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After we wash up I grab the ice cream from the freezer. It’s a chocolate ice cream sort of evening. Sophia starts digging in whilst I load up the next episode of her favourite fantasy show Crown of the First Kingdom and sink back against the sofa. Maybe I’ll stay here forever and slowly become one with the cushions. Never have to face the real world again. Shirk all my mature adult responsibilities. It sounds like the sort of plan I could get behind.

Unfortunately therapy would have something to say about that.

Besides, hiding from things hasn’t exactly worked out brilliantly for me so far.

Chapter 24

Claire

Iregret the moment of initiative I had last night the second my alarm goes off at 5:30 a.m. Jack rang me in a panic just as I got into bed. It turns out he never actually confirmed the photographer for Ashcroft’s Duke of Edinburgh trip—she’d pencilled the date months ago, heard nothing, and understandably took another job.

In a moment of madness I said I could step in. I like photography, I own a decent camera, and I used to assist on the firm’s media shoots when I was more junior. What I failed to fully process at 9 p.m. was that the youth programme involves many things, including camping.

Which is how I find myself in Ashcroft’s car park at seven on a Saturday. I’d successfully avoided the school all week—the schedule had me prepping student interview questions from the office, which suited me perfectly. Four days without having to make professional eye contact with anyone near a whiteboard, and a plan to use the breathing room to work out what to say to Tom before the next site visit.

I’m attempting optimism. I do like the outdoors—we never camped growing up, since my mother considers any shoe without a two-inch heel an act of rebellion, but I’ve always found something peaceful in it, and I still have an ancient tent from my last music festival. Getting to dust off my camera is also filling me with a sense of excitement.

It’s October. A fresh start.

Maybe I’m turning into Sophia with my “New Year”.

Anyway, the time in nature could be an opportunity to centre myself and reflect on what I want to say to Tom, and how to develop more bravery around my mother. Everyone always says nature is healing.

I’m adjusting the straps of my backpack when I spot a familiar head of brown hair helping a student heave their bag onto the bus, and my stomach drops.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I hiss.

Tom.

Tom Ford is one of the supervising teachers.

“All right there, Claire?”

I groan as my morning promptly gets worse.

James. Maths James. The guy who I tripped over in a school corridor. How has this happened?

James is walking towards me with a clipboard, sunglasses perched on his head.

“Oh good!” He has a wide grin. “The weekend just got a lot more entertaining. Standing at student checkpoints isn’t usually very amusing. But now I can watch you trying to avoid eye contact with Tom for 48 hours.”

I try to smile, but it doesn’t work. Walking into the woods and starting a new life under a tarp the moment we arrive currently sounds rather appealing.

“I’m not avoiding him,” I mutter. “I’m just trying to behave like a normal person for five minutes.”

James looks unconvinced.

“We’re both at work,” I continue. “I’m trying to be mature.”

“How long do we think until Fordy notices you?” James muses aloud. “I’m going to start a countdown. Ten, nine, eight—”

I swat at him, hissing, “Stop.”

He laughs. “Oh, don’t worry. He spotted you the moment you arrived.”

I peek out from under the brim of my hat, and yep… there he is. Tom. In hiking boots and a quarter-zip fleece, looking infuriatingly rural.

“Following me, Buttercup?” Tom smirks as he strolls over to us.