golden sands of the affluent coastal resort of Mangapwani; the scent of expensive suntan lotion mixing with exotic spices; couples walking hand in hand as the sky turned orange on the horizon, the same sun that was setting on those children just a few miles away. It was something Claire saw in every place she visited, excruciating poverty in sharp contrast to nauseating wealth. She always tried to touch on it in her writing, her little way of helping in some way, but the lines she wrote were inevitably cut out at subbing stage, her publishing director scolding her as he told her she didn’t work for ‘bloody Oxfam’.
‘Narnia might be far from Zanzibar,’ Milo said, snapping her out of her reverie. ‘But it’s just a thirty-minute walk from here.’
He shot Claire a smile, teeth white and crooked, brown eyes sparking, and her stomach rippled. She wrapped her arms around herself, pressing the handle of Archie’s lead into her middle. She wasn’t supposed to react like this to another man.
Milo raked his fingers through his dark hair. ‘Look, I feel bad about what happened yesterday. I’m doing this to make it up to you. No tourists know about this place, you’ll love it. Really. You can write about it in your magazine.’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, peering towards the path she’d taken the day before.
‘Fine,’ he said, putting his hands up as he backed away. ‘I get the message. I’m going up there anyway so feel free to join me. If not, I guess I’ll see you across the river on your official path in a couple of hours.’
He strode away and Claire stood where she was a few moments. It would be good to write about something a little different. She’d got a letter from a reader the other day moaning that all the magazine ever wrote about was information they could get in guide books anyway.
She decided to follow him after all. Maybe that reader would rue their words this time?
Milo slowed down when he heard her footsteps and let her fall into step beside him, shooting her a smile.
‘How long have you had him?’ he asked as they watched Archie stop at each place Milo’s dog did, resolutely covering his scent with his own.
‘Five years. No one else would have him at the rescue place – too snappy apparently.’
Milo raised an eyebrow. ‘So you’re a fan of the underdogs, then?’
Claire thought of the other children she’d try to play with during her travels as a kid: strays and waifs with hidden troubles. ‘I suppose so.’
‘Holly told me how you stuck up for her in front of Henry.’
‘Is Holly an underdog?’
His face clouded over. ‘In some ways.’ Archie jumped up at his legs and his face softened. ‘So how old is he?’
‘Seven.’
‘He still looks like a pup.’
‘Everyone says that. But he sees himself as a man dog.’
Milo laughed. ‘Man dog. I like that.’
Claire felt a stab of guilt. Ben had come up with that phrase. She wondered how he’d feel about her walking their dog with a man who looked like Milo. Maybe he wouldn’t care.
‘So how do we get onto this better path?’ Claire asked, shrugging the thought away.
‘Over that.’ He pointed towards the river.
‘We have to cross the river?’
He put on a mock scared face. ‘I know, rivers can be terrifying, all that water trickling over little scary pebbles.’
She smiled. ‘Enough of the sarcasm! I just meant there’s no bridge and the sign said the river’s deep.’
The sign said.
She felt her face flush with embarrassment. Milo probably thought she was a right wuss.
‘It’ll be fine,’ he said. He looked down at her wellies, just shin-high and covered with fat pink flowers. ‘They’re waterproof, right? And the part of river I’m thinking about isn’t as deep as here. I’ll show you.’
She followed him down towards the bank, watching as the river gushed over clusters of rocks.
‘See, doesn’t look so bad up close,’ he said, smiling to himself. She noticed he got a small dimple in his right cheek when he smiled. ‘Still scared, city girl?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘City girl, as if! I’ve seen plenty of countryside, and not just in the UK either. I’m more worried for you actually. If you fall in, I’d have to jump in and save you, wouldn’t I? My hair goes all curly when it gets wet, it’ll be a pain to re-style it.’
Milo blew his fringe out of his eyes. ‘You think this fringe isn’t a nightmare after a dunk in the river?’
Claire laughed.
‘And as for the city girl thing,’ he said, looking her up and down. ‘I was only joking. It’s obvious you’re not.’
Claire looked down at what she was wearing: the purple leggings she’d discovered in a Californian flea market, the holey jumper Ben had bought her in Belgium and, of course, her flowery wellies, all the way from Scotland.
She smiled. ‘I guess not.’
‘So you going to put those flower power wellies to use then?’
She felt a funny little thrill in the pit of her stomach, like she was at that waterfall again. But that was ridiculous, it was just a bloody river! ‘Why not?’ she said.
‘Blue!’ Milo shouted, pointing to the other side of the river. His dog peered up then bounded across the river, paws splashing into the water, tail wagging. Archie went to chase after him but Claire pulled him back, leaning over to pick him up. He’d be belly-deep in water if she let him walk across.
‘Interesting name for a dog,’ she said as she looked at Milo’s dog.
‘Colour of his eyes.’
‘Of course.’
‘It’s a narrow ridge,’ Milo said, stepping into the water. ‘One step left or right and you’re both under.’
She stepped in after him. It wasn’t so deep after all.
He peered at her. ‘Told you it wouldn’t be so scary.’
‘I’m disappointed. Nothing like another life or death situation to make a girl’s holiday go with a zing.’
Milo stepped onto the river. ‘Try milking a herd of pre-menstrual cows at five am.’
‘You were doing that this morning?’ Claire asked as she carefully followed him, feeling the squelch of her soles against the water.
‘I do it every morning before the sun rises. We have over a hundred cows so it can take a couple of hours. Then I have to feed
