He was right. The crispiest batter held milky just-cooked fish, and it was amazingly more-ish. She had never seen anyone smother more sauce on one piece of fish than he did; to her the fresh tangy lemon juice was perfect. The pot of tea was thankfully as large as it was reviving, and the trip continued through the afternoon, further and further north, further and further away from him. She, relieved at the end of her two hours driving stint, touched her knife, and wondered if she had been a fool for running away. Except she was not really running from anyone as she didn't have a clue where he was, where he was going, what he was doing. She made a big effort to shake those thoughts off and concentrate on the adventure in hand

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