Page 35 of A Secret Escape

Marcus

B y nine o’clock, we are out of the city and driving north.

I’ve been checking the mirrors constantly, and there doesn’t appear to be anyone following us. Lila’s been doing the same, her eyes darting from the side mirror to the rear-view and back again.

Occasionally a car appears in the distance, and I slow down to let it pass before picking up speed again.

The M6 stretches ahead of us as silence hangs thick in the air.

Coming up to ten o’clock, we haven’t seen a single car’s headlights behind us in nearly twenty minutes as Lila turns her head, the feel of her gaze on me helping me breathe easier. For the first time since we’ve set off, I relax one hand off the steering wheel and rest it on her knee.

A small smile plays across her face as she places her hand on top of mine and gives it a squeeze. I glance a quick smile at her.

My heart aches for what she’s been through, and I can only hope I’m doing the right thing.

A Services sign on the left indicates a rest area two miles down the road. I take the exit and circle around the car park twice, ensuring no one is behind us, before fitting my car snugly into a tight spot between two others.

With the engine turned off, I exhale a deep breath and let my shoulders slump, resting my head against my arms on the steering wheel.

I turn to look at her, my breath catching as I see the slightest hint of a smile on her face. She barely even knows me, and yet, she’s trusting me in a way I’ve done nothing to earn.

I lift her hand to my lips, pressing a soft kiss to it.

Outside, my lungs fill with the fresh air, the icy chill invigorating on my skin. Lila walks around the front of the car as I stretch out my chest, my heart stuttering momentarily as her delicate frame silhouettes in the moonlight.

I trace my hand down the side of her face. “Are you alright?”

She nods and wraps her arms around my waist, snuggling her face into my chest, and I hold her close to me, breathing in the scent of her hair.

It smells like strawberries, and my mind jumps to an image of lathering her up in a shower or bath, with that scent filling the air around us as I run my fingers through her hair.

I clear my throat to shake the image and step back slightly, letting her hand fall into mine.

The lights on the building are harsh and bright, and most of the shops are closed, with metal fences pulled down and lights turned off.

Only the large WH Smith sign remains lit up, its brightly lit aisles of drinks and sweets a beacon of safety.

Lila heads for the shop, but I stop just outside the toilets.

“Stay in the shop,” I say, glancing over my shoulder at the doors once again. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

She smiles and nods, walking through the bright entrance.

When I meet her at the till less than two minutes later, she’s already paying for a selection of items. I come up next to her, resting my hand on her lower back, my eyes alert to every possible movement in my peripheral vision.

“I didn’t know if you liked sweets or chocolate, so I went for both. And I figured caffeine was a must,” she says, her voice light.

I glance at the items on the counter - two iced coffee drinks, two bottles of water, a bag of gummy peach rings and a bar of chocolate.

I smile, attributing it to chance more than fate that peach rings happen to be one of my favourite things on this earth.

“That’s great, thanks. Ready to go?”

We head back to the car and the temporary respite of the service area fades as the darkness of the road settles back in.

A flurry of gentle snowflakes starts to fall around us as I slow down to let another car pass.

“Sorry I’ve not said much,” I say, glancing over at her.

“No, trust me, I totally get it,” she says. “I’m pretty freaked out too.”

I give her knee a reassuring squeeze as silence falls back over us.

Lila rummages around in the bag from the shop and pulls out the treats. “Sweets? Or chocolate?” she asks.

I smile, a warmth spreading across my chest as my eyes dart to glance at her for a second.

“You pick,” I say, playfully hinting at the words that first led to that earth-shattering kiss.

She grins, a mischievous glint playing in her eyes.

“Hmm… if I had to guess… I’d say you’re more of a peaches man,” she says, the innuendo of the words pulling an unexpected laugh from my throat.

“Good guess,” I say as she opens the bag and holds out a sweet. I lean over, keeping my eyes on the road, and she places it in my mouth, her finger gently grazing my bottom lip as she does so.

“I have to say, I can’t believe you’ve gone along with this,” I say to her, a lighter feeling taking over me as the tension in the air settles for the moment. “You barely even know me.”

She laughs. “Well, I figure I’ll take my chances with you when there’s an actual murderer after me! If you end up being a serial killer too, I guess I never really stood a chance.”

I smile, but it fades quickly as her words serve as a reminder of the all too real danger that may be pursuing us.

Lila’s gaze drops to her lap, the crushing weight of reality hanging its heavy blanket over us once again.

She reaches her hand over and rests it on my thigh.

“Hey,” she says. “I trust you.”

I smile and we drive the rest of the way mostly in silence, continuing to check the mirrors as we edge further into darkness.

The snow is picking up and a soft white coating starts to cover the black tarmac of the road.

It toes a fine line between magical and eerie, given the feeling of being on the run.

The moon glows brightly overhead, and even though there’s nothing but darkness in the rear-view mirror, the fear that someone could be there, just out of sight, lurking in the shadows with the potential to run us off the road, makes me grip the steering wheel that little bit tighter.

Another thirty minutes down the road, the snow falls in large white flakes, now fully covering the ground. The road seems to pass through more remote areas and we go several miles in complete blackness with only the car’s headlights illuminating the road ahead.

Finally, nearly two hours later, we take an exit onto a dark, dual carriageway that leads through a small town.

We pass a Welcome sign on the edge of the road but the name of the town has been covered in snow.

I bring the car to a putter, slowly crawling through a tiny northern village, rows of cobblestone houses and storefronts just visible among the orange streetlights.

I glance at the sat nav. The time in the corner says 11:47pm and the remaining time to our destination shows 14 minutes.

I follow the sat nav to turn onto another road that is as dark as the night itself, and the reassurance of civilisation fades from view.

Whereas we had been able to see the sky before, the road here is pitch black, a tall canopy of trees overhead blocking out most of the moonlight. Snow has still managed to accumulate on the ground and the car’s tyres crunch along it as we drive ahead slowly.

I switch on my high beam to reveal thick tree trunks lining either side of the road, stretching up into the sky and intertwining over the narrow road in a knotted tangle of heavy branches.

I try to ignore the voice in my head telling me this looks like the beginning of a horror film, and instead, I keep my eyes focused on the rear-view mirror.

If anyone appears now, I’d be sure we were being followed, as I can’t imagine the chances of anyone else needing to use this road in the middle of the night.

We follow the winding road for about two miles until finally the screen shows a red dot indicating our destination on the right. The headlights illuminate a small break in the trees and I turn into it, glancing at a small sign on a wooden gate that reads Rosewood Hill Farm.

A snowy gravel path leads directly to a small cottage that stands alone, with more trees surrounding it on either side.

I turn off the engine and wait. Neither of us moves, waiting, watching to see if anyone else appears. We sit in the cold, the steam from our breath the only signs of life in the car for several minutes .

“I had a message from the owner,” I say, breaking the silence. “The key is under the plant pot by the door.”

Lila nods, looking out the windscreen, but seeing only dark shadows, suggestions of what looks like a house.

I want to move, but I feel frozen to the seat, the reality of no longer being in motion gripping me. If anyone else shows up now, the only option will be to fight.

I glance out the window and the all-encompassing darkness surrounding us on all sides amplifies the feel of a horror film as I half expect something – or someone – to suddenly jump out of the shadows at the car window.

Eventually, when nothing happens, I take her hand. “I don’t think anyone is following us. We would have seen them by now,” I say, trying to convince myself as much as her.

She nods.

“Ready to go in?”

“Mmhmm,” she mutters with closed lips.

We step out of the car and a shiver instantly chills me to my core. The air is freezing, like stepping into a dark, icy cave from the warm shelter of the car.

Aside from an unsettling rustle of the wind shaking the branches of the trees above, it’s a silence like I’ve never heard before. No distant rumble of traffic, no birds, no music, no central heating hum. Just the whistle of the wind through the trees.

I take her hand and we walk up the three stone steps onto the patio, where a small motion sensor light illuminates a pleasant-looking porch in a dim orange glow. A large terracotta pot stands by the door with an evergreen fir growing in it.

I tilt the plant pot slightly and sure enough, there is a small silver key.