The Atlas of Us

It was the same heart that was shown over and over again on the news in the following weeks.

Chapter Three (#ulink_b1fa85a4-77af-5b7a-a132-4a06235c8cfa)

Exmoor, UK

When Claire and Milo got back to the inn, they were separated among the back-patting and gasps of horror as Matt regaled a hero’s story that made the two of them sound like Greek gods. He even insisted they join the family for dinner that night, and extended an invite to his wedding reception.

As Claire was talking to Matt, Henry came out, face incredulous as he took in all the attention his brother-in-law was getting.

‘Ready for our lunch, Claire?’ he asked her, frowning slightly. He’d clearly heard she’d gone on a walk with Milo and disapproved.

‘I have a bit of a headache actually,’ she said. Last thing she needed was to sit across from his judgmental eyes. ‘I might just go back to my room. Sorry to be a bore. I got some great pictures though, and I still have two days here. Maybe we can meet for a drink or dinner later?’

He looked over at Milo then turned back to Claire, smiling. ‘Yes, of course. You can try our taster menu. Just come down when you feel like it.’

Claire headed back to her room, sinking into a deep sleep with Archie curled at her side. When she woke, the first thing she smelled was the bell heather she’d placed on the table. It instantly brought back memories of Milo’s big calloused hands clutched tight around the rope; the smell of him so close, bonfires and musk; the way his eyes had lifted to meet hers.

No, it wasn’t right. She needed to drive those thoughts away.

She pulled out her dad’s old postcards and flicked through them. Kangaroos and Niagara Falls; golden temples and bone-dry deserts, scenes from all the countries they’d visited as a family: Australia, New Zealand, Canada, Namibia, Iceland, Paraguay, India … the list went on, all jigsaw pieces of her childhood that she carried with her wherever she went. Her dad had scrawled on the back of some, messages like ‘Littlest Hobo, do you remember the sun rising over that rock? Daddy Bo, xx’, every word still scorched into her memory.

But still, she saw Milo.

So she strode across the room and grabbed her phone, flicking through loving texts she’d received in the past from Ben, trying to find an anchor in him too. When that didn’t work either, she reached for her book. It took a while but, eventually, her shoulders relaxed, Milo’s face disappearing as she sunk into pre-war Japan.

When darkness fell, she put her book aside and walked to the window, peering out across the valley. The skies were clear, stars scattered all over, their bright white orbs lighting the night sky and turning it violet. Claire thought of Ben. What would he be doing right now? Probably watching the news or looking over some documents from work. Would he be wondering what she was doing? When she’d told him there’d be no reception, he’d said that was a good thing; that it would give them proper space from one another. But she yearned to pick up the phone now, hear his voice, have him tell her he’d made a mistake. Her stomach plummeted as she remembered their conversation again and the look on his face that spoke volumes. He was exhausted with the charade, she could see it in the bags under his eyes, the stubble on his cheeks.

She put her fist to her mouth, stifling a sob. Once again, she felt as though she were falling, her body twisting and turning in the westerly wind as she tumbled down that valley into nothingness. What was there for her without Ben and the security he offered?

Thirty minutes later, she was standing in the shadows of one of the cream-painted alcoves in the restaurant, pulling Archie back as he strained to find the source of the delicious smells coming from the kitchen. There was a large table at the back and she could already see Matt sitting at it with the pretty blonde girl she’d seen the day before, presumably his fiancée Sarah.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Henry looking down at her, face red and sweaty. ‘So sorry, Claire,’ he said. ‘Two of our staff have called in sick. Hangovers no doubt. They certainly won’t be invited back. Means it’s all hands on deck. Can we do lunch tomorrow? I’ve set a table aside for you and have instructed our chef to prepare our famous taster meal. And a sausage for Archie, of course,’ he added, leaning down to ruffle Archie’s head then snapping his hand back as Archie let out a low growl.

She followed his gaze towards the solitary table overlooking the valley. She was used to dining alone during media trips. But tonight it scared her, made her see more nights like this mapped out before her without Ben by her side.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Henry, sounds lovely.’

When he rushed off, Claire took a deep breath and looked down at Archie. ‘Looks like you’re my dinner date tonight, boy.’ She headed towards the table then noticed Matt look up.

‘Don’t tell me you’re dining alone?’ he called out to her. ‘I said you can join us tonight.’

‘Oh, I don’t want to impose.’

‘I insist,’ he said.

She looked at her lonely table then took in the large table buzzing with chatter and laughter. She yearned to sit with them all, have her head filled with other people’s lives and stories so she didn’t have to think of her own. Milo wasn’t there, maybe that meant he had to help out in the inn – Henry had said it was all hands on deck?

‘Okay, if you’re sure?’ she asked.

‘Of course.’ When she walked over to the table, Matt pulled out a seat next to a blond man. ‘This is Jay Hemingford, my best man,’ he said as Claire sat down. Archie darted under the table as Sarah threw a piece of bread for him. ‘And this is my animal-loving fiancée, Sarah,’ he said, gesturing towards her.

‘Very grateful fiancée too,’ Sarah said. ‘Thank you for saving my foolish husband-to-be.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard all about your heroics, Clara,’ the man sitting next to her said. He was wearing a dark Victorian-style suit, an expensive gold watch around his freckled wrist.

‘Jesus, Jay, her name’s Claire!’ Matt said, shaking his head.

Jay pulled a face. ‘Christ, sorry, I’m terrible with names. Claire, Clara, whatever, you’re still a hero.’

‘Ha, I didn’t have a clue what I was doing,’ Claire replied as Archie tried to jump up at Jay’s trousers. She pulled him away. ‘Sorry, he has a thing for ruining expensive-looking trousers.’

‘And expensive-looking dresses,’ Jay said as Archie turned his attention to scrabbling at Claire’s long print dress. ‘Is that an Alexander McQueen?’

‘Alexander who?’

Jay laughed. ‘Maybe not then.’

‘I got it from Singapore.’

‘Very nice. So, Matt tells me you’re a journalist?’

‘Yes, I write for a travel magazine.’

‘Splendid. Which one?’ he asked.

‘Travel Companion? You won’t have heard of it. It’s a trade magazine.’

‘Ah, no.’ He took a sip of the champagne he’d been nursing. ‘I’m a journalist myself.’

‘Who do you write for?’

‘Daily Telegraph. I cover the European markets.’

‘That’s impressive.’

‘Honestly, my dear, if you caught sight of my pay cheque, you wouldn’t think it impressive at all.’

Claire looked at his expensive suit. She knew exactly how much national newspapers paid. If the Daily Telegraph hadn’t paid for that, she wondered who had. A gust of cold air drifted in as someone opened the entrance door. She peered towards it – still no sign of Milo. She felt a mixture of relief and disappointment.

But once the starters arrived, he appeared, no wax jacket and wellies this time. Instead, he was wearing a dark grey shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal his tanned forearms, his hand wrapped in a bandage. His hair looked newly washed, and he’d shaved.

He paused at the entranceway to the restaurant and fixed his eyes on Claire, making her stumble over her sentence.

‘Finally,’ Matt said, jumping up and placing his hand to his heart. ‘My hero.’

Everyone laughed and Milo’s gaze broke from Claire’s.

‘He even looks like one, doesn’t he? Tall, dark, handsome,’ Matt said, striding over to him and shaking his hand. Milo flinched. ‘Jesus, of course, sorry. How’s your hand?’