Two-Hundred Steps Home: The Complete Journey

By Amanda Martin

The Writing Challenge:
Two-Hundred Steps Home was written during 2013 in daily instalments on Amanda Martin’s writermummy blog. She wanted to see if it was possible to write the first draft of a novel and publish it every day. Throughout a long year, with hours of research into the hostels and tourist attractions of UK and New Zealand, and with the endless support of her family, Amanda followed Claire on a journey of discovery.

Unsure in the beginning whether she would complete her challenge, Amanda continued day by day because of the faithful followers on her blog. And so, 285,000 words, 365 posts and 12 novellas later, Claire’s journey reached the end. This volume contains all 365 instalments, unedited and exactly as they appeared on the writermummy blog.

Two-Hundred Steps Home:
Claire's life revolves around Starbucks, stilettos and her career as an Advertising Account Director for AJC. That is until her boss Carl decides to send her on a mission to visit every one of the 200 YHA hostel in England and Wales as part of a marketing campaign. More used to five-star spa resorts than 'flea-infested hostels' Claire only takes the assignment to save face. It becomes clear to her the 'mission' is a ruse to make her resign.

Together with her hated 1980s Skoda Estelle - another part of the assignment - Claire sets off for Berwick-Upon-Tweed and a new way of life. Will Claire get used to sharing a room, going without skinny lattes and driving an Eastern European rust bucket? Will travelling the length and breadth of Britain enable Claire to find a job she enjoys, a man to love and friends she can trust? More importantly, will she ever find her way back home?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amanda Martin
• Release date: Jan 4, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310659966

Amanda Martin

Amanda Martin was born in Hertfordshire, England. After graduating with first class honours from Leeds University she wandered around the world trying to find her place in it. She tried various roles, in England and New Zealand, including Bar Manager, Marketing Manager, Consultant and Artist before deciding that WriterMummy summed her up best. She lives in Northamptonshire with her husband, two children and labradoodle Kara. She can mostly be found at http://writermummy.wordpress.com

Book preview

AMANDA MARTIN

TWO-HUNDRED STEPS HOME

The Complete Journey

Amanda Martin was born in Hertfordshire in 1976. After graduating with first class honours from Leeds University she wandered around the world trying to find her place in it. She tried various roles, in England and New Zealand, including Bar Manager, Marketing Manager, Consultant and Artist, before deciding that Writer/Mummy best summed her up. She lives in Northamptonshire with her husband, two children and labradoodle Kara and can mostly be found at http://writermummy.wordpress.com or on Twitter or Facebook.

COPYRIGHT

Published by 3AD Publishing at Smashwords

Copyright © Amanda Martin 2014

Amanda Martin asserts the moral right to be

identified as the author of this work

Also by Amanda Martin:

Dragon Wraiths

Baby Blues & Wedding Shoes

Class Act

This novel is entirely a work of fiction although based loosely on the YHA Hostels of England and Wales and locations throughout New Zealand. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and remains the copyrighted property of the author. It may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

http://www.amanda-martin.co.uk

http://writermummy.wordpress.com

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Title

Copyright

Introduction

Volume One

Volume Two

Volume Three

Volume Four

Volume Five

Volume Six

Volume Seven

Volume Eight

Volume Nine

Volume Ten

Volume Eleven

Volume Twelve

About the Author

INTRODUCTION

Two-Hundred Steps Home was written during 2013 in daily instalments on Amanda Martin’s writermummy blog. She wanted to see if it was possible to write the first draft of a novel and publish it every day, much as a Nineteenth-Century Dickens novel might have been published.

Throughout a long year, with hours of painstaking research into the hostels and tourist attractions of UK and New Zealand, and with the endless support of her family, Amanda followed Claire on a journey of discovery from her life as a Marketing Director to someone searching for meaning on the beaches of Cornwall.

Unsure in the beginning whether she would complete her challenge, Amanda continued day by day because of the faithful followers on her blog. And so, 285,000 words, 365 posts and 12 novellas later, Claire’s journey reached the end.

This volume contains all 365 instalments, unedited and exactly as they appeared on the writermummy blog.

VOLUME ONE

Claire, could you come into my office for a quick chat?

Claire looked up from the stack of artwork on her desk and resisted the urge to frown, knowing it would leave creases in her foundation.

Sure Carl, now?

Yes please, he said over his shoulder as he headed back to his own, larger, glass cube on the other side of the office.

Intrigued that he hadn't sent Julia or phoned through his summons, Claire slipped on her heels, pulled on her jacket and headed after her boss.

Come in, sit down, would you like a drink?

Carl was already seated when Claire scratched on his door and opened it.

Earl Grey please, black, no sugar, Claire said as she lowered herself onto the black leather chair, glad she was wearing tights.

Carl pressed a button on his desk. Earl Grey and an espresso please Jules.

Carl shuffled the paper on his desk and didn't look up. How's the Birds Eye piece coming together?

Claire looked at the bald patch starting to appear on Carl's crown and answered in a monotone. Fine. No dramas.

And the Vodafone ad?

Shooting next week.

Right. Carl took an audible breath.

Just spit it out, Claire thought as she watched the words fighting to be released from his mouth.

The Board would like you to hand over your existing clients to Steve.

Claire sat forward. She hadn't been expecting that. Aware of her movement she immediately sat back and looked sardonically at Carl.

Am I being fired?

No, he said quickly, of course not. You're one of our best Account Directors. No, think of it more as a change of direction. We've secured a new deal with Happy Cola.

Claire raised her eyebrows before dropping them quickly. Happy Cola? That was a big deal.

They're sponsoring the YHA.

The what?

Youth Hostel Association.

Claire looked blankly for a minute, not making the connection. Then her brain kicked in. That doesn’t seem a likely combination - isn’t youth hostelling all about being healthy and the great outdoors. Not something you associate with Happy Cola.

That’s the point. After the Olympics they want to improve their healthy image. They’ve decided a year’s sponsorship of the YHA will improve the perception of their brand in the UK.

So I’m getting that account? It doesn’t mean I have to hand over all my other deals, surely? Even someone as big as Happy Cola must understand they’re not our only client.

Of course not. Actually you won’t be managing the account, I will.

Claire felt her heartbeat begin to speed up. Something wasn’t right. Carl was looking shifty and he never looked shifty. It was as if he was bracing himself.

So, come on then, what am I going to be doing?

Um. You’re going to be staying in the hostels.

What? Claire nearly stood up but remembered at the last minute to relax back into her chair. Stay in control, Claire, don’t let him get to you.

The bigwigs want someone on the ground, living the hostelling dream. They want someone to visit all the hostels during the year of promotion, to feedback stories on Twitter and Facebook, you know how it goes.

Why can't you send one of the interns? Claire could hear her voice sounded higher than usual. She swallowed and took some deep breaths.

Polly and Molly have finals this year and Sally has a cat.

Claire looked incredulously at Carl, then over his head through the glass wall of the office.

What about Julia, she looks like she could use a holiday.

This is not a holiday and my PA is indispensable.

And I'm not?

Their eyes clashed and fought before Carl smiled and leaned forward across his desk. Come on Claire, be reasonable. Think of it as an adventure.

You want me to go and sleep in bug-infested bunk-beds in the same room as a bunch of smelly, over-sexed, students for a whole year? You must be mad. She looked around the office as if seeking something to help her escape. The office was bare except for some piece of modern art and a photograph of Carl’s inexplicably beautiful wife.

No Claire, Carl said in a quiet voice. Claire turned to face him, her pulse beating loudly in her ears. Like any predator, Carl was at his most dangerous when he was silent. Forcing herself to meet his eyes she saw the glint in them and swallowed. Carl didn't frighten her; she'd been around too long and knew she was good at her job. Even so she felt her palms getting clammy as Carl stared at her, one eyebrow slightly raised.

Who did I offend? Claire could hear the resignation in her voice. Resignation, was that her only option?

No one my dear. Think of it more as an initiation challenge.

It was Claire's turn to raise an eyebrow. This was unexpected.

The Board feel you have potential but they're not convinced of your loyalty, to them or to our clients. Think of this as a sabbatical to consider your next career move.

Up or out? Claire suggested, her lips twisting sarcastically.

Well I wouldn't put it quite so crudely but yes, as usual, you have encapsulated the essence in a pithy one-liner. That's why you're such a valuable member of the team.

Right, thought Claire as she stalked back to her office. What a load of crap.

***

Back at her desk, Claire resisted the urge to put her head in her hands. Living in a glass office surrounded by advertising people had taught her self-control in a way her parents’ strictures on The Correct Way to Behave in Public never had. She had risen through the ranks quickly since arriving at AJC and that generally made people want to find out a person’s weaknesses.

Claire looked out through her glass wall at the Account Managers and Execs working hard at their desks. She could see Julia in close conversation with one of the other PAs. The sight made Claire’s stomach twist and she looked away. There was no doubt Julia had a fair idea what had been said in Carl’s office. PAs knew everything.

Besides, I saw the surreptitious look of glee she threw my way when she brought in the drinks. No doubt it's all round the Company that I'm being demoted or forced out.

It was that, and only that, preventing Claire from typing her resignation letter and storming back over to Carl's office. I could get another position by 5pm, she thought as she stared impassively at her computer screen, tapping in random letters while her mind churned at eighty-words-per-minute. But what reputation would follow me? I’d forever be the person who quit on the Happy Cola account. What would the gossips say? That I couldn't hack a bit of dirt and hard work?

Advertising and Marketing was a closed group. Every day Claire ran into someone from a previous life - a boss, an underling-come-good, a client or supplier. She’d seen former lowly execs become Account Directors or move client-side and become Marketing Directors. You couldn’t be rude to anyone, no matter how much you ached to.

Claire gazed out the window at the city view, or what she could see of it. Manchester in February was a miserable place. It rained. When it stopped raining all you could see were more rainclouds building up on the Pennines. Not that she spent much time outside. The rain was a great excuse to drive the five minutes to work or to the shops from her city-centre apartment. When she wasn’t at the office or with clients she was tucked up warm in the latest wine bar or boutique.

No, the rain wasn’t a problem. Her thoughts dragged her unwillingly back over the last few months, filling her mind with unwelcome images. Pictures of Christmas and New Year flashed through her head like a TV review programme. Forced to give them attention for the first time, Claire realised they didn’t make happy viewing. She pushed the images away and looked back out at the rain.

Maybe it would be good to get out of Manchester for a while.

***

Claire’s heart thumped beneath her gold heart pendant as she saw the email in her inbox. Carl had been quiet about her new assignment for a day or two and things had gone on as normal. Well, as normal as it got in AJC. Steve had filled her diary with meetings to discuss the accounts he was due to take over but, as he was away on a three-day conference, the meetings weren’t until the following week. Hoping the conversation in Carl’s office would go away like an unwelcome case of acne, Claire had continued with preparation for the Vodafone shoot and the Birds Eye’s Press Ads.

Claire looked at the email subject line and felt her hand quiver as it hovered over the track-pad on her laptop. Just click Open and find out the worst. Her hand shook for a moment more before she dragged the cursor over the email link and clicked.

The email was terse, as Carl’s often were.

Details of your assignment. Julia will sort the details. You start 1st March.

Good luck.

Carl.

She could imagine Carl sitting laughing at his desk as he wrote the words. Good Luck indeed. Bastard. She opened the attachment and was surprised to see it was only a single page with Happy Cola and YHA logos at the top. Scanning through the words quickly she saw that the brief had been prepared by Carl’s boss, the top man himself.

So Carl wasn’t talking complete crap when he said this came from the Board. Great.

It didn’t make Claire feel any better to know that her sudden move had been decreed by the powers-that-be. In some ways if it had been Carl’s vindictive move she could have handled that better, found some way to get her own back or turn it to her advantage. Knowing that she had come to the attention of the Board made her skin prickle.

Unable to avoid it any longer, Claire turned her attention to the actual brief.

Assignment: To travel to each of the Youth Hostelling Association’s 200 hostels, located throughout England and Wales.

Your assignment includes maintaining a blog to discuss reviews of the hostels, utilising social media platforms such as Facebook and Twitter to inform Fans of amusing stories and anecdotes, and generally promoting the brands of Happy Cola and YHA.

You will relinquish your company car and be given one more suited to your assignment. We will arrange for your apartment to be let and cover reasonable expenses, although you will be expected to stick within a backpacker’s budget (c. £20-£30 a day). You will continue to receive your normal salary and holiday entitlement.

Your accommodation for your first two nights’ stay has been booked in the Northernmost Hostel at Berwick-Upon-Tweed for 1st and 2nd March. From that point on you will be expected to plan your own route and manage your own bookings.

Your secondment is for one year, including your allotted holiday allowance. This means you will need to manage the length of your stay at each hostel, and your driving route from hostel to hostel, to ensure that you have visited each of the 200 hostels in that time.

Claire’s mind reeled as she read and re-read the brief. A car more suited to my assignment? She thought lovingly of the charcoal grey Audi parked in the street below. Take my Audi away? And her apartment. Okay, it wasn’t really hers. Mortgages were for people with kids and dogs. Hers was rented, furnished and serviced. Her sleek steel kitchen was kept clean by a firm who came once a week. Still, it was uncomfortable to think of someone else living there.

There was a hard knot in the centre of Claire’s brain and she knew the worries about her car and flat were skirting around the real issue. £20-£30 a day? That wasn’t going to buy more than an M&S sandwich, a couple of Starbucks and takeaway noodles for dinner. Was she meant to pay for her hostel room and petrol out of that too? I’m not paying for it out of my salary, that’s for sure. If they’re going to make me do this I at least want to come out of it with something.

Claire’s mind drifted to pictures of a fortnight’s holiday in the Maldives when the ordeal was over. She’d never had enough money left before, after maintaining her shoe-and-handbag habit, but a year living on expenses would leave her nicely in the black. Claire sat back in her chair and smiled suddenly. The brief didn’t say when she could take her holiday. There was nothing stopping her dossing around the country for a few weeks and then jetting off for white sandy beaches and bath-water-warm seas.

Maybe things were looking up after all.

***

Claire, it’s Ruth. Claire held back a sigh and walked into the kitchen to put the coffee machine on. A phone call from her sister was never over quickly.

Ruth, darling. How are you? As she waited for her sister to start spilling forth her latest disaster, Claire mulled over how much to reveal about her new assignment. Her family would have to be told something, of course. Not that they ever came to visit, or called her home phone, or sent her letters. Still, it seemed only right to tell them she was moving out for twelve months. Tuning back in to the phone call, Claire realised she had missed some key information and tried to catch up with what her sister was talking about.

So the doctor said it was probably lack of sleep. You know Sky is a bad sleeper and her nightmares have been worse since she started Year Two.

Claire worked out that someone was poorly, but was unsure whether it was her sister or her niece. Probably Sky. Silly, spoiled, overly-dramatic child. As if having her father run off with her ballet teacher gives her an open-ended excuse to be a brat forever. Surely they outgrow that nonsense once they start school?

Claire thought about her own schooling. Her parents had paid for the best, obviously, although Claire often wondered whether that was to ensure their three children didn’t hamper their lifestyle, rather than to give their off-spring a good start in life. The school had encouraged independence and character but had no time for tears and tantrums. Claire had learned quickly to work hard and stay out of trouble. More than could be said for Ruth. It had been a constant mortification to her parents that, while their first and third children both achieved academic success, Ruth only acquired notoriety.

Ruth’s next sentence cut through Claire’s reminiscing like a knife through brie.

The tests are week after next. That’s why I’m calling. Is there any chance you could come and look after Sky? It’s half-term and most of her friends are going skiing. Of course we can’t afford that…

Claire inhaled deeply and forced herself not to rise to the bait. Ruth was always poor and begrudged Claire her success. Claire accepted that looking after a child on your own probably hampered your career options, but look at J.K. Rowling, it hadn’t held her back. She was convinced Ruth could help herself if only she’d try harder. Claire's irritation at the badly-veiled hint nearly overshadowed the first part of the sentence, but not quite.

Have Sky? How long for? When? Claire could hear panic in her voice and forced herself to breathe in through her nose. Once she was sure she was back in control of her emotions she said in a slow voice, I start a new work assignment on 1st March, and I’ll … be on the road a lot. You know. Meeting clients.

Wining and dining on someone else’s credit card. Ruth’s voice cut in.

There’s more to it than that, Claire responded quickly. Then, before Ruth could start the age-old argument, Claire inhaled through her nose again and consciously lowered her voice. Tell me the day you need me to have Sky, I’ll check my diary.

Well, it’s two days, actually. Ruth sounded embarrassed.

As well she might. I don’t want to look after her brat for two hours, never mind two days.

Claire had, thus far, avoided spending too much time with her niece, or with her two nephews Jack and Alex. Her brother and his wife lived in Geneva, so that was understandable. Ruth lived near their mother in Cambridgeshire, so her lack of involvement caused considerable friction. Kids just aren’t my thing.

Thinking about minding a six-year-old for two days made bile rise in Claire’s throat. She gulped down her coffee and wondered if she could use the new assignment as an excuse. There was something in Ruth’s voice, though, that made her pause.

Can’t Mum take her? I thought Mum and Dad were the perfect grandparents? It seemed odd to Claire that two people who had no time for their own children could go dotty over someone else’s, even if they were their grandkids. Maybe they were going soft in their old age.

Er, Mum’s coming with me, to the hospital.

Ruth’s words slithered into Claire’s brain, freezing where they made contact. Just what tests are you having exactly?

Weren’t you listening? I said you never listen to me, you and Robert, you’re both the same.

Claire almost smiled at the petulant tone in Ruth’s voice. For a moment they were twelve and fourteen again.

Sorry, she admitted, saying nothing more.

The headaches, the ones causing spots in my vision. The doctor thinks it’s tiredness but they want to be sure. I’m having a CAT scan or an MRI or something, I don’t remember the details. I’m not clever like you. That’s why Mum’s coming.

Claire took the two steps from her kitchen to her lounge and sank into the white leather sofa. CAT scan? Ruth, are you serious?

Of course I am. I wouldn’t joke about something like that. So, will you take Sky? I don’t think Dad could cope with her for two days on his own. You can stay at my place or at Home, whichever is easier.

Claire rubbed a hand across her forehead, as if scrubbing away unwanted thoughts. Of course I’ll come. Text me the dates. I should probably come home before I start my new assignment anyway, store some things in the attic...

She thought Ruth might ask her about the assignment, but she didn’t. After another ten minutes elaborating on her headaches and trips to the doctors she said that Sky was calling for her and hung up the phone.

Claire slumped back into the sofa, cradling her iPhone in her lap. Darkness seemed to engulf the room. A gloom that had nothing to do with the rain hammering against the window pane.

***

So, you’re being pushed out then? I wouldn’t stand for that if I was you. Steve grinned at Claire as the two of them sat in Starbucks with a stack of paperwork on the table in front of them.

I am not being pushed out, thank you very much. The Board want me to prove my loyalty, that’s all. I’m on the up.

Bollocks. Whoever heard of a Company sending its top Account Director out of the office for a full year? You’ve got windmills in your head if you believe that rubbish. They’re hoping you’ll get sick of it and quit so they don’t have to pay you severance pay, you mark my words.

Claire glared at Steve as he voiced the concern that had been buzzing round her mind for a week. Once she had had time to think it through it seemed ludicrous that a company would continue to pay her a generous salary while she dossed around the country writing a few Tweets and posting some snaps on Facebook. It was clear that Steve was right. She had been at AJC for three years and her severance pay would be at least a year’s salary. Much better to have her sweat it out in grubby hostels for a few weeks so that she would be grateful to hand in her notice.

There’s no alternative, I will just have to stick it out. If I resign now, not only will I have to work my three months’ notice, I’ll have to put up with the likes of Carl and Steve smirking at me every single day knowing I couldn’t hack it.

Happy to have made his point regarding her secondment, Steve moved onto a fresh topic of torment. "So come on spill the beans, what happened to Lover Boy? One minute you're practically renting a lunch time slot at Yo! Sushi together, next thing you're back to chomping an M&S salad in your office. Dumped you, did he?"

It’s none of your business Steve. Claire looked up from her laptop and stared into Steve’s muddy brown eyes, holding his gaze until he looked away. Perhaps we could concentrate on the accounts? You know, work? The Vodafone ad is being filmed tomorrow and we're still trying to pin them down to tell us what airtime their Board is going to let them have. She took a sip of her latte before replacing the cup on the table. Apparently the new cheese is all about SEO and viral media rather than more traditional channels.

Steve sat back, his face more serious although his eyes still danced with mischief. Get Jimmy on to it, he'll create something for them. Like that great Fiat Motherhood video. The missus was in hysterics, sent it to all her friends.

Claire had seen the video but failed to see the humour. Three months in Pyjamas and comparing episiotomy scars? What was funny about that? It just confirmed her view that having kids was a foolish idea. Whatever Michael had thought about the subject.

***

Auntie Claire! Mummy said you were coming to stay but I didn’t believe it. A whirl of blonde hair and beads threw itself at Claire’s legs and hugged tight, almost tilting her to the ground. Claire resisted the urge to shake her off like an unwanted dog and waited for the shrieking to stop.

Hello Claire, Ruth greeted her sister as she came to the door. The two women air-kissed, leaning over the child still wrapped around Claire’s legs. Is that a new perfume, it’s very exotic. Ruth sniffed the air and Claire could tell she really wanted to say it was awful, but as Claire was there to do a huge favour she had no choice but to be nice.

Yes, Michael bought it for me, Claire said tightly, before gently removing Sky from her legs so she could walk down the corridor to the kitchen-diner.

How is Michael? Ruth asked over her shoulder. Claire wondered if her sister had been so caught up in her own misery she had missed the status updates on Facebook. Or is it that she just can’t keep the maliciousness at bay for five minutes?

We broke up.

Oh, did you? I’m sorry to hear that. He was very charming. Not that we saw much of him.

Oh, here we go.

As if sensing her sister’s reaction, Ruth didn’t continue. Instead she pulled Sky away from where she hung off Claire’s arm and smiled brightly at her sister. Tea?

Earl Grey please, if you have it?

No, only Tetley I’m afraid. Or I have Nescafe?

Claire shuddered then shook her head. A glass of water would be lovely, thank you.

Ruth ran water from the kitchen tap into a plastic Disney Princesses beaker and handed it to Claire, who had sat down at the table. Ruth then poured herself more treacle-coloured tea from a spotty-red teapot and sat opposite her.

Mum will be here shortly. I’m not supposed to drive, so Mum’s taking me. They’ll do the tests, keep me in overnight for observations, then Mum will come and get me in the morning. I’ll be back by lunchtime tomorrow.

Where are you going exactly? Peterborough General?

No, I’m still covered by Mum and Dad’s health insurance so I’m going private. It was going to be weeks before they could get me an appointment with the NHS.

Silence filled the kitchen, broken only by the sound of Sky munching grapes. Claire cupped her hands around the bright pink cup and stared at the reflections in her untouched water. It was always like this with Ruth. Unless she was ranting about the latest injustice or gushing over some bloke she’d snogged they didn’t have much to say to each other.

How’s work?

Claire looked up, surprised at the question. Fine. I have a new assignment.

Oh, something interesting?

Yes, it could be. I guess. It’s for Happy Cola.

The spark of interest in Ruth’s eyes died. Disgusting teeth-rotting stuff. I can’t believe you endorse evil brands like that.

There didn’t seem any way to respond to the comment without starting a row. Sky was now slurping milk through a straw but she looked up and surveyed the two sisters. Catching her gaze, Claire was surprised at how much comprehension there was in her niece’s eyes. She realised she hadn’t seen her niece in over a year. Claire hadn’t joined her family for Christmas, which meant it was the Christmas before that she last saw Sky.

Miss Hawkins says Happy Cola was invented by a chemist.

Claire didn’t know what to say to the non sequitur. It no longer seemed possible to brush the girl off with That’s nice and a smile.

What else have you learned at school? She said instead.

If two pieces of metal touch each other in space they get stuck together.

Claire stared at Sky, bereft of words. Where did that come from? I remember learning completely useless facts in school, but that seems a bit technical for a six-year-old. She was still scrabbling for a response when the front door opened and she heard the familiar swish of her mother’s floor-length wool coat sweep the laminate flooring.

You’re here then, her mother said as she came into the kitchen. Claire turned to look at her, trying to read behind the words.

Yes, the traffic was surprisingly light, I made good time.

Right. Well, we’d best be off Ruth. Have you told Claire where everything is, when Sky has her tea and when to put her to bed?

Won’t you stop for a cup of tea? Ruth looked up at her mother, who was still wearing her winter coat. We’re not due at the hospital for over an hour. Claire’s only just arrived.

We don’t want to be late.

Ruth looked apologetically at her sister, as if their mother’s rudeness was somehow her fault. She handed her sister a handwritten sheet of paper. I’ve written it all down, but if you have any problems you can ring Dad.

Much good that will do you. Your Father’s working this week, otherwise he would have taken Sky.

I thought Dad retired. Claire smiled at her mother, to show that she was making a light-hearted comment. Her Dad had retired the year before, but he was finding it hard to let go. He had taken on various non-exec roles that seemed to take up more of his time than his full-time job as Chief Financial Officer.

Your father works harder than all of you, was all her mum said, before turning to face the corridor. Come on Ruth.

Sky got down from the table and ran to give her grandmother a cuddle. Bye bye, Nana, see you tomorrow. Auntie Claire and I are going to have so much fun.

Bye bye, poppet. You be good for your Auntie Claire.

Claire remained seated at the table as her sister bent to kiss her cheek, gave her daughter a huge hug, and scurried off down the corridor after their mother. Sky came over and leant against Claire, putting her arms around her neck. As the front door clicked shut Sky’s face widened into a broad grin.

I’m so glad you’re here Auntie. I want you to show me how to paint my nails and my lips and all the things Mummy doesn’t let me do. Her clear blue eyes sparkled in a way that promised trouble.

Claire was conscious of a strong desire to run down the corridor after her mother and sister, to tell them she would drive Ruth to the hospital. Instead she looked down into the face gazing mischievously up at her and forced out a smile.

Okay, Sky. Let’s have some fun.

***

Claire woke suddenly, her heart racing and her ears ringing with the echo of a scream. The bed felt unfamiliar and for a moment she thought she must be at Michael’s house. So who is screaming? Her eyes sought the familiar green numerals of his bedside clock but they weren’t there. Neither was there the orange glow of a street-light flooding through the window to tell her she was in her own apartment.

Where the hell am I?

As her heart thudded loudly in the now-silent room she wondered if she was still in the depths of a bad dream. Then the scream came again, turning her body to ice. Claire sat upright and threw herself out of bed. That was Sky. She began hurrying from the room before she remembered that the door in Ruth’s bedroom was in a different place. Claire yelped as she crashed into the chest of drawers, then winced as something sticky and heavy fell off and landed on her foot. Her swearing echoed loudly in the dark. Taking a breath to calm herself Claire walked forward with her arms stretched out in front of her like a ghost and tried to locate the light switch.

By the time Claire reached Sky’s room the girl had fallen back asleep. If she was even awake in the first place. In the back of her mind Claire seemed to remember Ruth talking about something called Night Terrors and how children could get hysterical without even waking up. Or was that just when they were babies? Claire wished she had paid more attention to her sister’s ramblings.

She sat on the edge of Sky’s bed and smoothed the damp hair off her niece’s brow. The girl looked younger asleep, even with the remnants of lipstick that still stained her tiny mouth. I hope that comes off before Ruth gets back tomorrow.

The afternoon with Sky had been surprisingly enjoyable. Now that Sky was able to hold an almost-sensible conversation it wasn’t so terrifying to spend time with her. Exhausting, though. Do children ever draw breath? It seemed that Sky could talk non-stop for several hours without tiring. Her chatter had been entertaining but Claire’s head still reverberated with the relentless high-pitched babble.

Claire braced herself against the bed, ready to get up and leave the room. Sensing the movement, Sky turned and curled herself around Claire’s back, snuggling against her and giving a contented sigh. Claire was aware of an unusual feeling of contentment. Odd. She sat within the embrace for ten or fifteen minutes, until she was sure Sky was fully asleep. Then she gently removed her niece’s arms and rolled her away, covering her with the duvet so she wouldn’t get cold. She leant over the bed and kissed Sky on the forehead.

Sleep well, poppet. Sweet dreams.

Back in Ruth’s room, Claire’s heart sank when she saw the time. 2a.m.? She felt wide awake, even though she had only slept for a few hours. I guess I may as well do something useful. Pulling out her laptop, Claire started making notes on her assignment. Best take it seriously. I can’t give them any excuse to fire me for incompetence, not if they’re already trying to get me to quit.

She wrote a list of things that needed doing:

1. Choose Blog Name

2. Start Facebook Fan Page

3. Choose Twitter name

4. Buy road map and plot hostels on it

Thinking about it, I don’t even know where Berwick-Upon-Tweed is. She opened the internet and spent twenty minutes wandering around the YHA website, mentally noting twenty ways they could improve their customer journey.

She added Join the YHA to her to-do list before clicking on the hostel that would see the start of her journey. It seemed that Berwick was in Northumberland. Not a part of the country Claire had been to before. Her heart sank. Something about the name Northumberland made her feel cold and grey. Reading on, she found out the Berwick YHA was in an eighteenth-century Granary and included its own art gallery.

Thirteen rooms, all en-suite? That didn’t sound like the hostelling experience she’d imagined, with rows and rows of grimy rooms and one bathroom between twenty. Even if I have to share with three or four other people, Claire thought, supressing a shudder, at least I don’t have to leave the room to pee.

***

Claire peered through the gloom, trying to distinguish bodies from furniture. They were in the Kaz Bar in Tiger Tiger for her leaving drinks. Molly, Polly and Sally were huddled together in a booth, giggling. One or other of them occasionally glanced in Claire’s direction and giggled louder.

I bet they’re laughing about the stupid gift Julia bought with my farewell collection. A 75-litre rucksack and a Maglite torch. Honestly, it’s not like I’m going hiking in the Andes. Actually it’s not like I’m really leaving at all.

Claire thought back to her farewell presentation that afternoon. She had been quite shocked to look up from her desk to see the entire office gathered outside her glass door. Carl had pushed through the crowd and beckoned her out into the centre, like the sacrifice in some ancient ritual. He’d signalled for quiet before launching into a speech about how Claire would be missed, how they wished her well and looked forward to her blog posts and Facebook status updates. When Julia had dragged out the gift and dumped it at Claire’s feet Carl’s grin couldn’t have been wider if he’d been a hyena.

"It won’t be wise to turn up in a hostel with Louis Vuitton luggage my dear. They’ll have you down as a snob before you can ask the way to the bidet. That’s if they don’t just steal it and sell it on eBay. The whole point is to blend." And he’d grinned again, like it was all a big joke.

Well it isn’t a joke. Claire looked around the bar at all the people who had come to say goodbye. They will miss me, even if they don’t know it yet. And I will have the last laugh when I’m sitting on a beach in the Maldives while they’re doing Year End and worrying about the next mobile phone ad campaign.

Get you a drink Claire?

Claire looked up to see Steve lounging against a pillar near to where she was standing. She realised her hands were empty and was mortified to be caught standing alone and without a drink at her own leaving do.

That’s fine Steve, someone’s getting me one. I’m just heading to the ladies. She shone him her widest grin and tried not to run, which wasn’t advisable anyway in her towering heels. I guess I should be glad they didn’t buy me hiking boots or something similarly awful, Claire thought as she tip-tapped to the toilets and shuffled into a cubicle. There was a conversation going on in the next stall and Claire couldn’t help but listen to the slurred words.

"I give her two weeks. She has no idea what they’ve set her up to. I went travelling in Australia and alright the hostels here are probably cleaner and less crowded - I mean, who wants to travel around England for Pete’s sake - but it’s still going to be messy, noisy and Common. Miss La-di-dah will last a day before she’s booking a private room and I know the budget they’ve given her. Private rooms aren’t an option. Couldn’t happen to a nicer person in my view."

Claire felt her face grow hot. It wasn’t hard to distinguish Julia’s drunken voice booming through the wall. Well, that’s just Julia, I know she hates me. When the next voice spoke Claire felt herself go completely still.

You’re so right, Jules. Silly cow. Thinks she’s better than all of us because she went to some posh school and her family are loaded. Her sister can’t keep a fella and her brother’s a stuck up dick. No wonder she has nothing to do with them. Good riddance I say, I hope she doesn’t come back.

Claire recognised the voice. It was Susannah, her best friend from Repro. Claire felt tears itch at the corners of her eyes, causing eye-liner to leak in and make them sting. She sat motionless while she heard the toilet flush. The two girls staggered out of the cubicle, laughing and shushing each other. As the room fell silent, apart from the throbbing bass of music coming through the wall, Claire leant her head against the partition and fought the tears. It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to floated into her head, causing a wry smile to twist her lips.

At least I know what they really think, silly bitches.

She pulled herself to her feet, pushed her shoulders back, and strode from the room. Out of the corner of her eye she was aware of Julia and Susannah watching her leave the ladies shortly after them. She sensed rather than saw the consternation on their faces and gained some pleasure from it. Once she had reached the bar Claire ordered a triple gin and diet tonic and turned to face the room. She spotted Mike from Accounts sitting on a Moroccan pouf by himself in the corner and headed over to take a seat next to him. He looked up as she approached and a mixture of confusion and delight crossed his face.

So, Mike, how are things in Accounts? Claire settled in and turned on her best charm offensive, determined to enjoy her party if it cost her everything she had.

***

Claire drew a flat-pack box from the pile and pushed it into shape, splaying her fingers so the corrugated cardboard wouldn’t scratch her nail varnish. The storage people were due in the morning and so far she’d only just made a start packing up the lounge. Looking around Claire realised it wasn’t going to take long. She rarely spent time by herself and therefore had no need for DVDs or novels. The few books she owned were mostly business ones given to her by Carl. Who Moved My Cheese sat alongside The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People. She had often wondered what Carl’s motivation was in leaving the books on her desk.

Was he being a good boss helping me climb the ladder to the Board, or hoping I would take the hint that I’m not Director material?

Two weeks ago she would have asserted it was the former; now she wasn’t so sure. The look of glee on Carl’s face when Mike from Accounts had lunged in for a snog was etched deep in Claire’s memory. It had been like watching a pet cat morph into a tiger.

Claire filled the box with unread books and unopened CDs - Christmas gifts from her siblings - and closed the lid. She wrote Charity Shop on the side in marker pen, then straightened up and went to get a glass of wine from the fridge.

The kitchen isn’t going to take long to pack up either, I barely come in here. The fridge contained a tub of humus, some wilted celery, and a bottle of champagne that Michael had left behind. Claire knew without looking that there wasn’t much else in the cupboards. She generally ate at the office or picked up takeaway noodles on the way home. Cooking for one wasn’t worth the washing up.

The champagne cork popped loudly in the empty apartment and Claire angled the frothing liquid towards a waiting flute. She felt something ping inside her chest as she opened the Veuve Clicquot: the emotional equivalent of her bra-strap snapping, freeing a tension she hadn’t noticed was there.

Damn you Michael, she thought as the cool fizzy liquid trickled down her throat. If nothing else, you had great taste in Champagne.

Claire carried her glass through to the bedroom and slid open the mirrored door of the built-in wardrobe. A complex pattern of hangers, drawers and shelves confronted her. Three perfect rows of stiletto heels took pride of place in the centre, surrounded by neatly folded cashmere sweaters and impeccably pressed shirts and skirts. Claire knew every item intimately, as if surveying a room of close friends.

She ran through the contents of the closet in her mind, trying to imagine which items might suit slumming-it in hostels. Steve had joked that she’d be better off binning the lot and buying some jeans and tops from Tesco. Claire thought she’d rather skin herself alive.

Selecting her cheapest things - her black GAP jeans, a few M&S jumpers and a pile of pressed Ralph Lauren tops and shirts - Claire began folding the remaining items before packing them into her Louis Vuitton luggage. When the wardrobe was empty Claire carefully placed the bags into boxes and labelled them Storage.

By the time the champagne bottle was empty, Claire’s life had been piled into half a dozen brown boxes. Her new rucksack was loaded with all the things she deemed necessary for a year on the road. She frowned at the red and grey bag as it lolled by the front door next to her one pair of flat shoes.

Don’t get comfortable. You and I are not friends. In a month my LV bags and I will be on a plane to the Maldives and you will be in a wheelie bin.

Then she collapsed onto the bed without undressing and closed her eyes.

***

The buzzer echoed through the apartment, dragging Claire from a horrible dream. She had been standing alone in a room of twenty beds, her hair lank and unwashed, her clothes creased and dirty. Shaking away the awful image, Claire looked at the clock and swore.

9.30am? What the...?

Claire carefully sat upright, fighting against the spinning room, and realised she was already dressed. A thumping in her head reminded her of the empty champagne bottle sitting alone on the kitchen counter. The buzzer rang again, more urgently. Damn it, the removals guys aren't meant to get here until 10am. She walked to the door without fully opening her eyes, then pushed her mane of chestnut hair away from her face so she could locate the intercom button.

Yes?

Here to swap the car love, haven't got all day, I'm parked on a yellow.

Claire had forgotten Carl’s comment about her being provided with a more appropriate car. Oh well, best go and get it over with, see what they’ve decided is fitting. She grabbed her keys and let herself out of the apartment, determined not to be upset by this latest ploy of Carl’s to make her quit.

She shouldered open the heavy front door and was immediately faced with a man in blue overalls leaning against the lamppost outside her apartment.

Miss Carleton?

That’s me.

Here to collect your company car and drop you a replacement. The man looked around, trying to work out which car was hers.

Reluctantly Claire gestured at her charcoal-grey Audi, parked several cars down from her front door. The man whistled when he saw it and pushed himself away from the lamppost, revealing a tatty old car behind him.

Blimey love whose front porch did you piss on? That's a spanking motor to be swapping for this heap of crap. Think you'll find this baby handles a bit differently. It's got gears for a start, and a manual choke.

Claire looked at the rusty box on the road in front of her and wondered what she had done to make Carl hate her so much. The courier's words washed over her as phrases like brake horse power and pisses out oil made no sense and were therefore dismissed. The phrase alloy wheels permeated the fog of her hangover and she turned to face the man, a spark of interest in her eyes.

Alloy wheels? That’s good right? My Audi has alloy wheels. She looked again at the car parked outside her flat, as if hoping to discover it had transformed into something she might be seen dead in.

The man gave her the kind of smile he’d give an eager toddler. Yes, love, generally alloys are nice to have. Not great on a Skoda though, especially one this old. Just makes the tyres leak. You’ll spend a chunk of time and cash getting them resealed and refilled every time you get a flat.

Hope died in Claire’s heart. She wouldn’t even know where to take a car to have the tyres sealed and filled, whatever that meant. If something went wrong with the company car she told Julia and a man collected it, leaving her an equivalent courtesy car.

Claire watched mutely as the man walked to the rear of the car and gestured that he wanted to show her something in the boot. Puzzled, Claire went to stand by him and saw what she guessed was the engine. Thank god he showed me that, I’d have looked like an idiot trying to put my bag in there. She tried to follow the rest of what the man was saying as it seemed important but, as she'd always had her cars serviced, Claire had no idea why she would need to know where the oil and water went or what a dipstick was. It sounded rude in any case.

At last the man was gone, driving away in her beloved Audi and leaving her with - Claire consulted the piece of paper hanging from her nerveless hand - a Dove Grey Manual 5-gear Skoda Estelle. Looks like a poo-coloured box on wheels to me. Claire fought the urge to sob as she crumpled the piece of paper and stalked back into her flat. With any luck someone would notice it was parked on a yellow and tow it away.

A sudden desire to open her laptop and search for flights to the Maldives was interrupted by the shrill call of the buzzer. Damn thing's rung more this morning than it has since New Year Claire thought as she pressed the intercom.

Did you make a mistake, are you taking that pile of shit away? Claire’s voice rang like struck steel.

Well Miss, if that's how you see your possessions it's not for us to comment. Removals, Miss, come to collect your boxes.

Claire leant her head against the cool of the front door and prayed for the day to be over.

***

Claire looked round the empty apartment and fought a wave of self-pity. The YHA / Happy Cola assignment had been hard enough to swallow when she thought it was intended to help her get on the Board of AJC. Now she knew, or at least suspected, that it was a ploy to get her to resign the whole thing made her miserable.

I’m good at my job. I landed that Vodafone account, and the Birds Eye one. Not to mention the twenty other clients I’ve acquired since the beginning of last year. How dare Carl do this to me?

Feeling the fire of anger burn away the pity, Claire got up from where she had been curled into the leather sofa and went to the kitchen to make an espresso.

Drat, of course, the espresso machine was mine. I’ve boxed the darn thing up.

The removals men had been put-out to discover Claire didn’t have Tetley tea or milk or anything useful to make them a ‘brew’. They’d hauled her boxes down the flights of stairs to the street, paying no attention to Claire’s yelps of concern as they man-handled her shoe collection and the box containing her precious espresso machine.

Claire looked at her watch. 11.30am on a Monday morning. I should be at work. This is just wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Carl had told her to take the week off before starting her assignment, to give her a chance to sort out her affairs, empty the flat, give back the company car. It felt like she’d been put on Gardening Leave.

Or maybe it takes most people more than a drunken Sunday evening to box up their whole life? Perhaps with hindsight it was stupid to agree to the removals men coming on Monday. What am I going to do in an empty apartment with no espresso machine for a whole week? There’s only so much Earl Grey a girl can drink.

Claire grabbed her bag and headed for the door. I need coffee. She walked the five minutes to her nearest Starbucks and gratefully ordered a skinny latte, realising she’d missed breakfast. Before long she was encased in her favourite chair, looking out the window at the people rushing by. Claire sipped her coffee and tried to formulate a plan to survive until Friday, when she would be checking into the Berwick YHA. Thinking beyond that point gave her a headache.

God forbid but I might just have to go see my parents.

The coffee cup was empty too soon and Claire looked around for something to fill another hour. Failing to find anything she decided to head to Deansgate for some retail therapy.

Claire wandered aimlessly along the street for an hour before she realised there was no fun shopping when you knew you weren’t going to be able to wear or carry your purchases for weeks. What was the point in giving in to the allure of the strappy heels that had called from one shop, or the beautiful dress that had yelled from another, when her trip to the Maldives was so far away? Still, a need to spend burned deep in Claire’s throat and she walked back and forth trying to find somewhere to wield her plastic.

She stopped outside a shop that had never registered on her radar before, due largely to the window display of hiking boots, camping gear and anoraks. The mere sight of all that healthy outdoor stuff made her want to head for the nearest Spa. Even the name, Blacks, seemed dark and forbidding. Now, though, it seemed the only place where she could shop with a clear conscience. Shrugging her shoulders Claire thought what the hell and pushed open the door.

The interior was more crowded than Canal Street on a Saturday night. Racks of blue and grey clothing crowded round her while rucksacks that could eat hers for breakfast climbed the walls and loomed ominously. Along the back, row upon row of aggressive boots marched up in formation. Claire was about to back out when a young voice hailed her from the depths of the store.

It wasn’t immediately clear where the voice had come from until a man emerged from between the rows of clothes. Claire looked up into a tanned and handsome face. Gleaming white teeth shone from smooth, snoggable lips. Wavy blonde hair bounced above an attractive face while sea-blue eyes twinkled at her in welcome.

You alright there?

His voice did disturbing things to Claire’s tummy.

Er, Um. Claire looked at him helplessly, fighting the urges his proximity was raising in her midriff. He grinned, whether at her discomfort or out of friendliness Claire couldn’t tell. She looked around vaguely, trying to find a purpose for being there.

Er, I’m er, going hostelling.

The man gave her a glance that suggested he’d heard more believable urban myths but his smile didn’t falter. That’s awesome. Where are you off to? Going Walkabout? To The East? Over the Pond?

Claire looked confused. As far as she knew The Walkabout was a bar on Quay Street, The East a Chinese Takeaway over on Faulkner Street and she didn’t think she knew any ponds, although wasn’t there another Takeaway over in Salford called Pond something?

No, not eating out. Hostelling. Claire wondered if maybe hostelling was actually some kind of student slang for getting pissed and eating take-out. You know, travelling?

They stared at each other in mutual confusion before the shop assistant gave in first. What country will you be traveling in?

The UK. I have to visit every YHA in England and Wales as part of my job.

Ah, you won’t want much camping kit then. Pretty tame country and the hostels are all mod-con, not much need for a Billy or an Esky.

Again Claire looked at the man as if he were speaking a different language. She guessed from his accent that he was from Australia or New Zealand and wondered if he was talking Maori or Aborigine. She nodded, hoping that was the right response, and gave him a smile. Feeling something more was required she added, I have a rucksack and a Maglite.

Well that’s a good start. What about a soft-fibre towel, washing line, travel wash bag, ear plugs, sleep mask, sleeping bag, waterproof coat, hiking shoes or winter boots? As he said the last items he glanced down at what she had thought of as her sensible shoes - her black leather Gucci pumps with the 1 inch heel - with a slight raise of an eyebrow.

Half an hour later Claire left the shop with a smile as large as the shopping bag bashing her hip. On her feet were her favourite purchase, although the man had said they weren’t really necessary in England. Still, the Helly Hansen Eir Boots had been a bargain at £130 and they really were very comfortable.

***

Hi Mum, it’s Claire.

Your sister’s results aren’t back yet.

Claire realised guiltily that she hadn’t given a thought to Ruth’s tests beyond being glad to hand back parental responsibility as soon as her sister got back from the hospital. Claire had enjoyed her two days with Sky more than she had expected to, but it had been exhausting on a level previously unknown.

Ah okay, will you let me know when the results are back?

If you want, although it wouldn’t hurt you to ring Ruth once in a while.

Claire inhaled through her nose. The phone works both ways. Yes Mum, she said then hesitated, choosing her next words cautiously. I was calling to ask if I might come home for a few days, see you and Dad?

There was a pause and Claire held her breath.

Of course. You are always welcome...

Claire tried not to snigger and then not to curse as her mother continued.

…Not this weekend though, your father is playing golf and I’m on shift at the shop.

Well by the weekend I’ll be in some Northern Province so that’s not a problem. I was actually thinking of tomorrow.

Why? What’s happened? Why aren’t you at work; are you sick?

Claire could just imagine her mother’s reaction if she were to suggest coming to stay while infested with germs. There was an intake of breath down the phone before her mother added, Don’t tell me you got laid off?

"No, Mum. Besides, Directors don’t get Laid Off. Claire hoped her mother hadn’t discovered an unprecedented interest in her daughter’s career. I have a new assignment that means I’ll be travelling a great deal for the next few months. I thought it would be nice to come home for a short visit first, as I’ll be out of reach for a while."

Well, if you want to I can make up the spare room. How long will you be staying?

Claire tried to ignore the lack of enthusiasm and focus on the question. Only until Friday morning. I have to be in Berwick by bedtime.

Berwick-Upon-Tweed? Why on Earth do you want to go all the way up there? It’s practically Scotland.

Claire stifled a sigh. It’s part of the assignment, Mum. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.

What time will you be here? Only I have a hair appointment at ten and a WI meeting in the afternoon.

Mum I still have a key. I can let myself in, if that’s okay with you? If it’s too much trouble I can go visit Ruth instead.

I will not have you bothering your sister when she’s poorly. Come to us.

When did Ruth become the golden child? Claire thought back to when they were all living at home. Ruth was always the one in trouble, needing to be collected from the police station or A&E, while Robert and Claire were home finishing assignments.

Okay Mum, I’ll see you tomorrow.

Claire