38

I don’t take the time to think about it or plan ahead. I know where I need to be, and I know what I need to do. I pack my travel case, then gather everything by the front door. I only take the essentials. I don’t know how long I’m going to be. I don’t know how long it’s going to take, either, but that’s irrelevant right now. Tom’s away, I’m suspended from work and I need to know the truth.

I load everything into my car, then go back into the house to be sick into the toilet. It clears my nausea temporarily — just enough to keep me comfortable for a while. I wonder if it’ll make me any safer to drive, but I doubt it. I’ll just have to be careful. I need to get away from here as quickly as possible and get to Cornwall. I don’t know how long it’s going to take me to discover the truth, but Tom’s back in a few days, and two of those are going to be taken up by the drive down to the south west.

It’s only once I’m in the car that I realise I don’t know what I’m going to do down there. My first aim has to be to find Jess Caton. I’m pretty sure she said she was based in either Bodmin or Boscastle. Or was it Bideford? I think that might even be in Devon.

I look at Google Maps on my phone, trying to remember which town Jess said she worked in, but I can’t narrow it down any further. Bideford definitely appears to be in North Devon, but that’s still entirely possible because she works for Devon and Cornwall Police. I look at directions to Bideford, and it’s showing four and a half hours at the moment. Boscastle and Bodmin are both nearer five hours, so I decide I’m heading for Bideford first. At least I’ll be a hell of a lot closer than I am now.

I set off, checking to see how much fuel I’ve got in the car. Three quarters of a tank. I’ll probably have to fill up at some point, but there’ll be a motorway service station I can use. The main thing now is to get away from here and get some miles under my belt so I’m closer to Cornwall. Closer to the truth. Closer to finding out who Tom really is.

I’m only a few minutes into the journey before I start to feel sick again. The movement of the car isn’t helping, but I know I’ll be on the motorway soon, and that’ll make things a little easier. As long as I stop thinking about how ill I feel, I’m sure I’ll be okay.

On the motorway, I notice every single sign for services and ask myself if I need to stop or if I think I can make it to the next one. Each time, I drive past, sure I can make it another few miles down the road. Before I know it, the miles are dropping off and the time is ticking down to my arrival in Bideford.