Tom grabs my rucksack, chucks it in and then bundles me in with him following. A second later the doors close, sealing us into the dark. Immediately the sense of relief lifts all the stranglehold of tension gripping the muscles in my shoulders. We’ve got away. The flood of elation makes me relax back against Tom’s side.
‘We did it,’ I whisper.
‘We did, partner.’ He looks at his watch, which lights up in the dark. It’s five past eleven.
Sitting in the dark, closed in, we’re safe. No one knows we’re here.
‘Wonder where we’re headed,’ Tom muses, his breath close to my ear.
‘No idea but they might stop again soon.’ I pause as a comforting thought strikes me. ‘Don’t old people need to pee a lot?’
Tom half laughs in the dark. It’s comforting. We’re in this together. Who knows, we might pull together yet.
We can hear footsteps overhead but there’s no sign of the coach moving off.
‘George, if you try that again, I swear I’ll cut your balls off.’ The low indignant voice is right outside on the other side of the door and I have to stuff my hand in my mouth to stop a gale of laughter.
‘What happened to the days of al fresco quickies?’ asked a plaintive male voice.
‘Lumbago and arthritis, you daft sod. What were you thinking? We’ll have a nice comfy hotel bed in a couple of hours. Honestly, you…’ grumbles the female voice before drifting away out of earshot.
I giggle very quietly.
‘Fair play to the old guy,’ whispers Tom. ‘Life in the old chap yet.’ There’s a thread of laughter in his voice, which is interrupted by the sudden, distinct rumble of his stomach.
‘Hungry?’ I ask.
‘Starving. Unfortunately the food they gave us is that regurgitated stuff that needs hot water adding to it.’
‘You mean dehydrated,’ I tease, still on a high from our escape, and pull something from the pocket of my rucksack and hand it to him.
‘Here’s something I prepared earlier,’ I say, feeling just a little bit smug.
‘What is it?’ I can hear him unfurling the tin foil.
‘Bacon butty. I made them at breakfast.’
‘You made them at breakfast?’ He laughs.
‘I didn’t know when we’d next get fed and there was loads there this morning.’ I don’t like to tell him that previous necessity has created a habit that has me stockpiling food whenever I can. It still seems slightly shameful. I also snaffled a couple of mini packs of Coco Pops and Sugar Puffs from breakfast.
The silence between as we chew cold bacon is very nearly companionable and it’s not half bad.
I’m just about to fish out the Sugar Puffs, figuring they’ll make an excellent dessert, when I hear a familiar gruff voice.
‘No sign of them.’
I tense, I swear the food going down my oesophagus stalls, suddenly an indigestible lump. It’s Mark from Mannderdale Hall.
‘The drone clearly saw them up top. They’re here somewhere. Besides, where else would they go? People always head to civilisation, first sight of it. Let’s have another look, you take that side of the car park and check the path down.’
We’re both rigid with tension.
‘I’ll check this side and the path up. They won’t have got far.’
‘Kay. See you back at the Landy.’
When the engine starts up minutes later with a loud diesel rumble, I sag with relief, even though it’s like being in the belly of a dragon. A heavy thrum vibrates through the floor rattling my seat bones and the crunch of the tyres on gravel highlights how close to the ground we are. Every judder and shake jars my body as the coach lumbers out of the car park. This might just be the stupidest idea I’ve ever had but we’ve got away just in the nick of time.
Once we’re on the road, it’s a little smoother but very noisy; there’s nothing soft down here to absorb the sound of the guttural chug of the engine and the hiss of wheels on tarmac. Tom’s watch has tiny fluorescent green dots that become a tiny beacon of light in what is now oppressive darkness each time he moves. The absence of my phone has never been felt more keenly. It’s become universal insulation from conversation and lack of conversation.
We know each time the bus goes up a hill because, one, we start to slide backwards against the pile of cases behind us and, two, the whine of the engine and the judder of the gears are exponentially more noticeable.
Every twist and turn of the road engages muscles I didn’t know I had as I try to maintain purchase on the floor. Apology after apology trips from my tongue as I keep lurching against Tom.
‘You okay?’ asks Tom as I try to haul myself upright after being pitched up against him for what feels like the nine hundred and ninety-fifth time.
‘Not really. I’m not sure I thought this through.’
He laughs. ‘Lydia. It’s not supposed to be comfortable. That’s what they want. Putting up with adversity and triumphing for the TV cameras. We’re probably supposed to be wading through bogs, hiding in caves and being generally wet and miserable. That’s what the audience wants to see. At least we’re dry and out of danger of being captured.’
‘I suppose so,’ I say, grudgingly accepting his point, although I’m feeling slightly sick with the diesel fumes.
‘Here.’ He fiddles with something and his torch light comes on and I realise he’s switched on the GoPro.
‘Day one and we’ve hitched a ride.’ He makes a wide sweep of the belly of the coach, holding the torch and GoPro in one hand, lighting up all the suitcases herded in one side of the compartment like livestock at market. ‘Not sure where we’re headed but hopefully it’s a good distance away from the immediate vicinity and the hunters. We’ve had a near miss with them, but we got away in the nick of time.’
The light has lit up an empty corner and he tugs on my sleeve for me to follow. I crawl next to him. This is better, there’s a proper wall for us to lean against but it’s a narrow space, and the two of us can just squeeze in together. To make it easier, he puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer so that we’re wedged side by side.
