Helen Douglas: Chasing Stars

‘We should check out the more remote chalets,’ I said. ‘The ones closest to the beach always fill up fast.’

We climbed the dunes and headed away from the sea. It was quieter here; rabbits were beginning to emerge from their burrows and hop around, stopping to nibble at the thin grass.

‘Wait,’ said Ryan, putting out an arm to stop me. He was staring at a tatty, wooden chalet near the lifeguard hut. Blue paint was peeling from the clapboard and the front decking sloped to one side. ‘I think that’s the one,’ he said.

We circled the chalet widely, hand in hand, as though we were doing nothing more than taking a romantic walk on the dunes. There were no lights on inside the chalet, no tell-tale buckets or fishing nets drying outside.

‘There’s a back door,’ I said.

‘Perfect.’

I stood on the pathway acting as lookout while Ryan draped his thick jacket over one elbow and smashed the rear kitchen window. The glass exploded inside. My heart raced as I scanned the area while Ryan climbed through the window. Two minutes later he unlocked the back door.

‘Be careful where you stand,’ he said. Tiny shards of glass were scattered across the floor.

I went to check out the rest of the chalet, while he swept up the glass and patched up the broken window with a piece of cardboard from an old crisps box that was filled with beach toys.

It was obviously a privately owned chalet, rather than a rental. It was too shabby and much too full of personal items for the rental market. Which was a good thing, unless – by some unfortunate coincidence – the family that owned the place chose this night to head down to Cornwall for a break. There was a double bedroom at the front of the chalet and a twin bedroom at the back. Just one small bathroom. The kitchen and living room was all-in-one with windows to the front and rear.

‘There’s a bedroom at the back,’ I told Ryan. ‘It’s the only room that doesn’t face the front.’

‘That’s where we’ll stay then,’ he said. ‘No one has any reason to pass by the back of the chalet.’

Ryan went to the car to fetch some clothes and the bags of supermarket groceries. I searched through the cupboards for towels and sheets. There were a couple of scratchy blankets, but no sheets or pillowcases. I checked the taps: water flowed. The electricity was off.

I glanced up through the window and saw Ryan heading back towards the chalet. A thin gauze of mist was in the air by now; the droplets shimmered in what was left of the sun. In his black jeans and jacket, Ryan reminded me of a fly caught in a spider’s web.

‘Everything OK?’ I asked him.

‘We’re good.’

We made plates of sandwiches and chocolate biscuits and took them into the back bedroom to eat. The sun was lost behind the thickening fog and colour was gradually draining from the world outside. The bedroom was dim and shadowy; within an hour it would be dark.

‘We should shut the curtains,’ I said. I eased myself on to one of the beds and leant back against the wall.

Ryan took the opposite bed. ‘If someone’s outside, I’d sooner be able to see them.’

My stomach flipped and I put my plate of food on the floor.

‘What am I going to tell Miranda?’ I asked.

Miranda. Who was already grieving for her dead boy-friend.

‘You’re not going to tell her anything. We’re going to leave some clothes and identification on the beach to make it look like we drowned.’

I squeezed my eyes tight, forcing back the tears. This was no time for crying.

‘How are we going to pay for the ID?’

Ryan glanced out the window. ‘I need to know where Lauren is. She can’t spend every minute at the farmhouse. When she leaves, I go in and get my cash.’

‘Where do you think she is?’

‘My guess is that she’s staying at my house. Using it as a base. But she’ll be checking out your house. She’ll look up your friends. Any places we’ve been known to use.’

‘And when she realises we’re gone, we’ll be safe? She’ll go back to her time?’

Ryan looked up and met my eyes. ‘We’ll never be safe. They know I travelled back in time. Unauthorised. They’ll always be looking for me.’

‘That’s what I don’t get. You said that small streams don’t change the future. I’m only a small stream. And you too, right? So why don’t they leave us alone? How much does you being here really matter?’

Ryan sighed. ‘I thought I’d managed to leave without a trace. I stole a ship that was due to be scrapped. I hid my portal. But I’m guessing this is big news back in my time. My father is a powerful man. Think about it: the son of one of the Guardians steals a time-ship and travels back to the past. It’s going to be a big deal. My father’s opponents won’t let this go.’

‘We can hide. We can beat them.’

Ryan smiled thinly. ‘I’m so sorry that I’m putting you through all this. I never wanted this for you.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘You’ll never see Miranda again. Or any of your friends. A new identity means giving up everyone you know. Everyone you love.’

‘Not everyone,’ I said. ‘It means giving up everyone else for the person I love most. It’s no more than you did for me.’

We lay down, fully clothed, on one of the twin beds, our bodies pushed against each other, the two thin blankets draped over us. Ryan’s hand reached for mine and held on tightly.

‘It’s going to be OK,’ he said.

‘I know.’

He kissed my forehead and then shut his eyes, his hand still curled into mine. We lay like that for a while, neither of us saying anything, while the fog rolled inwards, swirling and folding itself around the chalet until it was lost within the darkness. Ryan fell asleep first. His breathing grew steadier, then his grip loosened around my hand. I don’t remember falling asleep, but I must have, because I remember waking up.

A bright beam of light shone directly on my face. I opened my eyes. The light came from behind me, throwing sharp shadows on to the walls and the floor. Dread filled the pit of my stomach as I pushed myself up on to my elbows and turned to look behind me.

A full moon, shining like a searchlight in the clear, night sky, had captured me in its beam.

Although the sun was shining and the air was warm, Ryan and I had our hoodies pulled up, hiding our hair, our faces disguised behind sunglasses. He raised an eyebrow at my strip of unflattering passport photos, lightening the mood for a second.

‘You look like a hardened criminal,’ he said.

‘You don’t look so hot yourself,’ I said, pointing at his.

He pulled out his wallet and counted the rest of his money into my palm. Seventy-five pounds. ‘Go to the phone shop and buy two cheap pay-as-you-go phones. Then take the bus back to the Towans and wait for me in the chalet. I’m going to drive to Truro and arrange for the ID.’

‘Won’t he want money now?’

‘He’ll get the money when he gives me the documents.’

He headed off in the direction of the car. I hurried into Perran Digital, picked up the two cheapest phones I could find, and hurried out again. There was still half an hour until the next bus. I walked down to the seafront furtively, sticking to the shadows, my hood up and my head low. Perran was a small town. I knew too many people.

Down by the harbour, I sat by the boats, away from the clean, warm sand that the locals and tourists preferred. The harbour beach was jam-packed. I saw my friends, Megan and Connor, at the other end of the beach. They were holding hands and paddling in the shallows. Amy and Matt and a few other kids from school were lying on a beach blanket under the wall, which was more sheltered. The tide was coming in. When it was high they would probably go jumping off the harbour wall. They always did.