Rachel didn't go home. At least, she didn't stay there. She packed a bag, pretended to herself it was perfectly normal to be tearing through her house in the early hours as she threw clothes and toiletries towards her bed, tensing at the sound of every car that went past. She was later than she'd originally planned, because she hadn't been able to tear herself away from Eddie's embrace. Not until the gnawing sickness in her stomach grew stronger than anything else, until she finally couldn't bear to stay there any longer either.

She dropped the bag by her front door, whizzed around turning off the electrics and took the bin out, locked the house securely behind her and breathed a sigh of relief as she drove away. There had been the possibility of Eddie waking and chasing after her, and she wouldn't have the strength to refuse him, she knew. Not when he was standing in front of her saying all the right things. It was better this way, for both of them.

She'd made it most of the way out of Rochdale before realising she wasn't actually sure where she was going. She was still angry enough with Melissa that she couldn't face going there, but there were precious few alternatives. She had few friends from her life before Rochdale, and certainly none close enough that she could turn up unexpectedly. She accelerated onto the motorway, wondering why she wasn't more panicked about this. Rachel Mason, notorious control freak didn't have a plan and wasn't at all worried about it. Maybe she was more tired than she'd thought.

She kept driving, not bothering to flick the radio on even as the roads grew busier and the light outside grew brighter. She just kept driving, until her petrol light flashed on and she was forced to pull into the next set of services, deciding that while she was there she might as well go inside for a coffee as well, forgoing her usual tea in favour of waking herself up a bit. Other than the short nap on the sofa the night before, she'd been awake for 26 hours straight now.

She probably shouldn't have been driving, she thought to herself as she climbed back into her car. But at this point, it wasn't as if she had much of an alternative.

She kept going, until the motorway became too busy for her liking and she pulled off at a random junction, following roads and mindlessly replaying the day before in her head. It had been less than 24 hours, and she had no idea how. Stuart, his actions, his death. The initial shock had worn off, and now it played over and over in her mind. The feel of him pressed against her, his hand roaming across her body...

The honk of a horn pulled her back into awareness. She gasped, foot slamming on the brakes. The car in front of her was inches away when she came to a stop, the car in front of that stopped in the road as the driver yelled furiously.

She sucked in a breath. Her hands and legs were numb and tingly with adrenaline, heart thundering inside her chest.

She needed to stop driving. She sat up straighter, opened her windows to let the air blast in. And when the traffic began to move again, she carefully eased her car forward and gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles were white, remaining bolt upright as she drove as carefully as she could. Eventually, in the outskirts of the next town she'd found herself in, she found a pub advertising rooms and pulled in without a second thought- the lady at reception seemed a little bemused at being asked for a room first thing in the morning when most were checking out, but thankfully didn't ask questions and fifteen minutes later Rachel was falling onto the bed fully clothed, not even bothering to climb under the covers.

She woke up at lunchtime, when a combination of hunger and cold finally overpowered her exhaustion. One shower and a change of clothes later, she wandered down to the pub which served food and sat quietly in a corner, where the lasagne she chose sat heavily in her stomach, which had nothing to do with the meal and everything to do with her.

Eddie would have woken by now. He would have seen her note, realised what she'd done. And if she knew him as well as she thought he did, he would have raced to her house in an effort to talk her out of it, paced around the drive in the hopes of her returning, calling and texting her mobile over and over the entire time. The mobile that was turned off, tucked into her handbag and as she thought about it, her fingers twitched, itching to switch it on and read his messages. They'd start off confused, she knew, asking her to call him, to talk with him. To reconsider. Worry would trickle through, growing greater and more obvious the longer there was no reply. Until by mid-afternoon, when all that worry would have become anger. He'd say that she had no right to make this decision alone, no right to walk away from him again. They'd devolve into demands, short, sharp messages because Eddie would want to shout at her in person, electronic letters no longer enough.

After that, the timeline was a little less sure. Because Eddie could hold a grudge like no one she knew, keep that explosive anger burning until he was talked down or metaphorically knocked over the head and this time she had no idea when or how that would occur, no idea when that anger would die out and be replaced with the aftermath of worry and guilt and all the other emotions that she knew Eddie would have.

The overwhelmingly sour taste in her throat had her reaching for her wine, seriously contemplating ordering something a lot stronger.

Rachel had, she came to discover, ended up in one of those small, left behind market towns that was fiercely fighting against the slow death so many others were suffering. It boasted a tearoom, a few old-fashioned pubs and not far away, an old ruin that appealed to only a small, select group of enthusiasts. It also served as a hub for several walking and cycling trails, which Rachel suspected were the only reason the multiple b&bs and cafés in town were still surviving.

Still, she wasn't about to complain. Not when it meant she had somewhere different to eat for lunch and dinner, and a way to occupy her time that didn't result in her mind drifting to places she'd rather not think about. She spent one morning wandering around the small museum, another hiking to the top of a hill that gave her miles and miles of breath-taking views. There was a small library that was pokey enough for her to nestle away in a corner and lose herself in a novel, and the owner of the café in the centre of town was more than happy for her to sit on her laptop and use his wifi to work as long as she brought a coffee and snack every so often.

The pub she was staying in was old, run by an elderly couple who'd been born and bred in the town. The wife worked behind the bar, and Rachel strongly suspected she didn't ever sleep, seeing as how she was there no matter what the time. Even at five am, when Rachel finally gave up on sleep and wandered downstairs intending to go for a walk. Instead, the landlady was setting out the limited breakfast menu and gave her no option but to sit and drink the tea she was given. There was silence, other than the sound of the menus rustling as they were placed down, until Rachel almost spilled her tea when the other woman spoke without warning. "I've been doing this for a long time. Seen a lot of people come through here. I know what it looks like when someone's running from something."

Rachel froze, raised her eyes to watch her. But she hadn't even looked up, busy arranging cutlery on the tables.

"So what are you running from?"

"I'm not running."

She snorted. "Sure you aren't. That's why you've been here a week."

Rachel stayed silent, discomfort trickling down her spine.

"What is it? Bad relationship? 'Cause if you're in trouble, I know people who can help…"

"No," Rachel said hastily, stomach twisting at the reminder of the man she'd left behind. "Nothing like that."

She found herself on the end of an appraising look, one that lasted far too long for her liking. "But there is a guy involved. I know that look in your eyes. You have someone you're missing."

Rachel swallowed, put her tea back on the table. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Honey, you've been here for a week. You aren't sleeping, you eat like a bird. You need to talk about it."

Rachel shook her head, and went to stand up.

"A bad breakup of a good relationship, then."

It felt like she'd been stabbed, the words lancing straight through her heart and she closed her eyes for a moment, hoping the pain would ebb. "I left him," she whispered, without even meaning to. "I didn't tell him I was going, I didn't give him any warning. I just left."

"Why?"

Rachel opened her eyes, and now found herself receiving a softer, sympathetic look. And all at once, she found she did want to talk. To this woman she didn't know, who she'd never see again after she left this place, she wanted to explain and justify herself and hear that she'd done the right thing. "He was going to give up his entire family for me," she found herself saying, "and he couldn't see that I'm not worth that. He deserves so much more, especially after… so I left. And now he hates me, which is what I wanted, what he needed, but knowing it is killing me."

"You want to know the funny thing about hating someone?" She sat down opposite Rachel, looked at her with an inscrutable expression. "It requires that you feel something towards them."

"What?"

"So why don't you think you're good enough for him?"

Rachel decided she didn't like this conversation- it left her feeling on the backfoot far to often for her liking. "That is far too long of a story."

"Does it have anything to do with you flinching every time someone comes near you?"

She stilled. She wasn't sure what expression she had on her face, but it caused the woman to huff out a laugh, tone sharp. "You work here long enough, you learn to read people. To see things. You look like a startled deer every time someone approaches you too quickly."

"I'm not talking about this." Now, Rachel did stand up, hastily retreating away from the woman's knowing gaze. But she wasn't quite fast enough to move out of earshot before her voice ran out again.

"How long are you going to keep running, Rachel?"