Helen Douglas: Chasing Stars

‘I know.’

He put the bags into the shopping trolley. ‘We just need a couple of days. Until we’re sure she’s gone.’

‘How will we know she’s gone?’

‘She’s a cleaner. She’ll want to finish the job and get home. If she’s interested in me, I’ll know about it soon. If there’s no sign of her for a couple of days, we can assume she’s left.’

We loaded the groceries into the boot and then Ryan suggested I practise my driving. I agreed. I needed all the skills I could get.

‘And if we get pulled over?’ I asked.

‘Drive well and we won’t get pulled over.’

By the time we reached the turn-off for Penpol Cove, I was beginning to feel confident behind the wheel, dipping and releasing the clutch smoothly, remembering mirror, signal, manoeuvre. All I had to do now was drive down the narrow lane to the farmhouse, without meeting a tractor coming in the other direction. Reversing was not my forte.

I smelt it first. A bonfire. Wood and paper and dry grass. But there was a nasty undertone to it, like the smell of burning plastic.

‘The villagers won’t be happy,’ I said, hitting the button to close the window. ‘It’s an unwritten rule that you don’t light bonfires during the daytime in summer. It makes the washing smell like smoke.’

‘Village life is so exciting,’ said Ryan, laughing. ‘Will this be in the local paper? Local resident offends neighbours with untimely bonfire .’

‘Probably. Although it is evening, so I guess it’s OK.’ I turned to him, about to make a joke about the sorts of items that made local headlines, but the smile dropped from his face.

‘Stop the car,’ he said.

I hit the brake. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I think the smoke is coming from the farmhouse.’

‘Really?’ I squinted into the distance, but there were too many fields between us and the column of smoke rising into the sky.

‘Back the car up, Eden.’

I moved into reverse and twisted round, looking out of the rear window. Slowly we backtracked up the lane. When I reached the mini-roundabout at the top, I started driving out of the village.

‘Park the car,’ said Ryan.

I pulled in to the kerb. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘We’re going to find out if it is the farmhouse. But we’re not going down the lane. There’s a footpath through the fields, isn’t there?’

We crossed a stile into a field of potatoes and skirted round the edge, heading towards the smoke.

‘Tell me what you’re thinking,’ I said.

‘I’m thinking Lauren just set fire to my time-ship.’

‘She’s on the Isles of Scilly.’

‘She was. Is there another way to get to and from the islands, other than the boat?’

‘There’s a helicopter and a plane.’

He said nothing.

‘It might just be someone having a bonfire,’ I said.

‘Maybe.’

Over the hedge, a combine harvester made its slow way through the field, dust and straw clouding the air around it. The next field was filled with cows. They all stopped chewing the ground and turned to look at us, their sleepy brown eyes widening with curiosity.

Ryan gripped my hand tightly as we walked across the field. The cows returned to their chewing.

By the time we reached the third stile, the smoke was thicker, toxic-smelling. We were just two fields from the back of the farmhouse. From here it was easy to see that the shed where Ryan had hidden his ship was on fire. Or had been. There were no flames, just smoke spiralling up from the smouldering remains of the shed.

He swore and fell into a crouch, pulling me down with him. My knees hit the dirt with a thud. He dropped my hand.

‘Ryan,’ I said.

He shook his head to stop me speaking and swore again, repeatedly, under his breath.

Now we knew. She was here for Ryan.

‘Ryan,’ I whispered. ‘We need to leave.’

He looked up at me, his eyes wild with panic. ‘All my money is in the farmhouse.’

‘That doesn’t matter now. We have to get out of here.’

He took his wallet out of his jeans pocket and pulled the notes out. ‘I only have eighty pounds. It’s not enough.’

I placed a hand on his arm; I could feel his whole body trembling. ‘We have to get out of here,’ I said. ‘We’ll worry about money later.’

We stayed low to the ground, half crouching, half running back towards the main road. When we reached the last stile, we stopped to catch our breath.

‘I can use my debit card. I have some savings,’ I said.

Ryan looked back over his shoulder. ‘No. She’s here for me. She’ll be watching you too. That means she’ll be watching your internet usage, your bank account, your phone calls. We can’t use anything traceable.’

‘I have some savings in my bedroom. I have my mum’s wedding ring. We could get that.’

‘We need to stay away from the farmhouse and your house.’

He looked around, his eyes searching. ‘Give me your mobile.’

I handed it over. He threw it into a bin, along with his own phone.

‘You can locate someone using their phone,’ he said. ‘We need to leave here. Fast.’

We ran to the car. Ryan jumped into the driver’s seat and started the engine. He took the coast road, driving too fast, straddling the central line.

‘Easy,’ I said. ‘We drive on the left.’

He pulled erratically to the left, grazing the side of the car against the hedge.

‘Where are we going?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know.’

We drove in silence, past fields of wheat and potatoes, past the wooden holiday chalets dotted on Perran Towans, past the golf course. A mile outside of Perran, the main town in the area, Ryan pulled off the road into a parking area that overlooked the sea. Below us, I could hear the waves booming against the base of the cliff.

‘We can’t be seen from the road,’ said Ryan. ‘We should be OK here for a bit.’

‘And then what?’

‘I need to get that money. I need to see that guy about my ID tomorrow and then I have to disappear.’

I stopped breathing. ‘And what about me?’

He dropped his head in his hands. ‘I’m sorry, Eden. She’ll use you to get to me. You’ll have to disappear too.’

I exhaled. ‘Thank God.’

He looked at me.‘What?’

‘I don’t want you to leave without me. I don’t want you to disappear and leave me with a cleaner.’

He unclicked my seatbelt and pulled me across the handbrake and into his arms. ‘I’m not leaving without you,’ he said.

‘Where are we going to sleep?’

‘These seats recline a bit. I’ve got a picnic blanket in the boot. It’s not perfect, but it’s only for one night.’

On the horizon, a thick band of sea mist was creeping slowly inland. Sea mist could appear – and disappear – very quickly in this part of the world. Soon it would smother the sun and the air would chill. Within a few minutes our car would be covered by a thick blanket of it; we wouldn’t be able to see the edge of the cliff. We wouldn’t be able to see anyone until they were right outside our window.

‘I have a better idea,’ I said.

‘You do?’

‘Head back to the Towans. Let’s look for a vacant chalet.’

‘It’s the middle of summer.’

‘It’s worth a look.’

He pulled on to the road and headed back the way we’d come. We parked in the public car park and started walking across the sand dunes. The chalets were spread apart, each one surrounded by its own little patch of grass and sandy parking area. Families sat out on the decking, barbecuing chicken and drinking beer. The world was going on around us, innocently, peacefully, as we searched for cover, for escape.

It was easy to tell which chalets were occupied; even those with no car in the driveway and no people around had towels drying on the line and surfboards and buckets and spades stacked outside the front door.