." She smiled tentatively back.

"That's good." He leaned over, as if he might kiss her, and she pulled away. His expression dropped like a chastised dog and Claire felt an urge to stroke his face and kiss away the hurt.

"I need a shower first. Please."

Relief flooded Conor's face and he nodded. "Of course. It's not a very big one, I'm afraid."

"That's okay." Claire drained the last of her coffee and walked back into the apartment. She could feel Conor's eyes on her as she left. When she reached the door she stopped and turned. Forcing herself to speak before her head overruled her desire, Claire gave an arch smile and called back to Conor.

"Is it big enough for two?"

He grinned and jumped down the steps into the room.

***

TEN

The fireworks were over. It was the first display Claire had watched from down by the shore and her eyes and mind reeled from the spectacle. Standing beneath the waves of light, the endless showers of sparks, had been like standing inside the universe.

Conor had his arms around her as they faced the sea. When the penultimate lights had parachuted down to ignite on the water, she had gasped like a child, and Conor had chuckled and kissed her cheek.

Now, aside from the mingling tourists shuffling around them, all was still. They stood motionless for a long moment, neither wanting to break the spell. Then Claire straightened, and inhaled deeply.

"I have to get going in the morning." Her voice didn't sound like hers, and she cleared her throat. Aiming for a playful tone, she continued, "I have this report that needs finishing, you see. My boss wants it done in a few weeks and I don't want to let him down."

Conor tightened his arms around her, but didn't speak. They simply existed; listening to the babbling crowds slowly making their way home.

The bay stretched before them, black as a cave without the lights of the fireworks sizzling on the water. A cavernous space pulling at Claire like an unknown future. She dropped her head back against Conor's shoulder and sighed.

As if hearing her unspoken thoughts, Conor breathed in through his nose before saying softly. "You're not coming to work for me, are you? When the report is done." It was a statement and his tone sounded neutral, business-like. It made her stomach clench.

She waited for him to continue: to beg and plead, or reason, or demand. But he stood motionless, apart from one hand which stroked rhythmically at her arm as he held her tight.

"No," she said eventually into the dark. "Probably not."

As she said the words aloud, she knew they were the burden she'd been carrying for weeks. Even without the events of the last twenty-four hours, she knew she couldn't work for Conor. Couldn't come and live in the place he loved so much. She tried to frame a reason in her mind, one that could possibly contain sufficient explanation for her desertion.

"I need to do something for me. This isn't _my_ place. This isn't _my_ dream."

"What is your dream?" There was a hint of longing in Conor's voice, but no accusation. She stroked his hand in gratitude and then sighed again. The exhalation felt like a dessert wind, blowing from the depths of her soul, to wander lost on the sea breeze.

Her reply dropped into the darkness like a stone.

"I have no idea."

"Do you have to go now? You could stay another night. There isn't much to do today. We could go somewhere, have lunch."

Claire did up her jeans and sat back on the bed, looking over to where Conor sat, naked, against the headboard. Outside the window, the sun was high in the sky. She had no idea what time it was, but her growling tummy said lunch was definitely an idea.

It felt wrong, running away like this. She didn't know where the urge came from; she just knew she wanted to be on the road. Her time with Conor had been magical. They'd talked and made love into the early morning, falling asleep as the first rays of the sun painted the sky in stripes of peach and amber.

She reached down for her t-shirt and pulled it over her head, concealing the tears in her eyes. Swallowing against the hard knot in her throat, she stood up and walked round to his side of the bed. She sat on the mattress next to him and ran her fingers through his haystack hair and down his cheek, where stubble prickled like cut wheat.

"Today, tomorrow, does it make much difference? It's easier this way." Her words lacked conviction.

Conor reached up and cupped her face, pulling her down and kissing her hard. When they finally broke for air, his eyes were red.

"Of course it makes a difference. I'm not asking you to stay forever, just for lunch. You make it sound like we'll never see each other again."

It was on Claire's lips to say, _we won't._ Was that what she wanted? To avoid crossing the event horizon and getting sucked into a black hole she couldn't escape from. Would it be so bad to live in this sleepy town and work for a man she cared for? Wasn't that a dream, of sorts?

Conflicting desires tugged at her until she was ready to scream. Restraining herself against the urge to run, Claire stood slowly and watched Conor, trying to read his expression. He looked hurt, and then resigned, and then something else she couldn't quite place. A steady resolve crept into his eyes.

Throwing back the covers, he stood and faced her. The sight of him without a stitch on did funny things to her insides, shaking her resolution. Judging by the playful smile on Conor's lips, that had been his intention.

Claire laughed and ran her hand down his chest. "Tempting. Very tempting."

As if he had proved his point, Conor turned and pulled on his jeans. Grabbing a clean t-shirt from a drawer, he turned back and grinned. "Just lunch. My treat. And then you can leave with my blessing. Provided you agree to let me come visit you occasionally. And after the report is finished? Well, we can just figure that out when we get there."

Grateful for his understanding, Claire gave a swift nod and walked out the bedroom, before she ran out of reasons to leave.

***

ELEVEN

"Is it back to Cornwall, then?"

Conor drained his beer and looked over at Claire. Lunch was an informal affair, up at Durlston Country Park. By unspoken agreement they'd kept the tone friendly rather than romantic. Claire wasn't sure if Conor was taking her lead, or protecting himself.

"I think I'll head to north Devon, actually. I've stayed in most of the hostels in Cornwall, and I covered a lot of ground with the boys. There are some places along by Westward Ho! which are meant to be great for surfing."

She flushed, as she realised she'd just told her boss her intention was to skive off rather than work.

This is why I couldn't work for him. That, and I'd never get any work done.

Sat across the table from her, he looked ruggedly handsome, with his two-day stubble and crumpled t-shirt. It was the expression in his eyes, though, that kept turning her knees to jelly. The words he spoke might be platonic, but his gaze was X-rated.

Conor grinned at the slip. "Intending to play truant, are we? I didn't know you could surf. You strike me more as the horsy type."

"God, no. I hate riding. I've done it a few times as part of my travels but it hurts! I'm not a surfer, either, but I have been learning."

"I quite fancy the idea of you all surfer chick in stretchy neoprene." He widened his eyes appreciatively and she threw her napkin at him.

"Behave! Do you surf?"

"Ha, no. Not my thing."

Claire realised she didn't know what his _thing_ was, aside from work and listening to live music.

"How do you let off steam? Is there a gym at your fancy apartment?"

"Hardly. I think there's a drying room somewhere, and of course steps down to the beach. I go for a run, if I feel the need. That's about it."

Claire wasn't sure she believed him. The sculptured body suggested more effort than that. He didn't seem to be concealing anything, though, so she let it go. It was so hard to get him to talk about himself.

I hope there aren't skeletons in his closet. That would be just my luck.

She looked out at the view, across past Peveril Point to the cliffs near Old Harry. On a day like today, away from the town, she could appreciate his love for the place.

"Are you finished? Do you fancy a wander or have you got to rush off?"

Conor's voice broke into her reverie. His reference to her departure sounded casual and unconcerned and she felt gratitude flare in her heart.

"A quick walk would be lovely, before I swelter in my car for a few hours. No such thing as aircon in an old banger like mine. Not too long, though, I don't want to get snarled in Sunday evening traffic."

"Sure thing, my lady. Follow me and prepare to be amazed."

Wondering what he was planning, Claire let Conor lead her from the restaurant and down a path that meandered away from the folly known as the castle. Beneath them she could see something concrete at the end of the path, and wondered what it was. As she got nearer she realised it was a large stone globe, surrounded by black railings.

"Ta da!" Conor said, when they reached it.

Claire tried to hide her puzzlement. "What is it?"

She saw Conor's delight fade at her lack of enthusiasm. "It's Victorian. It's weathered now, so you can't really read it, but it's a Victorian globe. I used to come here as a child. There's a picture, somewhere, of me and my brothers and sisters all lined up round the railing." He kicked at the gravel. "I guess it's not so amazing to a stranger."

Claire walked up to him and put her arms around his waist. He was a complicated man, and she felt she barely knew him. But what she knew she liked. More than liked.

"Thank you for sharing it with me." She reached up and kissed him. Conor's arms tightened around her, and the railings jabbed into her as he pushed her back.

"Ow!"

Conor pulled away, and saw the black metal points. His mouth turned down and he looked ludicrously pathetic, like a small child caught in wrongdoing. "Sorry."

She giggled at his expression and laced her hand through his. "Come on; let's go get lost in the woods." She tugged him back up the hill and along in the other direction, away from the castle, to where the path disappeared into some trees. Time enough to drive away later.

***

TWELVE

Claire gritted her teeth and dived into the waves. It was essential to get fully wet immediately. Wading out slowly just prolonged the agony. Flicking back her wet hair, she tugged at the board tethered to her ankle and climbed onto it, ready to paddle out into the surf.

The need to concentrate finally drove the thoughts from her cluttered mind. On the long drive down from Swanage, and during the endless night at the hostel, her head had hummed with words. Was she doing the right thing, leaving Conor so quickly? Should she call it off for good? And if she didn't go to work for him, what was she going to do at the end of the contract, which really wasn't that far away. There was no rainy day money in her bank account: she couldn't afford to be out of work even for a few weeks. The leftover money from Robert, which her conscience told her she ought to return, and her temper said was hers by rights, was put aside to hopefully replace her much-missed tablet.

Icy water crashed over Claire's head, as her brain returned to the problems it had been tousling with, instead of focussing on remaining upright on the speeding board. She brushed the foam from her face and laughed, feeling the tension leave her with the joyous sound. You couldn't be angry or grumpy or sad in the ocean. It didn't care. The sheer expanse of indifference put the world into perspective.

Dragging the board up the beach, Claire toyed with having one more run. Guilt pricked at her, as she remembered the report. Thoughts of her assignment led to thoughts of Conor and she flicked them away with a toss of her tangled hair. Instead she concentrated on another idea that had popped into her mind during her surf. She needed to call the boys. With everything that had happened during the Carnival, and afterwards, it had slipped her mind that she didn't even know if they were still in the country.

She stomped up the beach, angry with herself for letting Conor fill her head when she had responsibilities. _I took those boys to Mum's house, the least I could do was make sure they were alright._

A familiar wave of sadness washed over Claire, as she towelled herself dry and pulled on some clothes. Even though she wanted to do something for herself, there were still people who relied on her, who had expectations.

Will Conor just be one more person wanting something from me?

The words left a bad taste in her mouth and her heart grew heavy. She retrieved her phone and scrolled through for the number, waiting for it to connect as she headed back to the car.

"Hello?"

"Mum? Hi, it's Claire."

"Well, it's about time you called. That's just like you, to dump your nephews here and then disappear off the face of the earth for weeks."

Claire bit her lip. "I haven't disappeared, I've been working, and it's only been two weeks. Besides, the phone works two ways, you know. You could call me."

There was a tiny pause, and Claire wondered if her mum would retaliate. Instead she huffed a sigh and said, "If you've called to talk to the boys, you're too late. They've gone home, thank goodness." She seemed to realise that wasn't what a grandmother said of her grandsons and quickly added, "Not that I haven't enjoyed having them, but they've eaten me out of house and home."

"Oh, I'm sorry I missed them. Did Francesca come and collect them."

"Ha! If you can call it that. She refused to leave the airport. Checked into a hotel and told us to take the boys there to her. That woman. No wonder Robert left."

That was too much for Claire. "She might not be the easiest woman to get along with, Mum, but in case you've forgotten, your precious son left to get engaged to a girl half his age. He's not really the victim in all this."

"Well, we don't know the full story," her mum blustered. "Anyway, it doesn't pay to interfere."

Claire snorted and coughed to cover it up. There was no point getting into a row with her mother. She said goodbye and hung up the phone, vowing to Skype the boys that evening. She felt bad to think they'd left the country without her being able to say goodbye.

If that's what dating Conor does to me, then I'm better off without him.

***

THIRTEEN

"Can I come and see you this weekend?"

There was an air of forced casualness in Conor's words. Claire cradled the phone to her ear and looked out her bedroom window at the view down the hill to the sea. The hostel was a million miles away from the one in Swanage: clean, bright, modern, with comfy beds and duvets, and en-suite facilities. Despite the ache in her chest that told her she missed Conor, she was happy to be there by herself. Still the weekend was a few days away, who knew how she might feel by then.

"I don't have to come, if you'd rather be alone." Conor's voice sounded strained and Claire felt a shiver run across her skin.

"Yes, of course you can come this weekend. Sorry, I didn't mean to hesitate; I was just trying to work out which hostel I'll be in by then." A small white lie to take away the hurt.

"Why don't you ring around for a private room and let me know what you find?"

Now his words made her shiver in anticipation and she smiled. "You're on."

"Grand. So, tell me about your day."

Claire leant against the wall and chatted about surfing, and the hostel, and her call home to catch up with her nephews. It felt strange, talking about things outside work. Conor listened attentively, asking questions and adding his opinion. Claire realised it had been a long time since she'd had a grown-up conversation with someone other than Kim. As the thought drifted through her mind, she remembered that Kim had wanted to catch up with her after the Carnival.

"Damn." Her outburst cut through Conor's review of a band he had seen the week before.

"What is it?"

"I just remembered that Kim wanted me to visit her this weekend, because her sister is home from Hong Kong. What with everything, I completely forgot. She's going to kill me, I haven't even called. That's two lots of people I've let down in as many weeks."

"Sure but it's my fault, Claire. I kept you busy with work for the Carnival and then, well..." He trailed off.

Claire put a hand to her forehead, trying to subdue the stabbing pain in her temples. "Look, I need to call Kim. Can I get back to you about the weekend?"

"Of course. Your friends need to come first, I'll still be here."

Claire couldn't quite read his words. Was he not classing himself as a friend, or making a dig that she wasn't putting him first? She shook her head. It was too hard to fathom. Wishing him a quick farewell, she hung up the phone then scrolled through for Kim's number.

"Hello, stranger." Kim answered the phone on the second ring.

"Hi, Kim. I'm so sorry I haven't called sooner. The Carnival was manic." She hesitated, unsure what to say about Conor. Before she could decide whether to mention it or not, Kim started talking again.

"It's alright for some. I'd give anything to get back to work. I'm still waiting for the doctor to say I'm fit." She gave an irate snort and Claire felt her heart sink into her stomach. The happy Kim she had spoken to a week before seemed to have vanished again.

"I'm sure it won't be long," she said in a soothing voice, wary of annoying Kim further. "Is Helena home yet?"

"Oh yes. The prodigal daughter returned this weekend, proudly displaying her bump." Kim cackled and Claire thought the sound didn't suit her. She didn't like to hear her friend being nasty, even about her sister.

I guess it's no different than how I feel about Robert.

"So she is pregnant then. How do you feel about that?"

"Sodding angry, to be honest. I lose my baby and get told I can't have another one, and my sister gets up the duff with some bloke she barely knows. At least she's decided to keep it. I don't think I could stand it if she'd had a termination, whoever the fella is."

The pain in Claire's head stabbed sharper. She wanted to empathise with Kim, but what did she know of babies and wanting to become a mother? She wasn't even sure she wanted to be a girlfriend, never mind anything else. And the bitter jealousy in Kim's voice was hard to take, however much she knew and sympathised with the cause.

"Do you still want me to come and visit?" Claire held her breath, hoping for an answer in the negative.

"Good God, yes. Come and save me from her sanctimonious preaching, please."

Claire inhaled silently and deeply, and then had a brainwave. "Why don't you both come down here? I'm in a charming hostel, five minutes from the beach, and the forecast for the weekend is gorgeous." She hesitated, then plunged on. "And you can come hang out with my new man, if you like." If Conor came to stay, she wouldn't have to share a room with Kim and Helena.

"Claire, you old dog, you've been keeping secrets. Is that the real reason you've abandoned me. Come on, spill the beans. Who is it? Is it your boss? It is, isn't it. You're shagging the boss. Ha ha that's priceless."

Claire winced at Kim's tone. "Yes, it's Conor. If that's how you feel, though, I don't think it's a good idea for us to stay all in the same place. It's not like we work in the same office or anything, so it's not how you make it sound."

"Oh get off your high horse, you muppet. If you like him then good on you. From what I can remember he was pretty dishy. Mind you, that might have been the drugs." She laughed. "I'll have a chat with Helena, but I'm sure she'll agree. Anything to get away from Mum's fussing."

As Claire hung up the phone she wondered if it was too late to get a flight to the Maldives before the weekend.

***

FOURTEEN

Claire chewed her thumbnail and tried to concentrate on the screen in front of her. Attempting to write was proving futile, and she shut the laptop with a snap. Outside, the sun beamed down on the terrace and she let it lure her from the lounge. She felt fidgety and restless and longed to go down to the beach for a run.

After a blissful few days alone, wandering around the north coast of Devon, the weekend had finally arrived, bringing with it the anticipated arrival of her guests. Conor had texted to say he'd be there early evening. She hadn't heard from Kim and her sister, but assumed they were due around the same time.

This is going to be a train wreck. What was I thinking? I should have gone to Kim's house; at least I could have chatted with her mother or hidden in the garden. As their guest, I could do what I liked. Now they're coming to see me, I'll have to entertain them.

She leaned on the railing and looked out over Kipling Tor, shimmering blue in the hazy distance. If she left now, she could be walking up there in twenty minutes, enjoying the view of Lundy Island and the Bristol Channel. She'd done it at least once a day during her stay, and her feet could probably get there without her guidance.

Conor might just forgive me for not being here when he arrives, but somehow I doubt Kim will. She doesn't seem to be in a forgiving mood these days.

Wishing she had a cool glass of gin and tonic in her hand, Claire perched on a seat and thought about her friendship with Kim. It wasn't something she'd dwelt on before. It was a given, like having Ruth and Robert for siblings, or working at AJC. In the past few months all those things had shifted. Ruth and Robert weren't the people she thought they were: her relationship with Ruth was much closer than it had been in years, while she wasn't sure she'd cross the road to give Robert the time of day.

Where did that leave Kim? What did it mean to be friends, anyway, when you had known someone so long? Were they friends out of habit or to keep alive memories of childhood that only they shared. Until this year, they hadn't been that close: catching up when Claire was in town, swapping stories of men and jobs while drinking a few bevvies.

Then Kim had got pregnant and everything had changed. Claire wondered if it was the first time Kim realised she didn't have any close friends: only Jeff, and her fellow thespians.

A bit like me, really, discovering my work colleagues were more enemies than mates, and that Michael wanted some romanticised version of me.

She thought about the people she'd met during her travels: Josh, Maggie, Bethan. People she had little in common with, except the urge to be on the move. In her heart they felt more like friends than Kim did. The realisation hit her like a cold wave, and she gasped for air.

Her mouth felt dry as she realised she didn't really want to be friends with Kim anymore. It felt like all give and no get. Kim needed her, she understood that. She'd had the most awful year; the ruckus at the wedding that Claire had inadvertently caused, losing the baby, depression and attempted suicide. Claire couldn't leave her now but she didn't know how to be the kind of friend Kim needed.

_And what about me? I can't talk about Conor; Kim sees it as some office fling. Maybe it is, but what if it isn't. We're not eighteen anymore._ Claire rested her head against the railing and closed her eyes.

She started awake as something brushed her face. With hammering heart she opened her eyes, and saw Conor crouched next to her chair.

"Hello, sleepy head." The smile he gave her made her catch her breath. She grinned back.

"Sorry, I must have nodded off. Have you been there long?"

He looked guilty. "A few minutes. You look adorable asleep, snuffling like a kitten."

Blood rushed to Claire's face and she covered her cheeks with her hands. "I was snoring? Really? God, I'm so sorry."

"That's okay. I already know you snore." He grinned and she took a playful swipe at his arm.

"I do not snore. Not like you do."

They fell still, suddenly, and Conor leant forwards to kiss her. She let herself sink into the embrace and, for a moment, the hurried voices in her head fell mute.

"Aw, look at the lovers. Why don't you guys get a room?" Kim's voice cut through their embrace. Claire pulled away and Conor rose languidly to his feet.

"Hello, Kim, nice to see you again. You're looking well." Conor was at his urbane best, holding his hand out for Kim to shake. Claire was looking at Kim's face and caught a flicker of a frown cross her features before she flashed her teeth and shook the outstretched hand.

"You've been busy since I met you last," she said archly. Claire winced at the confrontational tone, wondering what Kim's problem was. With a sick feeling in her stomach, she wondered if it was too late to run away.

"I don't think you've met my sister, Helena," Kim was saying. She turned and gestured for her sister to come forward.

Claire hadn't seen Kim's older sister in a long time, but she hadn't changed. She was still tall and willowy, with long straight golden hair. The only difference was the round stomach stretching her designer top. With a demure smile and glowing skin, she looked like a model in a maternity magazine.

Poor Kim.

Claire's irritation vanished as she realised how hard it must be for her friend. She'd always competed with her sister, who was the more financially successful and, some argued, the more attractive of the two. Now she was also the one who could carry a child, when Kim couldn't.

While Conor chatted to Helena about Hong Kong and the journey down from her parents' house, Claire sidled up to Kim and put her arm around her.

"How are you holding up?" she whispered.

"I haven't murdered her in her sleep, if that's what you mean." Kim's voice was somewhere between angry and rueful. Claire caught a glimmer of her old friend, the one she used to have fun with, before life became complicated.

"Look at it this way: she'll have saggy boobs and stretch marks, and will look fifty by the time she's thirty five."

Kim giggled and put her arm around Claire, pulling her close. "Thanks, I needed that."

***

FIFTEEN

An arm snaked across the bed and pulled Claire into a warm embrace. She snuggled into Conor, finding the spot to lay her head on his chest that already felt like the most natural place in the world. They lay entwined in the dimly lit room, not speaking.

Slowly Claire opened her eyes, half expecting to see Conor's apartment. The chill steel of the hostel furniture greeted her gaze and she was instantly awake. Events from the previous evening crashed into her like a runaway car.

As if sensing the tension in her body, Conor stroked her hair. "Are you okay?"

Claire gave a short laugh. "Depends. Was last night as awful as I remember?"

She felt Conor's throaty laugh resonate through his body, and it sent sensations trickling across her skin. "I've had less hostile meals out. Restaurant was nice though; adequate food, amazing view, and–" he kissed her on the top of her head, "one rather gorgeous woman who agreed to come home with me. That counts as a result in my book."

"I'm sorry about Kim, I don't know what's got into her."

"You mean she doesn't treat all of your..." he hesitated, searching for a word, "male friends to a sarcastic, caustic grilling? Don't worry, I can handle it. I've had worse."

Claire's thoughts skittered between memories of Kim's vicious attempts at humour at dinner, and Conor's hesitation over the word boyfriend. Why did such definitions get harder as you got older? You happily called a boy you never spoke to your boyfriend at school, but somewhere along the line it became loaded with significance.

After a few moments' silence, Conor shifted so he could look at her face. "What's wrong? Are you really upset? Kim's just jealous, that's all. Not of us, of her sister. Didn't you say she ended up in hospital because she lost her baby? Having a glamorous sister turn up with a bump is going to hurt. She'll be fine once she's caught up."

"She can't."

"What?"

"If by catch up you mean get pregnant again, she can't. Doctors told her she couldn't have any more children."

"Oh."

Conor fell silent and they lay wrapped in their own thoughts, with the thrum of their hearts beating loudly in their ears. Eventually they heard the unmistakeable sounds of life in the room next door, where Kim and Helena had spent the night.

Claire sighed. "Time to get up and think of a way to survive the day."

"I say we go to the beach. The girls can gripe together, and you can show me how you surf."

"You're on!"

"Wow, loving the outfit."

Conor's lascivious grin made Claire blush. She looked down at the short wetsuit and shrugged. "It doesn't leave a lot to the imagination."

Conor came over and ran his hands down it, making her shiver. "I know." His eyes gleamed in appreciation.

"Down, boy!" Claire glanced over towards Kim. She thought of all the times Kim and Jeff had made her feel jealous, with their overt displays of affection. Even so, she felt self-conscious receiving Conor's flattery in front of her and her sister.

The hostilities seemed to have abated since breakfast. Kim looked drawn and tired, and Claire had to remind herself how hard this all was on her friend. It occurred to her that they should have invited Jeff, and she wondered why he wasn't looking after his wife more. The awful idea that he had found someone else to comfort him germinated in her brain. It was difficult to imagine, but then he had lost a child _and_ his wife, to a certain extent. Not that that made it right.

She gave her head a shake, trying to dislodge the uncomfortable thoughts. Turning her attention to Helena, she said, "There are toilets up there, and I've hired you both deckchairs."

Helena smiled and Claire wondered what she made of it all. She had remained mostly silent and aloof since her arrival and Claire found it difficult to read her flawless, expressionless, face.

With a quick glance at Conor, whose face seemed to say, _let's skedaddle,_ Claire waved farewell to Kim and Helena and strode up the beach to where the surf came rolling in towards the sand.

With two quick strides, Conor caught up and walked alongside her. "They'll be fine. Even Kim isn't going to murder her sister in front of hundreds of witnesses."

Claire gave him a grateful smile, but said nothing. She was still thinking about Jeff. "Do you think Kim's husband might be having an affair?" she said suddenly. "Don't you think it's strange that he hasn't been down to visit her, the whole time she's been at her mum's? He keeps saying he's busy, but..."

Conor looked as if he'd rather not pass comment. Claire was about to change the subject when he said quietly, "Who knows? It's a difficult situation. From what you've said, Kim has changed a lot since the miscarriage. Do you know him well enough to give him a call?"

They had reached the surf school, where they had agreed to hire boards and have Claire teach Conor the rudiments. She had told him a proper lesson might be advisable, but he'd just grinned.

"I guess." Claire shrugged. It felt like it wasn't her business, but she hated to see Kim so altered. Poor Conor, this wasn't exactly the romantic weekend he might have hoped for. Determined to put in some effort, she reached over and gave him a lingering kiss.

Just as he was getting overly amorous, she pulled away. "Last one in the water's a rotten egg." She pecked him on the cheek and ran towards the surf school to get her board.

***

SIXTEEN

"Hello, Jeff speaking."

Claire listened to the deep voice answering her call and went blank. Blood rushed loudly in her ears. What was she doing?

"Hello?"

The voice now held a tinge of irritation. If she didn't speak she would only have succeeded in making things worse

"Jeff, hi, it's Claire."

"Claire! I was starting to think I had some creepy stalker. How are you? Are you still in the UK?"

The warmth in his voice helped to lessen the quivering in her knees. She wondered whether to chat or jump straight in with what she wanted to say, before she chickened out.

"I'm fine, thanks. Good. I'm in Devon. With Kim and Helena, actually."

"Kim and Helena?"

"Your wife and her sister?" Claire injected a humour she didn't feel into her voice. This wasn't going to plan at all. When she'd rehearsed the conversation in her head, during her surfing session with Conor, there had been no awkward silences and unanswerable questions.

I guess it's easier when you provide both sides of the dialogue.

She wondered whether to abandon the attempt and make up some reason for her call. Jeff was going to think her an interfering cow at best, and if she made things worse between him and Kim, her friend was likely to fly off the rails again.

"I know who they are, I just didn't realise Helena was back from Hong Kong."

"When did you last speak to Kim?" Her voice was wary now.

"A week or so, I guess. Maybe a bit more. I've been very busy at work."

"Maybe you should take time to speak to her now and then. She _is_ your wife. Then you would know that her pregnant sister is home."

"Helena's pregnant?"

Jeff's shock was palpable and Claire felt relieved that it meant he missed the antagonism in her voice. She hadn't meant to pick a fight with him; but to find out he hadn't spoken to Kim for weeks really stunned her. They were married. Surely husband and wife spoke every day? At least that's how she'd always imagined it would be.

"Yes, apparently some indiscretion meant she was sent home under a cloud. Kim needed moral support, so she and Helena are staying with me in Devon for the weekend." She stopped, unsure what to say next. She didn't think she needed to spell out to Jeff why spending time with her pregnant sister was hard on Kim, but then she didn't think she'd have to tell him anything.

Is this what it means to get married: to drift apart at the first crisis? I think I'd rather stay single and know that no one is there for me, rather than find out at the worst possible time.

She tried to picture Conor abandoning her, and smiled. He'd proved already that he was the most reliable friend: collecting her from the airport, taking her to see Kim in hospital. The memory pulled her back to the purpose of her call, and she pushed the pictures of Conor away.

"Anyway, I wondered if you wanted to come down and stay with us for a day or two. I realise it's short notice, but it would mean the world to Kim."

The line remained silent, and Claire wondered if Jeff had hung up or put the phone down and walked away. She held her breath; the pulse throbbing in her temples keeping time, counting down the seconds.

Eventually he inhaled audibly and said in a stilted voice, "I would love to, Claire, but I have to work."

"On a Sunday? I know it's a long way, but you could be down and back in the day, or you could come tonight."

"It's just not possible." His tone indicated the conversation was over.

Hot blood flooded beneath Claire's skin. "That's utter bollocks, and you know it. You guys have been married three months. _Three months!_ Kim needs you. What happened, Jeff? When I last saw you, you couldn't do enough for her. And now you barely talk? What gives? Are you having a bloody affair, is that it? Your wife is broken and instead of trying to put her back together you sod off and bed someone new?"

Claire ran out of breath and stopped, panting, wondering what had come over her. She waited for Jeff to start shouting, or hang up, but he did neither. She could hear him breathing and it sounded as if he was labouring under strong emotion. When he spoke, his voice wavered.

"It was my child, too. I never knew I wanted to be a dad until that damned blue line. And then the wedding, and the uproar, and the miscarriage. No, I'm not blaming you, before you think I am. The doctors said the pregnancy wasn't viable. And now they think she can't get pregnant again. But there are doctors that will help, I've looked into it. I spent hours reading up, while Kim was low, and then after she tried to kill herself."

He took a deep breath, and Claire waited, stunned.

"When you took her to her mother's, it meant I could do something about it. I've got another job, evenings and weekends, to raise money for the procedures. I didn't want to tell Kim, get her hopes up only to have them dashed again. I didn't think she could handle that. I didn't mean not to call, but I'm so tired: if I'm not working I'm asleep."

He went silent, suddenly, as if his outburst had cost him too much. Claire's mind whirled while she processed the words.

Poor Jeff.

"You have to tell her," she said, quietly. "Please. She needs something to live for, to hope for. Otherwise you'll raise the money, turn around, and she'll be gone."

"Oh God, she isn't depressed again, is she?" Jeff sounded stricken.

"No, not really. But sharp, edgy, brittle. Spending time with Helena is not doing her any good. The girl is glowing and, although she doesn't say much in front of me and Conor, I know the relationship the two of them have. I don't doubt she makes little digs. If Kim could reassure herself that she has a solid marriage and hope for the future, she'll have one over on her sister."

Jeff sighed. "What a bloody mess."

Claire could imagine him running his hands through his hair, and she yearned to give him a friendly hug. How lonely must it be, in the flat alone, working all hours.

"Just give her a call. You don't need to mention we've spoken. She and Helena are downstairs with Conor. They think I'm working."

"Okay, I will. And thank you, Claire."

"Don't mention it. I just want my friend back."

She hung up the phone and hoped it was that simple.

***

SEVENTEEN

Kim glowed. Claire watched her from the other side of the room, as she flitted restlessly from bed to chair to bathroom, checking for belongings that would need to be invisible to have been missed on the previous three checks. Her skin seemed translucent in the afternoon sun spilling in between the curtains, and all the bitter lines had been erased by one simple conversation.

Good to his word, Jeff had called while Claire was still in her room pretending to work. When she'd returned to the lounge half an hour later, it was to find Kim alive with effervescent hope, chatting away to Conor about Jeff's second job and the purpose of it. Claire had been greeted with joy, although not for the right reasons, and Kim had stumbled over her words in her haste to tell her friend the news. She was going home.

Jeff hadn't only told her of the cause of his remoteness, he had pleaded with her to return to their apartment, so they could heal together. Kim would happily have jumped in the car there and then and driven straight to Cambridge without dropping Helena back first. It had taken the combined efforts of Claire, Conor and a quiet Helena to point out the late hour and the long journey.

"Time enough to drive Helena back to your Mum's in the morning, then cut across country," Claire had argued. Kim had reluctantly agreed and Claire wondered if she slept at all during the long night.

It was morning now, still early for a Sunday. Helena had gone for one last walk along the beach with Conor as gallant escort, allowing the friends to chat while Kim packed.

"I'm sorry I didn't stay long," Kim said, coming to sit by Claire on Helena's bed. "At least you'll have a few hours with Conor all to yourself." She smiled; an unaffected genuine expression of joy that resonated in Claire's heart.

"He's a good man," Kim continued, snuggling in next to Claire and resting her head on her shoulder. "He deserves you and you deserve a good man. I really hope it works out for you both. I want everyone to be as happily married as me and Jeff."

Claire laughed. "Don't marry me off yet: I've only been seeing him for a week. I'm not sure I'll ever get married."

"Of course you will!"

"I don't know." Claire felt heavy, but didn't want to drag Kim down from her euphoric bubble. "Why would I choose to wash a man's dirty socks and make sure he ate properly, when I could be footloose and fancy free, surfing the waves and writing about it?"

Kim pulled away from Claire and looked her in the eye. "Some men can do their own laundry, you know. Besides, it's a small price to pay to share your life with someone. To know that even when you're old and wrinkly, there'll still be a person around who cares."

Her expression became serious, and her brows pulled in together as she scrutinised Claire's face. "Don't fight it. If you're falling for Conor, let it happen. I don't know what took place between you and Michael, although I can guess. But they're chalk and cheese. Michael wanted to control you: Conor just wants to love you. Why not let him?"

Claire shivered. It was far too soon to be talking of love and happily ever after. She was only just beginning to see the glimmer of a life of her own; she wasn't sure if there was room in her dream for two.

She stood next to Conor as they waved off the sisters in Kim's little car. Helena had said a subdued farewell; sinking into herself in proportion to Kim's enthusiasm. Claire felt a pang for the woman, the spare wheel amidst two happy couples. Life was always hard for someone.

"So, what shall we do now?" Conor turned and slid his arms around Claire's waist. "Indoors or outdoors?" He grinned, and Claire felt warm at the suggestion. It was a beautiful day, though, and she felt the need to walk along the cliff and let the wind blow through her mind.

As if sensing her hesitation, Conor said quietly, "Or I could go, if you want to be by yourself?"

The sincerity of the offer touched her, and she reached up to brush her lips across his. "No, don't go. I just fancy a walk is all, and I know it's not really your thing."

"Then you'll have to teach me. I didn't do too bad on the surfing, now, did I?"

Claire laughed and fairness made her admit that it was true. He'd taken to the board like a duck to swimming.

"Okay, then, you're on. Let's go a bit further up the coast. There's meant to be a beautiful walk, and I'm sure we can find a decent pub lunch along the way to send you back to Swanage in style."

Conor looked for a moment as if he would happily forgo the lunch to find a reason to stay, but he remained silent. Thankful for his understanding, Claire led him by the hand back into the hostel.

***

EIGHTEEN

Claire rested her head against the back of the wooden garden seat and gazed at the sky. From here it was easy to imagine the rest of the world had dropped away, leaving only a tiny walled garden and the endless azure heavens. She knew she should call Conor, but the silence replenished the emptiness in her soul. After the weekend with Kim and Helena – despite the happy conclusion – she felt drained and tearful.

Why am I not happy? I have a gorgeous man who seems to care for me, my friend is on the road to recovery and reunion with her husband, and I'm close to finishing my report with time to spare. What is wrong with me?

It felt ungrateful to the universe to be unhappy on such a gorgeous evening. She had spent the last few days wandering around North Devon, furthering her findings, talking to hotel owners and shop keeper and chatting to tourists. The weather continued to smile on her endeavours and she'd even managed a cheeky surf late one evening as the sky turned pink.

Now she sat unencumbered and alone, with a cup of tea wrapped in her hands, while an invisible artist painted golden stripes along the horizon.

She rested the mug on the bench next to her and turned so she could kneel and face the sea behind her. The shadow of Lundy Island beckoned in the distance – her destination for the morning – and the rainbow of sunset colours deepened to peach and rose.

The buzz of her phone broke the stillness, and she sighed. _I could always ignore it. He'll call back, he always does._

She smiled at the always. They'd only been together for just over a week. _Aren't I meant to still be giddy and excited in week two? Answering the phone with trembling hands, ready to talk sweet nothings for hours? Is this what dating in your late twenties is like? No magic._

Flashes of the afternoon she had spent with Conor, after Kim and her sister left, filled her head. The magic hadn't been lacking.

_Then what? That old cliché it's not you, it's me? Or it's not the right time? Is there ever a right time to fall in ..._ She stopped short. _I am not falling in love. I barely know the guy. Lust, maybe._

The phone continued to ring and eventually she picked it up, not recognising the number.

"Hello, is Susan there, please?"

Claire frowned for a moment, confused. Then her brain caught up. "Sorry, no, you have the wrong number."

Her peace shattered by the call, and the sneaky relief that it hadn't been Conor, Claire was about to drop the phone onto the bench when she noticed a new email had arrived. Clicking on the message, she realised it was from Maggie.

I didn't even know she had my address.

Puzzled, Claire opened the message, wondering what Maggie wanted. Although she had only met her a few times, Maggie felt like a friend; a steady force in a shifting world.

Hi Claire

I hope you don't mind me emailing you – I found your address through your blog. I noticed that you've been travelling round the south west recently, and I wondered if you were still there? We are bringing the Guides on an adventure holiday next week and it would be lovely to see you.

We're booked into the Exford hostel in Somerset. I know it's a bit away from where you've been recently, but if it was on your route it would be super to be able to catch up. We will be there all week and we have booked the whole hostel but as I am organising it, I believe I can find you a bed.

Do let me know if you are free. I have been following your journey with interest and would love to hear the parts that don't make it onto your blog.

Kind regards

Maggie

Claire's face stretched wide in a smile of genuine pleasure as she finished reading. Without hesitation she tapped out a response in the affirmative, before she could worry what Conor would think.

I'm sure that widening the remit of my report to include Somerset isn't too far off brief. Besides, an association like the Guides is perfect research, and who better to interview than Maggie.

Glad to have something to look forward to, Claire pocketed her phone and headed back into the hostel to eat.

***

NINETEEN

Claire held Conor's hand tightly as he led her down the street towards the noise. To their right, three huge stained glass windows loomed in the gathering darkness, reflecting the street light. They passed a café, where people sat at tables outside, trying to talk over the racket from further down the road. Ahead Claire saw the crest of the magistrates' court, and wondered exactly where Conor was taking them.

They'd met in Plymouth for lunch and Conor had asked if he could choose their evening entertainment, saying with a twinkle, "I've let you try and drown me in the surf and walk my feet off on the cliffs. It's my turn to introduce you to my thing."

Worried by the glint in his eyes, Claire had reluctantly agreed. Now, as her ears protested against the battering of loud music and shouting voices, she wished she'd pressed him for details.

"What do you think?" he yelled, over the wail of an electric guitar. "A great craic, yes?"

Claire stumbled slightly, as the tarmac turned into cobbles, and grabbed Conor for support. He wrapped his arm around her and looked down, as if gauging her reaction. Sensing something was required, she tried to process the scene before her. A bar was just visible in the corner of the street, its black arched windows obscured by milling bodies. Next to the bar were the steps to the magistrates' court, and on top – using the entrance as a kind of stage – was a band. Every other square inch of available space was packed in with bodies.

Feeling as if she was standing beneath a waterfall, Claire leant in to Conor and concentrated on breathing. Six months ago this would have been a normal night out. But months on the road, often with only the stars for company, had erased the memories from her mind. The music travelled up through the cobbles and into her feet, vibrating through her body like she was a gong.

"Sorry," Conor said into her ear, "I shouldn't have brought you. We can go if you like."

Claire looked up eagerly, ready to assent, and caught the disappointment in his expression. She reached up and kissed him on the cheek, then said, "Don't be silly. It looks great." She was about to ask for a gin and tonic when she noticed the mobile bar near the impromptu stage. "Mine's a pint of Guinness."

Her words were rewarded with a wide grin. He turned towards the bar, pulling her along behind him through the press of people. Claire tried to work out what music it was, as she responded to the pressure on her arm to stop and move as the crowd dictated. Conor dropped her hand to get to the bar, and she backed up against a railing to avoid getting crushed.

Slowly, as her ears tuned into the music, she realised she knew the tune: a cover of an '80s rock song. Around her, people jumped in time to the beat and she felt her own feet responding. It wasn't really her era, but Robert had gone through a phase in his teens, and she recognised the songs.

Sensing movement out the corner of her eye, she saw Conor returning with two pints of black liquid. Accepting hers, and wondering when she'd last drunk from a pint glass, Claire stood by Conor's side and watched the band.

The music wormed in deep. The riffs were basic, the vocals a reasonable mimic of the original, and the crowd extremely enthusiastic.

When did I last go to a gig? Apart from in that bar in Swanage, when I bumped into Conor?

She and Kim had gone a few times when they were younger, but her adult life had been more about wine bars and restaurants, with the occasional venture to the theatre. So much more passive than watching a live band, dancing and singing along. She looked over at Conor and saw that he was watching her rather than the stage. She felt self-conscious, as if she were eighteen again. He leaned forwards to kiss her. Her tummy squirmed and the years fell away.

As they walked back to their hotel, fingers entwined, Conor looked down at Claire and laughed. "The look on your face when we turned the corner was priceless."

Claire dropped her head. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be a grouch. I'm out of practice."

"You looked like you found your groove, bopping with the best. Very sexy." He stopped near a shop window and pulled her close. "I know we like different things, you and I," he said in a low, husky voice. "But don't let that convince you we have nothing in common."

A shiver ran across Claire's skin, despite the warm evening. It felt like he'd crept into her mind and read the deepest secrets. The gig _had_ worried her, made her wonder how they would spend their time together, wonder what kind of a future they could have. She realised she didn't even know how a relationship functioned, away from the routine of working week and playtime weekends.

Some of her thoughts must have shown on her face because Conor brushed his hand across her cheek. "Don't overthink it. You've spent a lot of time on your own, finding your place in the world. You and I; we work. Don't try and figure out why, or you'll go nuts. Just trust that it's true."

He leant forwards and kissed her gently. Her mind resisted and she told it to shut up. Lacing her arms behind his head, she surrendered to the kiss.

***

TWENTY

Claire stopped at the white door, reeling from the sound of screaming and thumping feet. She hesitated, wondering if this was a good idea. But Maggie was waiting for her, she couldn't chicken out now. Besides, the children weren't in her care. If they drove her crazy she could always leave and find a hotel.

Peering through the open doorway, shielded from the sun by overhanging ivy, Claire tried to locate reception. A sea of brown poured past, as what seemed like hundreds of girls in uniform headed outside. She held out a hand to stop the least frightening-looking children, walking hand in hand towards the door.

"Hello, is Maggie around anywhere?"

The girls looked suspiciously at her, shrugged and giggled, before running on to join their friends. Claire tried to think what Maggie's surname was but couldn't bring it to mind.

Damn

As the next group of girls came by she said, "Can you tell me where I can find Brown Owl?"

The girls conferred, then pointed inside. "Out the back," one said, before they all scarpered like a herd of startled hill ponies.

The information didn't help much but, feeling as if she had been given permission to enter the building, Claire headed in the general direction of the pointed finger.

As the last of the children streamed past, the place fell silent. Claire wondered where they were all going: they didn't seem old enough to be unaccompanied. Eventually she found a conservatory at the back of the dining room, and saw Maggie with a group of adults, all leaning over a table consulting what looked to be a map.

She stood for a moment, unwilling to intrude. Maggie must have sensed her presence, because she looked round.

"Claire! How wonderful. Come and meet everyone. Sally, Bea, Helen, Jo, this is my friend Claire, who I told you about. She's going to stay with us for a day or two." Maggie beamed at them all. She turned back to the table, and said, "Can you finish up here? The girls will be fine for a few minutes. I'd like to show Claire to her room."

Without waiting for a response, she took Claire's arm to lead her out. "The children are doing a wide game that we set up before lunch. They'll be out in the grounds for a while under the watchful eye of some parents, who will hopefully make sure no one falls in the river this year. Have you had a chance to look around? It's a beautiful place."

While she spoke, Maggie led Claire through the building and up the stairs. She took Claire into a small dorm and said, "I hope you don't mind sharing with the staff? None of them snore, thankfully. I went hiking once with a leader who could have woken the rocks. It was a challenge to get to bed before she did, to have any hope of sleeping."

Claire smiled at Maggie's chatter. She seemed much happier than when they'd last met. Or maybe not happier, maybe just more together.

Perhaps being Brown Owl makes you put on a persona of calm.

Although, as she thought back to the last two times they had met, Maggie had always been calm. But there had been an air of melancholy that seemed absent now.

"How are you?" she asked, when Maggie drew breath. "You seem in good spirits."

Maggie sat on a bunk and patted next. "Come sit with me. I was so glad to see that you were in this part of the world."

Intrigued, Claire sat down and waited. Maggie leant forwards, resting her arms along her knees. The Brown Owl uniform made her look younger, although her hair was still steel-grey. When she looked up she was smiling, the dimples flashing in her cheeks.

"I haven't been entirely honest about my reason for wanting to catch up. I have a proposition for you, but I wasn't sure how to broach it. I was hoping to let you settle in for a while first, but I might lose my nerve."

Claire found it hard to breathe. Her first thought was that one more person wanted something from her, and she didn't want to know. Especially not from someone she had no ties to.

As if sensing her reluctance, the dimples vanished from Maggie's cheeks and her eyes lost their sparkle. "I was right, I shouldn't ask it of you. Forget I mentioned it."

Chastened, Claire said immediately, "Don't be silly. Tell me."

"Well, it's just a friend of mine is opening a new activity centre for children from disadvantaged backgrounds, based in Cornwall. They need help with the marketing and advertising side of things, but can't afford to hire anyone. They're also looking for activity staff, who will be paid, although not much. Reading on your blog about your surfing, and all the fun stuff you've done, and knowing you used to work at an advertising agency. Well, I wondered..." She trailed off and the room fell silent.

Claire's mind reeled with the new information. Another job offer. They did come from the most unlikely places. Marketing and working with children? Two things she wasn't sure she wanted in her future.

But how many options do I have? And it would mean being able to stay in Cornwall.

She found a glimmer of interest sparkling deep in her heart. She would have to know more about it, of course, and more about this friend of Maggie's. There was something in the word friend that raised questions.

Claire sat up straight and looked at Maggie with a smile. "Why don't we go make a cuppa and discuss it?"

Maggie's look of relief made Claire giggle, and the two women walked arm in arm from the room.

***

TWENTY-ONE

"How do you like the south west?"

Maggie's question sounded innocent enough, but Claire frowned at her, wondering if she had somehow picked up on her dilemma: Dorset or Cornwall?

"It's a beautiful part of the world," she replied in a noncommittal voice. "I think of all the places I've been too, Cornwall feels most like home."

Maggie's face became wistful. "I was like that with the Lake District." Then she brightened. "You can always find a new home, though."

Claire wondered at her meaning and a memory surfaced in her mind. "I thought you hated moving away from the Lakes? Didn't you say you moved south to be with your husband – Steve, was it? But you went back to the Lakes whenever you could."

Maggie's eyes opened wide. "You have a good memory! Yes, that's true, I missed the Lake District. Kent is pretty, but it lacks the drama of the northern counties. Cornwall has its own drama though, as I'm sure you've discovered."

With a nod, Claire took a sip of her Earl Grey and tried to understand the change in Maggie. There was a radiance about her that she didn't remember from before.

"Tell me about your friend and her activity centre. It sounds like a big project?"

"His."

"Sorry?" Claire looked puzzled.

"My friend is a he." Maggie flushed and looked down at the table, her hands cupped around a steaming mug of teak-brown tea.

Claire stared at Maggie and a suspicion began to seep into her consciousness. But how to ask? Suppressing a smile she said nonchalantly. "So, _he_ is opening this activity centre. Where do I come in?"

"Like I said, Timothy needs assistance with the marketing and promotional side of things. He's done all the set up and renovations himself. You should see the place, it's amazing." Her eyes glittered with enthusiasm. "It really is a wonderful thing he's doing. He has lottery money to help get him started, but there is so much to do."

"And are you helping too?" Claire drew circles on the wooden table with one finger.

"Yes, I go when I can. I still have commitments at home." She seemed to realise where the questions were leading and looked up sheepishly at Claire, who wondered if she was brave enough to pry.

Trying to pour all her curiosity into her gaze, Claire rested her eyes on Maggie and waited.

"Oh, alright then, if you must!" Maggie exclaimed, as if Claire had spoken. "Steve and I broke up. I couldn't take it anymore. Then I met Timothy, and he told me about his dream."

Claire sat back and listened as Maggie explained all about her new romance, about how amazing it was to have something to pour herself into, now her children had left home. How Steve had seemed relieved when she ended their thirty-year marriage and how she felt they had never really understood each other.

Claire thought about Conor. Who hated silence, who would rather be in a crowded bar listening to loud music than striding across empty hills. Conor who had invited her to a weekend in Ireland for a family celebration, a thought she was desperately trying to forget. There was nothing like going to a church to give an eager man ideas.

Eventually Maggie seemed to sense Claire's lack of attention and her flow of words trickled to a halt. "I'm so sorry, wittering on like this. You must be bored stiff."

With a stab of guilt, Claire sat forward. "Sorry, Maggie, I am listening. It's just I have a new man, too, and he's invited me to a Baptism on Saturday. In his home town, near Cork. My mind wandered for a moment, because I don't know if I should go."

And it all poured out. Everything that had happened since she'd last spoken to Maggie. About Conor not wanting to leave Swanage, and her urge to stay in Cornwall. How she didn't want to work for him, and wasn't sure they had enough in common to be together.

"My goodness," Maggie said, when Claire had finished. She looked as if she was about to say something else when a general commotion around them heralded the arrival of the Brownies for afternoon tea. With a look that said, _we'll talk later,_ Maggie rose and went to serve juice and cake.

"Hey gorgeous, are you all set for the weekend?"

Claire heard the hesitation in Conor's voice, as she cradled the phone to her ear and tried to block out the sound of endless chatter from the room next door.

"Where are you?" He added before she could answer; his tone somewhere between amusement and frustration. "I can barely hear you."

"Sorry, I'm staying with Maggie at the hostel in Exmoor National Park. Don't you remember? I said I was coming up here to pick her brains about the Guide Association. The children are currently getting ready for bed, if you can call it that!" She laughed. For all her initial horror, she'd enjoyed spending the afternoon with the Brownies. They were at a nice age, between childish dependence and teenage sass.

"Yes, I remember. Will you be back to catch the flight on Friday night? Only the service is Saturday afternoon so we need to be there in time."

Claire chewed her cheek. Conor had mentioned the Baptism in passing on Sunday, before he returned to his apartment. It hadn't sounded a big deal, more an excuse to go away together for the weekend. She wasn't sure she was ready for it, but didn't have a good excuse to say no. Now, though, he sounded anxious.

"Am I missing something?" She asked, deciding honesty was the only way. "The last time your family tried to get you to go to a Baptism you chose to take two boys out to a castle instead. I thought you avoided these family affairs?"

"That was some distant cousin. This is my niece and I'm one of the godparents."

Claire gasped. "You didn't mention that on Sunday."

There was silence followed by Conor clearing his throat. "I was afraid to. I thought you wouldn't come if you knew we'd be right in the middle of it. My family can be a bit full on. But I've been thinking about it, and it didn't seem fair to spring it on you when we got there."

He sounded like a small boy explaining the muddy footprints on the white carpet. Claire was forced to smile, although she still felt sick.

"I don't have to do anything, do I? As your guest? I thought godparents were usually couples?"

"No and not always. You just sit in the pew and try to stay awake. You might want to wear a frock."

Claire slumped back on the bed and groaned. A formal _meet the family_ affair, two weeks into a new relationship. Just what she needed.

***

TWENTY-TWO

Claire felt the ground shift beneath her feet as Conor led her towards the church.

No, not church; cathedral. Nothing that big can be called a church.

She looked up at the spire stretching towards the clear blue sky, with the water and hills as a backdrop behind it. Painted buildings lined the streets, their colours vibrant in the afternoon sunshine. All around them, people in suits and smart dresses streamed towards the building. Claire looked down at the outfit she'd found in a charity shop the day before, and grimaced.

What is the point of the boxes of gorgeous clothes I've got sitting in storage, if they're not accessible when I need them?

She'd thought about driving home to find a suitable outfit, but part of her didn't want Conor to think she was making too much effort, and part of her didn't want to give her mother another excuse for an ear-bashing.

The flight over to Ireland with Conor had been short and uneventful. The last time she'd flown with anyone, it had been to go skiing with Michael, and the memories jarred in her mind. Conor was the opposite of Michael. He seemed to enjoy the flight; looking out the window, paying attention to the safety demonstration, chatting to the people sitting around them. He had none of the air of jaded traveller that Michael had. She guessed Conor hadn't been around the world much, although he didn't talk about life before moving to Swanage.

The inside of the cathedral was equally overwhelming. Claire stared up at the ceiling that seemed to reach the heavens, then down at the Celtic patterns dancing across the floor. All around, the soft Irish lilt of a hundred voices filled the air like the sound of waves on a pebbly shore.

She leaned in to Conor and whispered, "These aren't all family are they?"

"Oh no, would you imagine? No there'll be three or four babies getting their heads wet today, plus the normal mass service." Conor laughed as she pulled a face. "Don't worry, I'll keep you from snoring. Come and meet my brothers and sisters."

As he led her deep into the building he added, "And don't let them wind you up. They're full of stories; most of which aren't true."

Something in his tone made her shiver. She pulled her shawl around her shoulders and trotted after him.

Time moved like treacle as Claire tried to follow the service. When Conor stood to take his part as Godparent it felt like someone had opened a door and let in an icy draft.

One of his numerous relations gave her an encouraging smile but it only served to remind her she still had the ordeal of the party afterwards to endure.

At last they were back out in the sunshine with kisses and laughter, greetings and photographs. They walked en-masse to a nearby hall that was laid out with buffet and dance floor. It was clear the party was intended to last well into the evening. Conor stood with his fingers laced through hers, as he responded to hails and answered questions in a broad Irish brogue she hadn't heard since he'd tried to charm her mother.

Conor seemed to be able to morph from role to role without conscious effort and she wondered if even he knew who the real man was underneath. Feeling like a child on her first day at school, she hovered behind his shoulder and aimed for invisible.

She found it hard to follow the conversations, as hurried words flew over her head like a flock of startled starlings, impossible to grasp. After a while she went to find a plate of food and a chair and took her phone out to take pictures. A young woman in a two-piece navy suit came to sit beside her and Claire searched her brain for a name.

The woman took pity on her. "Laura. I'm Conor's youngest sister. It's so lovely to meet you. We were all surprised when he said he was bringing a date. You know, after–"

She stopped and seemed to realise she'd been indiscreet by the look of bewilderment on Claire's face.

"After what?" Claire prompted.

Hesitant, but encouraged by Claire's nodding, Laura said, "Well, you know, after his wife left him and went to America."

She seemed to take Claire's wide-eyed expression as interest, as she continued to talk, learning in towards Claire. "Everyone said they married too young. Not that I remember; I was only a child. They said she was only interested in being a director's wife so when he refused to join the Board she found someone new."

The room span around Claire as if she were drunk. It was worse than some lurid romance. The questions tumbled one over another and her face felt numb. She saw Laura look up guiltily and followed her gaze. Conor stood in front of them, but he didn't look angry.

Reading his expression, Claire realised it was the whole reason they were there. Unable to tell her about his past himself, he'd let his baby sister do it. With her cheeks flaming and her hands in fists she stalked past him and left the room.

Claire sat in the dark hotel bar with her head in her hands. The ringing in her ears muffled all sound. In her mind she pictured a young Conor, hand in hand with a faceless beauty, wandering happily down the streets of Cobh. She found if she focussed on it, she couldn't feel him sitting next to her, trying to explain: couldn't hear his cherished voice trying to find justification where there wasn't any.

"I'm sorry," she heard him say for the fifth time, and ignored it with all the rest.

"It was stupid of me."

When she didn't respond he said in a louder voice, "Please, Claire, at least talk to me. Yes I was married, but it's not important, it's ancient history

"Then why not tell me yourself?" she hissed, conscious of the other people in twos and threes around them. The double gin she'd downed on arrival slurred her words and she regretted the need to drink it. It was hard enough figuring through the mess without muddled senses.

"What is it with you blokes and your secrets?" She spat, running her hands through her hair.

"Claire, I'm not a saint, I have a past, just as you do."

"I've never been married."

"What if you had? Would that change you as a person? There were no children." He stopped and Claire wondered if that was a lie. She gave him a penetrating stare and he ducked his head. His words were mumbled but she heard them as if they'd been yelled.

"She said she was pregnant when she left, but that she lost the baby. We were divorced inside a year of signing the register."

A baby, too.

The world lurched sideways. She tried to hold on to something. "You loved her," she said, hearing the truth in his voice. "Laura pretty much said you'd been pining ever since."

"Yes I _loved_ her." He emphasised the past tense. "And, no, I didn't find anyone I liked half as much, or anyone I dared trust, until I met you."

Claire thought of her doubts, of Maggie's job proposal, and realised she had her own secrets. It wasn't a comfortable thought. Now wasn't the time to discuss it, but it did make her recall something else Laura had said. "And the Company? That you didn't want to be a Director for?"

"The family business. Mum and Dad always hoped I'd take it on but it's not my thing. I prefer something on a more personal level. A bit like you decided, when you turned down the counter proposal from AJC."

"How did you know about that?" Claire glared at him, feeling wrong-footed by the revelation.

"Carl put something snide in the email when he sent your reference." He looked at her as if to say, _we all have secrets_.

"That hardly compares," she said, turning away from his green eyes.

"I didn't say it did." He sighed. "Please don't be mad. I'm sorry; I made a mistake in not telling you myself. I just didn't want anything to come up later that might break us. I couldn't go through that again."

She looked into his eyes, shining turquoise in the gloom, and felt the sincerity in his words. Reaching a decision, she took his hand. No more secrets.

"I might have a job in Cornwall after I finish your assignment. Nothing certain, but as we're being honest, you probably should know."

The pain welled in his eyes, turning green to black.

***

TWENTY-THREE

Claire stared at the green and white livery of the coffee shop sign and let the familiarity enfold her like a blanket. She sipped at her tepid latte and tried not to think. Her eyes ached, and her skin was tight from salt and lack of sleep.

Against her will, images of the night in Cobh, and the long flight home, played on loop, until she felt she might go crazy. The tension had been unbearable. There hadn't been space for words. Her pain at Conor's deceit - not his marriage so much as his method of telling her - clashed against his sense of betrayal at her considering another job.

She had no more understood his shock than he had her sense of humiliation. Despite repeated efforts to talk it through, they had been unable to find common ground. It was as if, somewhere between Claire stalking from the Baptism and Conor coming to find her in the hotel bar, they had become strangers.

They'd said farewell at the airport without touching and Claire wondered if that was the end. All the while her heart asked the unanswerable question: was it really so important to strike out on her own, to start a new life in Cornwall, rather than putting down roots working for Conor?

She could probably forgive his stupidity, letting his little sister fill her in on his history. But would he ever accept a long distance romance, especially after his wife moved across the Atlantic with his unborn child?

For a moment the need to comfort his decade-old hurt overwhelmed her and she reached for her phone. Then his stubborn anger at her conversation with Maggie played loud in her ears and she stopped.

Damn him! I told him I wasn't going back. He accepted it. Did he think he could change my mind? What, that love conquers all? I've known him three months; we've been dating for three weeks. Yes he's charming, but...

She stopped as her errant brain added adjectives. _Charming, gorgeous, generous, kind._

"Stop it," she muttered out loud and blushed as the woman at the next table gave her an odd look.

Why can't life be simple for once?

She drained the last of her cold coffee with a grimace and pulled out her phone. Her heart was in her mouth as she waited for the call to connect.

"Maggie, it's Claire. Next time you speak to your friend Timothy, tell him I'm in."

Guilt swirled around inside Claire like whiskey in her stomach. Even driving across Cornwall to the activity centre to meet Maggie's friend Timothy felt like a betrayal. No matter how many times she reminded herself that she had no obligation to Conor past the end of the three month contract, she knew how hard he had fought to get the role for her. And how essential it had been to know she had a job to return to, after leaving the darkness of her New Zealand journey behind.

And is this how I repay his efforts? Running away at the first opportunity; abandoning him to the censure of his peers. Regardless of our relationship, if such a thing still exists, I owe him more than this.

She knew the words were true, but another, quieter, voice said, _Working for others got you nowhere. You need to do something for yourself._

Still, she felt beyond selfish, and wasn't surprised that Conor hadn't tried to get in touch since their arrival back from Ireland two days before.

As she followed the directions of the SatNav, every junction caused her to hesitate. She could turn round, go someplace different. Stay in a hostel, work on the report. It wasn't too late to choose Conor. Every cross roads felt like a waypoint in her life. Before long she felt exhausted.

***

TWENTY-FOUR

Claire drove down the tree-lined road, following the SatNav, unable to see anything past the tunnel of green. A spark of excitement built in her chest and she tried to ignore it, afraid of what it might mean.

Eventually the woodland thinned and the computerised voice announced her arrival. To begin with she couldn't see the entrance, but further down the road she spied a discreet sign at the head of a lane. She turned in and bumped down the pitted track towards the building. More trees concealed the view until she came out into a clearing and gasped.

Ahead was a sprawling mansion, all windows and chimneys, surrounded by exotic trees and endless rolling parkland. It looked more like a National Trust property than a children's activity centre.

As she parked the car, Claire wondered if she'd come to the wrong place. With her heart in her throat, and half expecting to be accosted for trespassing, she climbed out and went in search of Timothy.

The place was eerily silent. Claire had imagined it would be bustling with people. If not children, then staff or even workmen finishing the renovations. Convinced now that she had come to the wrong building, she was about to retreat back to her car when she heard a voice.

"Halloo!"

Searching round for the source, she heard the cry again and looked up. She could just make out someone waving at her from a first story window. Shielding her eyes against the sun, she realised it was a middle-aged man and assumed it must be the elusive Timothy.

"Don't run away. I'll be right down!"

The head disappeared and she waited, looking around her in bemusement. Everywhere she looked was green. Ivy climbed the white walls of the house and wrapped around the chimneys. Held back by low stone borders, flowers and bushes provided a riot of life and colour. Behind the house she could see an immaculate lawn stretching down to the sea, which shone brilliant blue against the sky. It was heaven.

Before Claire could begin to imagine living and working in such an idyllic spot, the owner appeared before her, holding out his hand. He was a tall man, lithe, with hair that might once have been chestnut but was now sprinkled with grey. The lines at the corners of his eyes spoke of a life full of laughter.

"Hello, you must be Claire. How marvellous to meet you. Did you find us okay?"

Claire shook the offered hand and returned the smile. "Yes, no problem. The Sat Nav brought me right here. What a gorgeous place." She looked around, not believing what her eyes showed her.

"Yes, isn't it? I couldn't imagine living anywhere else." He turned and led the way into the building. "You find us on a quiet day," he called over his shoulder. "The other staff are at a first aid course, ready for when we open in September. My goodness, that's next week." He laughed as if he couldn't quite believe it. "There are eight of us in total," he continued, "but I expect that number to increase once we start getting bookings."

Inside was equally magnificent. Dark wood panelling ran around the walls, leading to a wide staircase that invited you to explore upstairs. Deep pink carpets ran throughout, giving the place an air of an old hotel. Timothy led her through a large social room full of faded sofas and long benches, with patio doors that opened onto the garden, until they came to the kitchen.

"Tea?" he asked, heading to one of the cupboards.

"Yes, please." Claire sat near the window and looked out at the view. After a few moments, Timothy walked over with a laden tray.

"Do help yourself to banana bread or biscuits. Gemma's our chef; she's been trying out new recipes. Part of our aim here will be to send the children home well fed as well as well entertained." He stopped and seemed to realise he'd jumped into the middle of their conversation. "My apologies, I should ask, how much has Maggie informed you of what we hope to do here?"

"Only that you're opening an activity centre for disadvantaged children." Claire selected a piece of cake and nibbled at it.

"Yes, that's it precisely. Somewhere inner city children can come and breathe the air, try their hand at some outdoor pursuits and, as I mentioned, get some healthy food into the bargain."

"It sounds wonderful, although it's a long way for the children to come?"

"Indeed it is, but I believe that's an element of the experience. A trip overland by coach, seeing the sights of the country along the way – or the motorways at least –" he smiled ruefully, "is part of the journey. A widening of their world, as it were."

Claire felt slightly uncomfortable at his words. His motives were admirable, but she wondered if it was all a bit patronising. Inner city children were just children after all. It felt a bit like alms to the poor.

But what do I know? I have no experience of what it must be like growing up in a city and perhaps never seeing the countryside or the sea. Who wouldn't want their child to be able to come here and experience this?

"And where do I come in?" She looked into Timothy's eager expression and could understand why perhaps they needed some business help.

"Maggie tells me you used to work in marketing? We have a competent manager running the place –"

Claire quickly revised her misconception and continued to listen

"–but she's the first to admit that sales and marketing are not her strengths. We want to start slow, build up our experience and our reputation, but we need someone to get in contact with schools, find us some children willing to be our guinea pigs."

Some of Claire's distaste for a sales role must have showed on her face, because Timothy's expression dropped ludicrously.

"You're not keen? Ah what a shame, but thank you for coming to see me at least. We don't often get visitors."

Claire found herself saying, "I just need to know more about it all. Maybe if I could meet the rest of the staff? I'm not a sales person, that's all. There's a big difference between marketing and sales."

"Is there?" Timothy raised his eyebrows. "You see, I really do know nothing about it."

"Maggie also mentioned I'd be employed as an instructor, rather than specifically for the marketing. I'm afraid I don't have any skills in that area."

"But you like children, yes? That is really all one needs to begin with. We can send you on the training courses for the rest."

Words of denial were in her mouth, when Claire really thought about the question. Did she like spending time with children? She thought back over her trips with Sky, and Alex and Jack, and thought maybe it wasn't so bad. And if it meant getting to live in such a beautiful location, with views over the sea and endless space, it was worth a try.

"I have a niece and two nephews," she said by way of explanation. "They've been travelling with me on and off this summer. I wouldn't say I was qualified, but I have enjoyed their company."

"Splendid. Well, all that remains is for me to offer you a room for the night, and to say I hope you will join us for dinner so that you may meet the rest of the staff. We're rather like a family here and it would be marvellous if you would consider becoming a member."

He stood and indicated for Claire to follow him from the room. Her thoughts scurried around her head like mice as she tried to process the interview, if that was what it could be called. Her sensible brain told her to get out while she could, reminding her that she didn't like her own family and wasn't in search of a new one. But some instinct kept her following Timothy to the dorm rooms. Something told her this just could be her next big adventure.

***

TWENTY-FIVE

Claire looked around the table at the eclectic group of people and couldn't help smiling. Their good humoured banter and jibing was infectious as they discussed their first aid course. While they chatted she tried to work out who was who.

Timothy sat opposite her, at the head of the table; every inch the lord of the manor or the patriarchal leader. To his left sat Gemma, the chef. She looked like a school matron, as if her mission was to make sure the world was well fed and received plenty of hugs.

Next to her sat Louise, the site manager. They'd met before dinner and Claire found she liked her, although she was more used to working for men. Louise had explained that she lived off-site with her husband and two small children. Claire wondered how she managed to juggle it all.

Next to Louisa sat the only other older gentleman there; he was the gardener apparently and had been working in the grounds all day, rather than attending the first aid course. She thought his name was Giles or Geoff, but as he hadn't said two words during the meal, she wasn't entirely sure.

On the other side of the table sat the younger members of the staff. They were the entertainment during the meal, and Claire was fascinated, trying to fathom the different relations between them. The three in charge of activities – Jess, Eddie and Ryan – seemed to have some sort of love triangle going on, while the youngest member of staff sat wide-eyed and silent. Fresh out of school, it was her responsibility to keep the house clean and do the laundry. Claire thought she possibly had the hardest job of all.

As she assessed the people around the table, who were all tucking into the delicious lasagne and homemade cake, Claire wondered why she was paying them so much attention. Was she trying to imagine herself as part of the group? Could she?

I'm not really a team player – Carl told me that often enough.

But for all their jibing and barbed jokes, these people were not Polly, Molly and Sally. There didn't seem to be any face: what you saw was what you got. Claire found it both refreshing and intriguing.

A hush fell over the table and she realised everyone was looking at her expectantly. "I'm sorry, I was miles away!" She felt the blood rushing into her cheeks.

Timothy laughed. "Don't worry, I'm sure we're a lot to take in, the first time you meet us." He turned to Louise, who it seemed had asked her a question.

"I only wondered if you could imagine joining us here? We open next week, so we're keen to have the staff finalised." She seemed to realise how much she was putting Claire on the spot, and gave an apologetic smile. "But of course you need time to decide."

Claire felt wrong-footed. Was the job just hers for the asking? With no interview or credentials. "But you don't know anything about me," she blurted out, and winced as everyone laughed.

"Ah but we do." Timothy's voice cut through the laughter and he frowned slightly at Eddie, who was still sniggering. "Maggie sent us a link to your blog. We've all read about your exploits, both here in the UK and in New Zealand. We are most impressed. Climbing mountains, white water rafting, surfing and sailing: you are more than qualified."

"But I don't know how to _do_ any of those things." Claire's voice was more of a wail and she fought the urge to cry. Now everyone watched her as if she were a bomb about to explode. The young girl to her left gave her a sympathetic smile and Claire felt foolish. If a mere child fresh out of school could come and get stuck in, then what was holding her back?

"Don't worry, lass, none of the kids will know how to do it either, so they'll just be impressed you know more than them."

Claire looked towards Eddie as he spoke and envied the confidence of youth. He had an edge about him, though, that suggested he'd seen as much of the world as she had, and possibly more.

Dinner continued without further incident. Claire sipped at her beer and enjoyed the sense of good will. During it all, something nagged at the back of her mind. An ache, a twinge, that tugged at her and wouldn't let go. Conor. She tried to picture him here, amongst the motley staff, and knew he would be instantly at home.

That's assuming he ever speaks to me again.

Claire looked out the window at the setting sun. The room Timothy had shown her to perched high in the attic. It wasn't very big, but the view was enormous, stretching across the parkland to the sea. He'd explained that the staff rooms were all in the attic, with tiny en-suites. It was only a step away from hostelling, but it felt good to close the door and know the space was all hers.

She lay back on the bed, and her view diminished to a blue rectangle of sky visible through the skylight window. She imagined lying in the dark looking up at the stars. There would be no light pollution out here.

Slowly, as she absorbed the details of the room, Claire realised she was already viewing it as hers. Despite avoiding any kind of definite answer at dinner, she had gone as far as to say that her contract finished in a fortnight. A proper answer would need to be given before that, but she didn't feel ready. Saying yes to Timothy felt like saying goodbye to Conor.

Reaching for her phone, Claire sat staring at the black screen that still refused to produce a message from him. She inhaled deeply.

"Sod it."

Swiping the screen, she tapped out a message and hit send before she could change her mind. She looked at the words and wondered if they would be enough.

I miss you

***

TWENTY-SIX

Claire looked out over the cloud-draped hills of Glastonbury Tor and sighed. It _was_ beautiful. A different beauty to Cornwall, although she couldn't put her finger on exactly why. Driving down the lanes, the roads were wider, the hedges lower. Even the trees seemed different in Somerset; tamer somehow.

Now I am being silly. Counties are artificial boundaries. The trees don't know whether they're Cornish or not.

Yet there was a difference. As she travelled back towards Dorset, ready to deliver her final report, she felt the pull of the Cornish coast like a cord attached somewhere beneath her ribs. No matter how hard she tried to rationalise the sensations, they refused to be controlled. Dorset or Cornwall, there was nothing and everything in it, and it had sod all to do with the trees.

The sky along the horizon darkened, despite the sun directly overhead, and long legs of rain stalked across the hills, pulling the clouds down to earth. It matched the heaviness in her heart. It had been nearly two weeks and still there had been no response from Conor. She told herself she didn't want to date a sulker anyway, but it didn't lessen the pain. Instead she'd buried herself in the report, making sure every last detail was correct. It stretched to hundreds of pages, and the presentation she was to give in a week lasted an hour.

How am I going to stand for an hour and talk, with him watching?

She shuddered. That was why you didn't fraternise with colleagues or bosses. It always went wrong in the end.

Well, he won't be my boss or my boyfriend from next Friday. This time next week I'll be starting a new life, with Timothy and Gemma, Louise and Eddie and all the others.

It wasn't exciting. Petrified was probably a closer description and every day started with a rehearsed conversation to Timothy explaining that she'd changed her mind.

Claire turned and got back into her car. It was only a short distance to the next hostel and she was keen to check in before the stalking rain reached her. She wondered if the concert that evening was under cover.

The world rolled away like a rumpled blanket as she drove along the lane, passing stiles and footpath signs that called to her to walk the hills and get wet. She fought her maudlin mood, determined not to succumb. She hadn't realised how much she'd come to rely on the daily messages and calls from Conor, until they stopped. But with her attempt at a peace-offering rejected, her pride prevented her repeating the gesture.

Is that why I'm going to a gig? To show that I can enjoy loud music and crowds without him?

She wasn't sure why, only that when she'd seen the poster and realised it was that evening, she'd had to go.

Claire viewed the multi-peaked blue and yellow striped tent with relief. As the clouds jostled for room in the sky above, and the rain began to fall, it was good to know there would be some shelter from a storm.

All around, people walked with golf umbrellas threatening the eyes of their neighbours, or coats held high above styled hairdos. Girls in short shorts and tight t-shirts wandered alongside blokes with crates of beer cradled in their arms. Turning up the collar of her waterproof jacket, Claire let the rain cool her skin.

At least I don't have to worry if my hair turns into a ball of frizz. How nice to have outgrown the days of being on the pull.

The sound of the first band warming up filled the night air, as bodies crammed under the striped pavilion. Claire could see the stage in the distance; a rectangle of colour and light calling everyone forwards to join the party. Hanging outside away from the crush, Claire watched the milling people, feeling removed from their tanned skin and immaculate make-up by more than a few extra years.

Am I going to be able to relate to disadvantaged children? What do I know of their lives? I'm old before my time: look at me, with my sensible coat and shoes, drinking water and staying away from the noise? I feel like I'm in my thirties. When did I get so ancient?

As evening fell, the bonhomie expanded, travelling through the crowd by osmosis, until the beat and the laughter could be felt even at the edge of the enclosure. It seemed to flow around Claire as if she were a rock in a stream. Deep in the crowd she saw people on their partner's shoulders, rocking to the music.

A loud crack rent the air and she jumped. Her hammering heart drowned out the music as she spun round, trying to locate the source of the noise. She was just in time to see a long fork of lightning strike the ground behind her.

The power of nature drove through her, leaving her shaking, and she ducked under the cover so as not to be an easy route to earth for the next strike. Instinctively she looked around for Conor, to make sure he was okay, and her face fell when she remembered those brief days of companionship were over.

Damn you, Conor. Damn your stupid male pride and your fickle, grasping, ex-wife.

Claire stepped back out from under the canvas, no longer concerned whether she was a target, and let the rain wash away her tears.

***

TWENTY-SEVEN

Claire scanned the posts on her blog again and opened her eyes wide. According to her calculations, her first Monday at her new job working for Timothy would mark two-hundred days since she left for Berwick-Upon-Tweed. All those months of thinking the two-hundred steps signified the two hundred hostels, and in the end it meant something completely different.

And will I be home? Not the home I started from, that's for sure.

She thought back to her apartment in Manchester, her car, her job. It wasn't just another lifetime away, it belonged to another person. She would no more fit in that world now than that Claire would be comfortable here, sitting on a red velour sofa by the fireplace in an Edwardian villa, looking out the window at Lyme Bay and wondering if there was any surf.

Her previous life felt meaningless, frivolous. Working to buy things to make up for spending so much time working. With all her possessions in storage she felt unfettered and able to fly. But she also felt an emptiness that frightened her. Without the need to strive for success, what was there? Where was life's meaning? What was the point of getting up every day?

She put down her laptop and rubbed her eyes. Despite knowing the presentation backwards, her stomach still bubbled like a hot spring when she thought about delivering it in the morning. She knew the real reason for her nerves, and pushed the unwelcome thought away. Walking over to the window, she tried to look past the fenced-in scrubland directly in front of the hostel, to see the endless shingle of Chesil beach. All she could make out was a line of blue, back lit against dark storm clouds.

Suddenly she needed to be outside, under the moody skies. She grabbed the laptop and hurried back to her room. She cursed as she tangled the laces on her hiking boots, tugging at them until they threatened to snap. Tied at last, she pulled on her waterproof jacket, pocketed her phone, and headed out.

From a distance, Chesil beach had appeared to be a golden arc of glorious sand. After walking along it for an hour, Claire could testify that it was anything but. Her ankles ached from trying to keep balance on the endless pebbles, and she wondered why she hadn't turned back. Did she intend to walk the full eighteen miles? What then; walk eighteen miles back? What was she trying to prove?

With no answers, Claire continued on. The sea talked to her endlessly as she walked; the waves rushing in only to fall back with a hissing sigh. Over and over the waves caressed the indifferent shore, and each time they uttered a drawn-out exhalation on the futility of life. It was a mournful sound but , at the same time, it provided comfort. The ticking clock of nature.

The waves grew higher, stronger. Great plumes of white foam swirled up the beach at an angle, surging towards Claire's feet as if seeking to drag her back into the frothy deep. She'd read in the guide book that the waves created a lethal undertow and that surfing and swimming were only for the suicidal.

Now and then she passed fishermen and women, staring out to sea next to a stationary rod.

I wonder if they catch anything. Or if they even want to.

She stopped once, some distance behind one of the solitary figures, and followed their gaze out to sea. The quiet roar of the ocean became the only sound and, as she stood motionless, Claire felt herself swaying with the pulse of the universe. A sudden surge of water broke the stillness and – like the lightning at the festival earlier in the week – reminded her of the power of nature and the insignificance of man.

After all, what is a failed romance to the infinite universe? A spec of sand on an eighteen-mile beach.

Claire stooped and scooped up a handful of wet pebbles. They glistened in bright hues of red and brown, orange and grey. She knew the beauty would disappear when they dried and they would become ordinary stones, unremarkable. But drenched by the engulfing waves they shone like gemstones.

Still crouched by the edge of the tide, Claire looked along the beach as far as she could. Despite the ache deep inside where her affection for Conor lay broken, she felt a sense of peace, of oneness with something greater than herself. She felt refreshed, as if she too had been washed clean by the never-ending waves. As if it was her time to reveal her true colours.

She stood and put her shoulders back. Turning to face the way she had come, Claire walked back to the hostel and whatever the morning would bring.

***

TWENTY-EIGHT

Claire tugged at her skirt, as it clung to her tights, chafed by its restriction. Instead of striding into the building with her head high, she was forced to mince like a Geisha. She wobbled on unfamiliar heels and wondered how she'd ever thought office attire anything other than a bloody nuisance.

Trying not to hold her laptop in front of her like a shield, Claire stepped up to the reception desk and announced her arrival. The middle-aged woman facing her seemed startled at the ringing note in her voice, as if people didn't normally approach her desk with such confidence. She gave a nod of acknowledgement and reached for the phone.

With a glance round Claire located the fake leather sofa in the corner, where she'd perched nervously four months before, and went to wait. She sat with her knees together, turned demurely to one side, and her hands folded in her lap. She knew he wouldn't collect her from the lobby, but it paid to be prepared and she was damned if she was going to betray any nerves. She could fall apart later; for now she needed to be every inch the consultant he had billed her as.

The same harassed-looking secretary collected her from reception twenty minutes later. Long enough that she'd begun to look around for a toilet and regretted not asking at the desk. Surreptitiously smoothing her palms on her red skirt, Claire followed the woman through the building, praying they wouldn't be in the same stuffy, windowless, room they'd used for her interview.

Her prayers went unanswered as the woman knocked feebly at a hollow door and opened it just wide enough to peer round.

"Are you ready for Ms Carleton?"

Claire heard a strong affirmative in a voice she recognised as Jason's and steeled herself for combat. She put out a hand to stop the receptionist from entering the room and said, "Is there a projector set up for my presentation?"

The woman shook her head and looked as if she'd like to scuttle into the shadows.

"No matter. I can present from the laptop." Claire radiated an ease she was far from feeling and followed the secretary into the room.

Déjà vu washed over her, as she saw the same single desk and chair, facing the row of five faceless suits. Not faceless now; not all of them. There he was, second from the left, as he'd been before. The seat next to him was taken not by the HR representative from her interview, but by a steely-eyed woman who looked like she would happily swallow Claire whole and spit her out. Claire wondered if that was her replacement.

Come on knees, don't fail me now.

The walk across the room to her chair felt longer than Chesil Beach and she resolutely avoided looking at her audience as she did so. Placing her bag on the chair, Claire stood beside the small table and opened her laptop. She doubted they would see much of the screen from four feet away, but that was their business. If they couldn't find a projector, she couldn't give a damn.

The fighting talk helped still the nerves, as she faced Mr Mean in the middle and began to speak. All the while her eyes kept dragging towards Conor and she fought and fought against her body's instinct.

Listening to her presentation from a safe distance in her mind, Claire felt a strange sense of pride at the steadiness of her voice and the confidence in her delivery. She noticed that the woman to the left of Conor took notes in a languid fashion, while Jason span a pen on his thumb and managed to look bored and disapproving at the same time.

And then it was over. Three months of work and worry, of chatting to landlords and wandering through tourist attractions, and her recommendations were complete. She wondered if they would have offered her the full-time position if she hadn't already declined it.

"Thank you, Ms Carleton. We will consider your findings and implementation plan, and consult with you further when you take up your full-time role in the office."

Ice slithered down her skin at Jason's words, and her gaze flew to Conor's face for the first time. His blank features held the tiniest hint of defiance and there was a faint blush on his cheeks.

You bastard.

He hadn't told them. He had let them think she was coming to work for them on Monday. What did he hope to achieve? That she'd have to work out her notice, or wouldn't be able to start her new role. Disappointed at the low blow, Claire hardened her gaze and saw his eyes narrow in return.

She turned her attention back to Jason and said, in a cool voice, "I'm sorry you appear to have been left out of the loop," she threw a challenging glance at Conor, "but I am unable to take up the full time position now my contract has expired. I had informed Mr O'Keefe of my intention not to renew. I will, of course, be more than happy to discuss plans with my successor, as well as providing the 150 page report that accompanies my presentation."

Jason's expression was inscrutable but Claire kept her gaze firmly on him, refusing to give Conor the satisfaction of her attention. Inside, her heart crumbled at the animosity and she wondered where exactly it had gone so badly wrong.

After an interminable pause, Jason took a breath and smiled for the first time. "I'm sorry to hear that, Miss Carleton. We thank you for your contribution and wish you well in your future endeavours."

Summarily dismissed, Claire stood motionless for a moment, before pushing down the screen on the laptop. The click echoed loudly in the loaded silence. Leaving the machine on the table, glad that she'd deleted all personal files from it earlier, she shouldered her bag and quietly left the room.

***

TWENTY-NINE

Claire's shoulders prickled as she walked across the car park. In her memory she could see Conor hurrying to catch up with her, as he had done four months before, after her interview. Now she was away from the room she realised she was shaking.

How could he just sit there and act like we've never met? Just because I don't want to come and live in this backwater town and be the little wife?

The vehemence of her thoughts shocked her. Conor had never suggested that she play second fiddle to him, or sacrifice her own career for the sake of his. In fact he'd suggested nothing at all except that he wanted to be with her.

Is that so bad?

She reached the relative safety of her car and her resolve crumbled. With her head slumped forward against the steering wheel, and her heavy hair creating a shield, she gave in to the grief that had swollen inside her chest. Despite the days of silence, she hadn't really believed he would ignore her so emphatically.

At the edge of hearing, a tapping infiltrated her misery. Before she could analyse it, it stopped. She sank her head further into her hands, her sobs growing louder. With sudden violence, she smacked the steering wheel in frustration and jumped when the sound was followed by the click of the passenger door opening.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, you'll break something. Your hand, probably. These old cars are built like tanks."

The smooth voice slipped in between her ribs like a knife. She inhaled deeply, but kept her hair shielding her face, unsure how to react. She felt him brush the hair behind her ear, felt the heat of his breath on her face as he leant in close to look at her.

"It's not advisable to wear mascara if you're going to have a good cry, you know. You look like an 80s rock star."

With a swish of hair she turned to face him, fury igniting inside like a raging fire. "Get out!"

Conor flinched but didn't move.

"I mean it. Who the hell do you think you are, coming in here, cracking jokes like you haven't ignored me for a fortnight? All because I want to have a life of my own. You're pathetic."

His face paled but he held his ground. "I'm sorry. I handled it badly. You surprised me, that's all, and everything sort of crashed in."

"You knew I was going to leave: I made no secret of the fact that I wasn't going to stay after the end of the assignment."

"I know." His voice barely crossed the space between them. "But wanting to leave is different to actually getting a job offer somewhere else. It was so final, and you hadn't even mentioned it."

"I'd only just found out about it! Conor, you act like we've been together for years. I've known you precisely four months; we were dating for a few weeks, if that. I don't owe you anything." Her anger surprised her and she wanted to apologise, but the car rang with her hot words.

"I'm sorry that's how you feel." Then, almost to himself, he added, "It seemed longer than that." He paused, as if he wanted to say more, and then moved to open the car door.

"Wait."

He hesitated. Claire didn't know what else to say. She just didn't want him to leave, not like that. They sat in silence for a hundred years.

"Are you staying in town tonight?"

Claire nodded. "At a B&B. I couldn't face the hostel again."

"Come for a drink? Or dinner?"

A dozen different responses warred in her head and eventually her mouth formed round the word, "Okay."

He reached for the door. "Text me your location; I'll pick you up at 7pm?"

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Without looking, she heard him open the door and close it softly behind him.

She saw the text flash to say he was outside, and checked her reflection in the mirror one last time. A pale, worried, face looked back at her and she forced herself to smile. Whatever happened, at least there would be resolution.

They walked in silence down to the town, without touching. The air crackled between them with all the charge of the lightning strikes she'd seen at the concert. Looking across at him she saw the tension in his face and knew that he felt it too. He turned towards her as she scrutinised him, and his eyes were a stormy sea. He opened his mouth to speak and she felt goosebumps trickle across her skin.

"I've missed you, too."

***

THIRTY

Claire could barely swallow the food. Her throat felt as if it was lined with grit. She put down her fork and sipped at her water. Across the table, Conor's plate was equally full. They'd exchanged only pleasantries since arriving at the restaurant. The longer they sat, the harder it was to speak the words that hovered between them like a flock of hungry seagulls.

"Walk with me." Conor's eyes pleaded with her and she nodded. While she retrieved her cardigan and bag he went to pay the bill. They left the restaurant in silence and she followed him down through the high street towards the shore.

The sun had sunk below the horizon and streetlights cast shadows across the empty beach. Out on the water a few boats bobbed like ghosts, but it was a far cry from the crowds of the Carnival only weeks before. With the children back at school there was an air of ending about the town; a sadness that tugged at Claire like a riptide and pulled her under.

What must it be like to live in a seaside town, where the passing of the seasons takes a back seat to ebb and flow of the tourist trade?

She wondered if she would feel the same at the activity centre, but knew that she wouldn't. Timothy planned to take children all year round, with summer camps in the long vacation and school trips for the rest of the year. While the nearest town was a tourist resort, it also had a harbour and a university. Different blends of life intertwining to provide a tapestry of endless change.

_And where will I fit in, in that tapestry?_ She didn't know the answer, but knew it didn't matter.

They walked along the shore, to the mournful sound of the tide sucking at the stones only to fall away. Conor took her hand loosely in his and the touch of his skin sent sparks across her body. She yearned to turn and yield to his embrace.

"When do you start?"

Claire jumped as his voice came loudly out of the dark. She didn't need to ask what he meant.

"Monday."

"So soon?"

She heard the pain and hardened herself against it. "The first school group arrived this week. They need me."

"And what about me? What if I need you?" Before she could respond, he spoke again. "Sorry, that's unfair. God knows you've done enough for other people this year. I don't want to be another duty."

He dropped her hand and ran his fingers through his hair as if trying to stop himself flying apart. She could just make out his face in the gloom and saw him give a wry smile.

"I tried. Really I did. I wanted to support you in whatever decision you made. But then it was so perfect, spending time with you, and I couldn't imagine letting you go. I still can't."

He reached up to stroke her face, before letting his arm fall again. "Why?" The word hung in the dark and she didn't know how to respond. "Why is it so important to you to go?"

She searched her thoughts for answers. "Honestly? I don't know. All I know is that I have to do this. If it means losing you, being lonely forever, then that's the price I have to pay."

Once she started speaking, the words wouldn't stop. They rushed on relentless, like the incoming tide. "I've spent my life living the role I thought was expected of me. At home, at school, at work. I have to find my own path, even if that means slipping down the odd cliff."

She saw him smile at the memory; a sad, nostalgic smile as they both pictured a bedraggled woman covered in grazes. She tore her gaze away and looked over his shoulder at the ocean, glimmering in the dusk. Memories would only imprison her in a life she wasn't ready to live.

As if answering a question he hadn't articulated, or maybe a question from her heart, she continued, "Yes, it's worth it. Yes I'll sacrifice having an iPad and a shiny car, a career with prospects, even the man I love like breathing, if it means I can be true to myself."

The word _love_ reverberated around them. When he reached for her, she saw the longing in his eyes and felt herself waver. She had to escape before her resolve crumbled into dust, eroded like the limestone cliffs that anchored his heart in a town which would never be home.

Stretching up on tiptoe, she brushed a kiss across his lips, then turned and ran up the beach, before he could see the tears falling down her cheeks.

***

THIRTY-ONE

Her clothes filled the small wardrobe; her rucksack sat empty in the dark recess of the cupboard, tatty after its long journey. She could never have imagined, back when Carl had presented her with it as a leaving gift, that she could become so attached to a bag.

"We've come a long way, you and I. Time for a rest, for you at least."

Claire laughed as she realised talking to an inanimate object was probably the first sign of craziness.

Maybe I am crazy. Do crazy people ever actually know that they are?

She thought about leaving Conor standing alone on the beach, and shivered. It had been two days and he hadn't tried to contact her. She didn't know if that made it easier or not. Dozens of unsent messages sat on her phone, taunting her. Her last words echoed continually in her mind, like a song stuck on repeat.

The man I love like breathing.

She considered it, as she walked across the tiny room to gaze at the ever-changing view of the sea. Was it true? Did she love him? Could you love someone on such a short acquaintance?

But it wasn't short, was it? Four months is a long time, and he's been there for me since day one. All the time in New Zealand and every time I needed someone since I returned.

Dwelling only intensified the pain. She cast one last look around her room and felt a glimmer of a smile through her grief. _Her room._ It felt good.

Downstairs, the children were finishing dinner. Claire hadn't spent much time with them over the weekend. Timothy seemed to instinctively know she needed space to settle in, and had quietly assured her that she had no duties until Monday morning. She attended meals and sat in the shared lounge to read and think. Sometimes she nestled in the window seat she'd discovered along a corridor, overlooking the sea, and listened to the children giggling in their rooms. The sound of laughter rang constantly throughout the old building.

Outside, the sky hung overcast. She wandered through the bushes and trees until she reached the rolling lawn that led down towards the sea. Within minutes she had scrambled down the rocky path to the private beach.

A group of children clambered amongst the rock pools under the watchful eye of Eddie. He raised his hand in greeting and she nodded in return before heading to the other end of the sand.

Thinking she really needed to buy a surfboard, Claire found her favourite rock and climbed on it. Sitting with her arms clasped around her knees she stared out at the horizon and let the peace wrap around her like a blanket.

A tapping at the door roused Claire from a doze. She checked the time and was surprised to discover she'd been asleep for an hour. Thinking it must be Timothy wanting to remind her about something for the morning, she rolled off the bed and went to open the door.

She grasped the frame for support as her questioning gaze met a pair of familiar green eyes.

"Hello, Claire."

"What? How did you know where to find me? How did you get in?"

"A bit of research found the centre and a chat with your man Timothy meant he let me in. Seems he's a sucker for a romance."

"You could be a stalker or a murderer." She frowned, unsure how she felt about the invasion of her privacy.

"I showed him this." Conor held up his phone to show a photograph of the two of them in bed, tangled in the sheets.

Claire stepped back into the room to hide the blood rushing to her cheeks. "You'd better come in."

Uncomfortably aware that the room held only a bed, she waited for Conor to perch on one end of it, before going to stand, arms folded, by the window.

"Why are you here?"

"To ask why you keep running away from me without letting me speak, woman. I had something to add to your marvellous speech, you know."

He stood up and crossed the room, coming to a stop only inches away from her. He leant in until his lips brushed the hair near her ear, sending flurries of heat across her skin.

"I love you, too."

Claire rested her head against Conor's shoulder and stared out the window at the multi-hued sky. They had talked long into the night, until the dawn light began to paint the horizon in stripes of silver and pink. Her head ached with the fog of missed sleep, and she knew her first day at work was going to be a disaster, but her heart felt like a bird floating on an updraft.

She looked around the tiny room, listening to the heartbeat and slow, sonorous, breathing of the man beside her. It wasn't ideal, agreeing to a long-distance love affair, but she didn't care. He loved her and she loved him; that was all that mattered. The rest was just geography.

As she lay in his arms and watched the sun rise, she realised she had finally found what she had searched for through two hundred long days – through a lifetime – something that wasn't outside the window, or even in the room, but rather in her heart. A contentment; a sense of belonging and of peace.

She was home.

###

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."_

