Ruby goes downstairs at 7.30 for her evening meal. The pub is crowded with locals, but few observe her closely as she settles in a corner. She wants to blend into the wallpaper, just another tourist poring over her guidebook while she eats. She takes her time, washing her lasagne down with a pint of beer, because rushing would make her stand out. People who move too fast or make too much noise draw attention to themselves. She feels uncomfortable when the landlord approaches her table, heads turning to see why she’s been singled out.
‘Been drawing today have you, love?’ The man asks, his voice too loud.
‘I did a few sketches. The light here’s beautiful.’
‘Wait till you see the Hurlers’ Stones, or the waterfalls at Golitha. Show me your drawings tomorrow and I’ll buy one off you. This place needs some decent art on the walls.’
‘I’m not that good.’
He gives a braying laugh. ‘Course you are. I won’t take no for an answer.’
The landlord returns to the bar, but he’s blown Ruby’s cover. The whole room’s watching her now, wondering about the budding artist in their midst. She keeps her head down while she finishes her drink, then hurries back to her room.
She waits until 9 p.m., peering out of her window to check the coast is clear, then slips out of the fire exit. It still feels like she’s being watched, after suddenly becoming the centre of attention through no fault of her own. She has to walk fifty metres down the road before joining the footpath, but luckily the sky is blanketed with cloud, making her invisible. The journey is harder now, with granite shapes rearing from the dark like startled horses, the ground slippery underfoot. She uses her torch to navigate through the thick darkness.
Ruby stares at the old farmhouse once she reaches the boundary wall. Annie Hardwick must be at home, because lights blaze from the downstairs windows. She’ll need to get closer to find the best access point. There’s no sound as she picks her way across the farmyard, apart from chickens clucking, the birds locked in the henhouse for the night. It’s a relief to find the barn doors open, the dry smell of hay filling her airways when she goes inside. She peers out at the house. The back door will be the safest way inside, if she can jemmy the lock.
Pain arrives suddenly and without warning. Someone has her in a chokehold, a hand smothering her nose and mouth.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ a woman’s voice hisses.
‘You’re hurting me,’ Ruby mumbles. ‘I can’t breathe.’
‘Answer my question.’
‘My name’s Chloe,’ she manages. ‘I need a place to sleep.’
‘Liar. How the fuck did you find me?’
‘I ran away. I couldn’t stand it there.’
It’s only when Ruby pretends to cry that the woman’s grip loosens a fraction. She can feel her dad’s presence protecting her as she waits for her luck to turn.