by E. A. Clark
Mrs Williams was obviously embarrassed about the mess and rushed round, wiping down the work surface and tidying the sink area. She spread a clean cloth over the table before setting out china cups and saucers.
Pouring the tea, she sat down beside me. ‘Well, Mrs Philips, how are you finding it up at the farm?’ she enquired.
I wasn’t sure that I should mention all the bother I’d been having. It seemed indiscreet somehow to discuss the Parrys’ home. They were so kind and it wasn’t their fault that the resident spook had taken a disliking to me.
‘It’s very nice, thank you. Mrs Parry is keeping me well stoked up! I’ve never eaten so much in all my life.’
Mrs Williams smiled. It softened her sharp features and made her look more approachable. ‘Yes, Gwen is a good hostess. She always gives my lads a good feed when they’ve been working for Will.’
‘They’re nice boys, aren’t they? And they can’t half eat!’
‘They’re good sons. I don’t know what I’d do without them – especially since my Aneira …’
She looked down at the floor, her expression hardening once more. ‘I’m sorry if I seemed offhand earlier. It’s just that man – that Peter Whatsisname. I feel it in my bones that he’s got something to do with my daughter going missing. I know something’s happened to her. Yes, she was a bit wayward – but only after Glyn passed away. She had to find something to fill the gap in her life.’
She sighed. ‘I blame Peter for it all. He caused a rift between them, that’s for sure. They always got on so well when he wasn’t around. I know the lads think I’m barking up the wrong tree, but call it a mother’s instinct. There’s something very fishy about him if you ask me. You mark my words: the police will find him out in the end, one way or another.’
She looked me squarely in the eye, drumming the table with her fingertips as if to emphasize the point. ‘I should be very careful around him if I were you. And warn that sister of yours, too. It’s true what they say: it’s always the quiet ones you have to watch. You never know what’s going on in there.’ She tapped the side of her head.
I felt uncomfortable. ‘What makes you think that Peter’s done something to Aneira? I don’t know him all that well, it’s true, but I just can’t see him being involved in anything shady …’
Marian Williams considered her response carefully. ‘Look, I think she … she might have known something about Peter. I don’t know what exactly. Aneira was a good friend of one of Peter’s cousins – Carys – so perhaps the girl had let her into a secret. She never told me what had been said. But it’s possible if she knew something he’d have wanted to keep her quiet.’
I leaned forward. ‘Do you have any idea what Aneira found out, Mrs Williams?’
‘She hinted at something once or twice when she was upset, but never told me outright. I got the feeling it was something she didn’t really want to talk about – not to me, anyway.’
‘Did you mention it to the police?’
‘They weren’t interested. I had no proof of anything, only a hunch; it was just “hearsay”, apparently. They couldn’t find any solid evidence that he’d done anything. They seemed to be more interested in tracking down that yob she’d taken up with – Alun, I think his name was. So now I’m expected to spend my time waiting and praying I’ll have her home again one day. But something tells me she won’t ever be coming back.’
She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just taken over my whole life. It’s the not knowing. It’s pure torture.’
I felt desperately sorry for the woman. Her thin face was etched with pain and it seemed there would be no end to her misery. I had no words to comfort her and felt useless.
I reached out and placed my hand on hers. ‘Please don’t give up hope. People go missing for years sometimes and then reappear.’
‘Not my Aneira. She would have called or sent a postcard or … something. We were close. She was my firstborn child. She wouldn’t have left me worrying like this for months without at least letting me know she was alive. But living or dead – where is she?’
I couldn’t answer her. We sat in awkward silence for a moment.
‘Would you like to see some photos of her?’ Mrs Williams asked eventually. She went to one of the drawers and pulled out a card wallet filled with family snapshots, then handed it to me. There were several pictures of Aneira and her younger brothers as children. The boys, instantly recognizable, looked impish and playful, but their bespectacled sister had a quiet, pensive quality about her – nothing like the wilful, sullen image portrayed by Peter.
A more recent headshot of Aneira showed that she had grown into an attractive young woman. I recognized it as a smaller version of the photograph in the newspaper I’d found in Tyddyn Bach.
‘She was … is,’ I corrected myself, ‘a very pretty girl.’
‘Takes after her dad,’ said Mrs Williams wistfully. ‘He was a handsome bugger.’
We chatted for a while longer. I told her a little about myself and Graham, and how I was rather anxious about becoming a single mother. I ran a hand over my stomach.
‘I want to be the best mum I can to this one – especially as he or she won’t have a dad. And I know that Graham would’ve been a brilliant father. I’m not so sure I’ll make as good a job of things as he would have …’
‘You’ll be fine,’ she assured me. ‘My husband, Dafydd, died when Tudur was just eighteen months old. It’s hard at first, but you get there in the end. There’s nothing like having to put someone else first to make you get up in the morning. They keep you going. My babies have been my life – and yours will be too; you’ll see.’
She paused. ‘Aneira would have loved a baby,’ she said, staring out of the window. ‘She lost one, you know. Not long before Glyn died … She was devastated. She was about sixteen weeks. They didn’t tell Will and Gwen. They’re old-fashioned, you know – I’m not sure they’d have approved. But it broke her heart.’
Tears welled up in her eyes once more. ‘Life can be so cruel …’
By the time I left Marian Williams, I had begun to see the woman in a new light. She had lost her husband and endured a life of hardship – and now she had lost her beloved daughter, too. I still found it hard to believe that Peter had anything to do with Aneira’s disappearance. But I wondered what, if anything, she had discovered about him. And if there was something I ought to know.
*
The Reverend Arfon Evans was not at all what I expected. He was probably in his mid-fifties; small, with salt and pepper hair and quick green eyes that seemed to dance with laughter. He arrived – barely more than an hour after Mrs Parry had contacted him – in an old pick-up truck. He was wearing Wellington boots caked with mud and in his shirtsleeves. I had strolled back from the Williams’ house just in time to see him walking up to the front door of the farmhouse.
‘I came right away, Mrs Parry, so apologies for the attire – I was digging up some potatoes!’
He shook each of us by the hand vigorously, lingering a moment as he held mine. His smile was open and actually rather reassuring.
‘My wife usually comes along with me, but she’s visiting her sister this afternoon, so we may have to come back. We’re a pretty good team when it comes to talking to people from the other side. She’s the proper psychic one, though. I’ve sort of picked it up as I’ve gone along! I’m not sure I’ll be much help on my own, but I’ll do my best.’
He winked at me. ‘So you’re the cause of all the bother, eh?’
‘No, no, Mr Evans, it’s not like that.’ Mrs Parry was quite earnest. ‘No one else has had any trouble at all. It’s just that things seem to be happening to poor Mrs Philips since she arrived and it’s all quite upsetting for her …’
Mr Evans patted the old woman’s hand comfortingly. ‘I know, I know,’ he soothed. ‘I was only joking. We want to find out who this wayward spirit is and why it’s attached itself to Mrs Philips here.’
Reverend Evans looked down at my bump and smiled.
‘When is baby due?’ he asked kindly. ‘I’m sure you could do without all this shenanigans with a little one on the way.’
‘I’m just over six months – I just seem to have grown much bigger very quickly these last few weeks,’ I explained.
The man nodded and grinned knowingly. ‘I remember when my wife was expecting our first – she was like a barrage balloon in no time.’
He looked up at the farmhouse, shielding his eyes from the sun’s glare. His lower lip jutted forth as though he was pondering some conundrum.
‘You say things have been happening in the house itself, Mrs Philips?’
‘Yes, and in the fields. But it all started in the cottage. It’s very odd – and a bit frightening, to be honest.’
Looking from the one house to the other, the Reverend closed his eyes for a moment as if waiting for some sort of sign. His lips moved slightly as though communicating with someone, but he emitted no sound.
‘I think we’ll start in the cottage, if that’s all right. Something seems to be pulling me there.’
The three of us made our way across to Tyddyn Bach. Reverend Evans stared up at the building for a few moments in silence. Again, he closed his eyes and appeared to be deep in thought. I was slightly startled when he eventually spoke.
‘Mrs Philips, has the spirit communicated with you at all? Was there some message it was trying to convey?’
‘Well, I don’t know. It didn’t seem very friendly. It – she – whispered something in Welsh. She seemed to know my name.’
‘Oh? What did she say then?’
‘It sounded like “Annie wiv ee,” or something like that.’
‘Ah, I see. Oh no, Mrs Philips. The spirit wasn’t calling you by name. What it was telling you is that it is called Anni. You are clearly the ghost’s namesake. Perhaps that is why it has been awoken – and why it appears to have attached itself to you.’
Mrs Parry looked uncomfortable but made no comment.
‘Mr Evans, do you think it could be the spirit of a girl who drowned herself here in the old well, over a century ago? Mr Parry tells the tale of a milkmaid called Anwen whose ghost supposedly used to haunt the cottage when his grandparents were still alive. She could have been called Anni for short …’
‘Hmmm … it’s quite possible. Shall we go inside? Hopefully she may try to connect with us and we’ll learn more about what she wants.’
Gingerly, Reverend Evans pushed open the door and stepped inside. His breathing was deep and rhythmic, his movements slow and purposeful. Climbing the creaking stairs as Mrs Parry and I watched from the vestibule, he turned into the bedroom in which I had been sleeping. We waited for what seemed like an eternity. A sudden cry from the Reverend made us both gasp in fright.
‘Mr Evans, is everything all right?’ called an anxious Mrs Parry.
The poor man reappeared looking ashen-faced and shaken. Clearly he had experienced a first-hand encounter with the vengeful Anni.
*
‘I think I definitely need to bring my wife along for this one,’ said a now rather calmer Reverend Evans, as he sipped tea some fifteen minutes later in the Parrys’ kitchen. ‘There is a huge amount of angry energy in the cottage. I can feel some in the house too –’ he gestured above his head as though trying to brush away an unseen cobweb ‘– but it’s definitely centred in Tyddyn Bach. Our spirit would appear to have some deep-seated resentment – and I’m afraid to say that it seems to be aimed at you, Mrs Philips.’
I was perplexed. ‘Can you – get rid of her? I know that doesn’t sound very nice, but I can’t go on like this.’ My new friend, the tabby cat, who had been purring at my feet, let out a sudden yowl and ran from the kitchen as though someone had kicked her.
I screamed out as, without warning, a cup of hot tea tipped up and spilled from the table top into my lap. The plates in the rack on the wall shook violently and cutlery flew angrily from the table in all directions. It was terrifying.
‘Come to the sink!’ A quick-thinking Mrs Parry grabbed me by the hand and sponged me down with a cold wet cloth. She then took a packet of frozen peas from the freezer. ‘Hold this against you for a few minutes, cariad. It’ll cool it down.’
I was shaken rather than hurt but it could have been much worse. My eyes darted wildly round the room, in fear of a further attack. Instinctively I cradled my stomach, desperate to protect my unborn child from this unseen assailant. All colour had drained from Reverend Evans’ face and he looked grave.
‘We need to address this immediately,’ he declared, rising from his chair. ‘I shall return as soon as possible with my wife. I’ll ring to tell her that we have an urgent situation here – she’ll understand. Hopefully the two of us together will be able to settle this rancorous spirit. Mrs Parry – if you could please keep a close eye on this young lady until I return …’
With that, he nodded a hurried goodbye and walked briskly back to his truck.
‘Come with me, cariad; you’d better get into some dry clothes.’ A quaking Mrs Parry, trying bravely to conceal her own distress, led me upstairs and waited while I rummaged through my bag to find some clean underwear and a pair of jogging pants.
‘I’ll just be on the landing while you change,’ she said kindly.
Trembling, I pulled off my wet clothes and stared down at the bright red marks on my thighs. It was fortunate that Mrs Parry had reacted so quickly or my skin might have blistered. I caressed my stomach and a cold shudder ran through me. For the first time, I was beginning to really fear for the safety of my baby. I hurried back out to Mrs Parry and, remembering Mr Parry’s account of his pregnant great-grandmother being pushed, descended the staircase clutching the banister for dear life.
Mrs Parry and I waited anxiously for the return of Reverend Evans and his wife. More than an hour had passed, and there was still no sign of them. We made small talk and I glanced round the kitchen absent-mindedly. My gaze fell on the photograph of Peter and Glyn, and I suddenly remembered about the old tea caddy. I made a mental note to try to open it later after the minister and his wife had left, if I dared return to the cottage.
We heard an approaching vehicle crunch over the gravel. Mrs Parry looked expectantly out of the kitchen window. ‘Oh, it’s only Will,’ she said, sounding a little deflated.
‘Dearie me – why the long faces?’ asked Mr Parry in surprise, as he came into the kitchen.
His wife filled him in. The old man looked shocked.
‘Well, well … let’s hope that the good Reverend can help to calm things down,’ he said eventually. ‘This little break of yours is turning into anything but, Mrs Philips! I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault, Mr Parry,’ I said, touched by his concern. ‘It would appear that this other Anni has it in for me for some reason …’
‘What Anni?’ asked Mr Parry, looking alarmed. He darted a look at his wife, who dropped her gaze.
‘Well, that’s what the ghost’s called apparently. It must be short for Anwen, I suppose. I thought it was calling me by name, but Reverend Evans explained that it’s been telling me who it is, and that’s why …’
The sound of another car pulling up outside interrupted our conversation.
‘They’re here,’ said Mrs Parry, sounding somewhat relieved.
We traipsed outside to greet Reverend Evans and his wife. Mrs Evans was small, slight and auburn-haired, a picture of health with glowing cheeks and clear blue eyes. It was difficult to judge her age, although I suspected that she must have been at least ten years her husband’s junior.
‘You must be Mrs Philips.’ She beamed, reaching out a tiny hand. ‘I’m Nia. Pleased to meet you. Shall we get straight to business? Arfon tells me you’re having a spot of bother.’
Without further ado, the five of us made our way across to Tyddyn Bach.
Nia’s movements were quick and sharp, almost like a little bird. She put her head to on
e side as we reached the door. She seemed to be listening for something.
‘Ah, she’s not happy, is she?’ she exclaimed, her bright eyes scanning the frontage of the cottage. ‘I can even hear her ranting from out here.’
‘Nia is clairaudient,’ explained Reverend Evans. ‘She can hear the spirits’ voices even when the rest of us can’t.’
Mrs Parry let out a gasp as we followed the Evans’s into the cottage. The hall mirror had a crack right across its diagonal. Newspapers were still strewn all over the living room floor; and now the stuffing had been ripped from the cushions. The watercolours lay smashed on the ground beneath where they had been hanging. The kitchen chairs and table had been knocked over. An overwhelmingly powerful musky odour hung in the air.
Nia turned to me. ‘I think perhaps you ought to wait outside, Mrs Philips. I’m being drawn upstairs, but I believe that you might be in more danger in here than anywhere else on the farm right now. We may need you at some point, but please keep your distance for the moment.’
I nodded mutely and watched as Nia slowly went up the stairs, followed cautiously by her husband. Mr and Mrs Parry waited with me and we listened anxiously for any indication of what was happening within.
Initially all was quiet; then, suddenly, there was a crash and a high-pitched shriek. Nia’s voice rose above the melee, but she was speaking in Welsh so I had no idea what she was saying. Her tone was steady and calm. Reverend Evans seemed to be repeating her words verbatim.
After what felt like hours, Nia and her husband reappeared in the cottage doorway. They both looked dishevelled and a little shaken.