The Royal Border Bridge, Berwick on Tweed. ©Copyright Nigel Chadwick, licensed for reuse under Creative Commons

My novel has reached 5,500 words, including today’s installment. That’s slightly behind NaNoWriMo rate, but I am having to do editing as I go, to make my blog posts a bit more presentable.

I’ve started needing to research stuff online. My husband is worried about me writing a novel based on 200 hostels I have never been to. It doesn’t faze me. With Tripadvisor, the YHA site, Google Maps and other general internet sources, you never need to leave your sofa.

My only worry is that I might offend someone, breach some copyright or generally get into trouble. The internet is a scary place to be chucking out a first draft novel!

Anyway, here goes the next installment:

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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:

• Choose Blog Name
• Start Facebook Fan Page
• Choose Twitter name
• 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.

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