by E. A. Clark
I felt momentarily panic-stricken. I didn’t seem able to move from this unusual elevated position. But then somebody else entered the room.
Peter became very agitated. It was clear that there were raised voices, although everything was strangely muffled, as though I were listening through glass. Peter appeared to be pleading with the other individual, who seemed to be in a dilemma. I felt at first hopeful then utterly sickened as I realized that the other person – someone I had recognized instantly and had come to know – did not intend to turn on Peter or call the police. That Peter could have been helped to cover up such a cold-hearted, vile act by someone I had thought of as a decent human being was beyond belief.
Incredulously, I watched in horror as Peter and his visitor started to drag the body across the floor. At once, I followed them out of the room and up the stairs. I screamed at them, but they could neither see nor hear me. It was surreal; I was watching Aneira’s killer and his – his collaborator – dispose of her mortal remains.
How could they? She was being pushed and pulled across the bedroom floor. Her head and arms flopped like a rag doll’s as the two of them attempted to wrap her in something, before heaving the body into what looked like a trunk in the attic. The closed lid and the bolted door meant that she would be lost to the world for eternity.
His accomplice now departed, there was a flurry of activity as Peter attempted to remove the streaks of blood from the bedroom and the stair carpet. I looked on as he picked up the metal bar from the living room floor and went out into the night. I attempted to follow him but, try as I might, could not seem to leave the cottage. I was overcome by a debilitating weakness.
I watched helplessly as, oblivious to my presence, Aneira’s troubled spirit flitted from room to room, waiting in vain for him to return. I could sense that she had no concept of time. Her consciousness waxed and waned; I saw that, for her, days must have passed, as light turned to shade and vice versa. My heart went out to her. Was this to be the extent of her existence now? Trapped alone in some nightmarish limbo whilst her body began to putrefy and stink, destined to lie undiscovered for evermore.
And all the time, Peter Roberts could carry on as though nothing had happened. Breezing through life, running roughshod over anyone who dared to cross him or stand in his way. When was he going to be properly punished for what he had done? And when was Will Parry going to realize the error of his ways and confess his part in abetting the callous disposal of the girl who was once engaged to his only son?
Chapter Seventeen
‘Annie! Annie, wake up!’ I could hear the panic in Sarah’s voice as she shook me by the arm. Dazed, I gradually opened my eyes and looked about me. For a moment I was unsure where, or even who, I was. Abruptly, it was as though a switch had been flicked; I remembered that I was Annie Philips and that I was at the Reverend and Mrs Evans’ cottage with my sister, Sarah. Nia and Arfon were hovering behind her, their faces drawn and concerned.
I tried to sit up, but felt nauseous and disorientated. I lay back down for a moment and tried to collect my thoughts.
‘Thank God! I thought we were going to have to call an ambulance,’ Sarah told me, tears glistening in her eyes. I could hear the relief in her voice. ‘You were out cold. We’ve been trying to bring you round for a good five minutes or more.’
‘What happened?’ I asked, trying to recall the events of the day so far. My thoughts were muddled and I felt heavy and drained.
‘You came up for a nap,’ Nia told me. ‘But when I brought you a cup of tea, I couldn’t wake you. You were mumbling and your eyes were darting about underneath their lids as though you were dreaming, and you didn’t appear to be conscious. We were all really worried.’
‘The baby? Is the baby all right?’ I felt momentary panic, but a reassuring kick from within assuaged my fears.
With Sarah’s help, I pulled myself into a sitting position and clutched at the side of the bed momentarily until the dizziness had passed. I tried desperately hard to think what had happened; snatches of something started to seep through and then I gasped, remembering that I had dreamed about Aneira … and had witnessed the horror of her demise. I closed my eyes briefly and the memory of what I had learned came flooding back. It had been no dream. I knew that now. My pulse began to race.
I turned to look at Nia. At first speech seemed to evade me, but the words came eventually.
‘I think Aneira somehow took over my mind,’ I said slowly. ‘She showed me what happened to her …’
Nia nodded, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to be entered by a spirit – which, perhaps in her experience, it was.
‘Can you recall her thoughts?’ she asked eagerly. ‘Take your time – think carefully.’
‘I saw it all. What happened to her before she died – and beyond. It was the strangest thing. But I know now who helped Peter. We really need to go and see Mrs Parry. Aneira revealed everything and it’s absolutely shocking.’
*
Mrs Parry was alone once again when we arrived at the farm. She seemed troubled.
‘It’s Will. He didn’t come home last night,’ she told us, as she answered the door. ‘He’s never done that before – not without ringing to let me know, anyway. He’s been acting very strangely these last few days – well, ever since Aneira was found really. I don’t know what to do – do you think I ought to contact the police?’
I looked at Arfon knowingly, remembering his conversation with the man in the pub. What was Mr Parry up to? Did he think that the police might be on to him? He wasn’t involved in Aneira’s death as such, but helping to conceal a body was a pretty serious offence. I knew how Peter had twisted things, to make it seem that Aneira had provoked him and that she had said terrible untrue things … Having learned the truth first-hand, I felt all the more determined to see justice done. I knew Aneira now – the real Aneira, and she was neither manipulative nor vindictive. Just a rather naive girl who had been looking out for her little brother. It was all so sad.
I was about to speak when the crunch of tyres on gravel made us turn to see who was about to join us. We were all surprised to see a police car containing the plain-clothes officer we had met the other day, plus his constable, drawing to a halt adjacent to the outbuildings.
The more senior policeman wore a grave expression as he approached the farmhouse. His assistant lagged behind, looking ill at ease.
‘Mrs Parry, can we have a word, please? In private, if possible. I’m afraid we have some bad news.’
We all looked at one another. Mrs Parry clapped a hand to her mouth as if expecting the worst. We moved aside to allow the police officers to enter the building.
‘This doesn’t look good,’ said Sarah in a low voice.
Only a few moments had passed when there was a sudden cry from within. Mrs Parry reappeared, looking shell-shocked. The constable was close behind her, offering an arm to lean on, but she brushed him away.
‘He’s gone!’ she cried, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘Will has gone!’
‘Gone where?’ asked a puzzled Sarah, turning to the policeman for some clarification.
‘I’m afraid Mr Parry was found in a lane, on the road to Llangefni, in his parked vehicle earlier today,’ he explained quietly. ‘It seems he had suffered a massive stroke. There was nothing that could be done, unfortunately.’
We all exchanged glances. I wasn’t sure which would have been worse for the poor woman: to learn that her husband had played a part in Aneira’s disappearance or to hear that he was lost to her for ever. I decided that revealing his actions now would achieve nothing – the police would never entertain the idea of accepting a testament that had supposedly come from beyond the grave. And to tell Mrs Parry what had actually happened that fateful night would be like rubbing salt into a wound.
‘I told him,’ she wailed. ‘The doctor warned him that his blood pressure was too high. He should have stopped smoking that damned pipe years ago.’
&
nbsp; Privately I thought it more likely that the stress of the current situation was responsible for Mr Parry’s demise. I suppose it was a combination of factors, but the fear of being found out as an accessory must have been pretty high on the list.
The older police officer explained that someone was required to identify Mr Parry’s body. Arfon, seeing the look of distress on Mrs Parry’s face, said that he would be happy to accompany the policemen to do so.
Nia, Sarah, and I waited with Mrs Parry for Arfon’s return. Our roles reversed, Sarah and I made tea and sandwiches for everyone in Mrs Parry’s kitchen as she sat in her husband’s armchair weeping quietly.
Upon Arfon’s reappearance, he told us quietly that an unsigned contract for the sale of Bryn Mawr had been found next to Mr Parry on the front seat of his truck. At least, then, the deal had not yet been struck and Mrs Parry still had her home. The rug had already been pulled from beneath her – she didn’t need any more shocks to contend with. Although I did wonder how she would cope with the operation of the farm alone.
‘I know it’s early days, but have you thought what will you do now, Mrs Parry?’ asked Nia gently. She crouched down next to the old woman, taking her by the hand. ‘It’s a lot of work, running a working farm. How will you manage things?’
Mrs Parry considered for a moment. She lifted the front of her apron and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Well, I’ve often thought about it, to be truthful. What I would do if I was left on my own. We’d been aware for some time that Will’s health wasn’t good. I had thought about selling the main house and the land but keeping Tyddyn Bach on and living there instead. But after Aneira …’ Her voice trailed off. She shook her head sadly. ‘I don’t think I could live there now. Not after what happened.’
‘There’s a nice little cottage for sale, close to us in Penmynydd,’ Arfon chipped in suddenly. ‘It has a decent bit of land round it, so you’d still be able to keep your chickens, at least!’
Mrs Parry appeared to brighten a little. ‘Yes, I love my hens! I wouldn’t want to part with them.’ She looked contemplative. ‘I suppose I could have a look. It wouldn’t hurt, would it?’
‘And you’d have friends close by,’ added Nia. ‘You could pop in for tea whenever you wanted!’
‘Oh, this all too much!’ sobbed Mrs Parry all of a sudden. ‘Why did he have to leave me? Why?’ She buried her head in Nia’s shoulder. It was heart-breaking.
Not wanting to leave the old woman alone in such circumstances, Nia said that she would spend the night at Bryn Mawr. Arfon announced that he would be happy to take care of the funeral arrangements, for which Mrs Parry was extremely grateful.
I asked to use the bathroom before we left and went out into the gloomy hallway, taking a deep breath. Through the shadows, the grandfather clock chimed in the hour, taking me by surprise as always. It was already 9 p.m.
Sarah and I planned to drive home in the morning. I couldn’t see what more we could do and prayed that Aneira’s spirit would be able to move on now. I began to climb the stairs to the bathroom. Looking up, my legs all but turned to stone as I saw a figure on the landing. It glided downwards towards me as I stood motionless, hardly daring to breathe. But as the cool air reached me, the figure paused, hovering at my side. The anger and hostility seemed to have evaporated and it radiated a feeling of peace.
‘Diolch, Annie,’ the voice whispered into my ear. ‘Your work here is done.’
I gasped as the figure seemed to disperse like smoke carried on the wind. The trace of a faint, musky odour lingered briefly, but that too was soon gone. My heart soared, as I knew with some certainty that Aneira had been liberated from her purgatory. I hoped that she might be reunited with Glyn and that they could be together now. I knew that her feelings for him had never faded and felt sure that his love for her was equally powerful. For the one thing that could survive beyond the grave was love.
*
It had been an incredibly long, eventful week. I was unsure that I would want to relive any of it. But I was a stronger and wiser person at the end of it all. And I knew I would now be capable of taking in my stride anything that life had to throw at me. I was ready to start again.
Chapter Eighteen
Weeks passed and, home and back into a relatively normal routine once again in Birmingham, the events in Anglesey had started to feel like a distant memory. My pregnancy and the imminent birth of my baby were now uppermost in my mind, particularly as an unexpected late hot spell had resulted in uncomfortably swollen legs and feet and perspiration-drenched sleepless nights.
‘You look wrecked,’ Sarah informed me as I waddled to the front door to let her in. She had taken to coming round every day after work to check on me, for which I was enormously grateful.
‘Cheers, pal, you really know how to make a girl feel good,’ I grumbled. ‘You try heaving an extra couple of stone around all the time, and having someone pressing down on your bladder so that you need the loo every five minutes. It’s no fun, I can tell you.’
She smiled sympathetically. ‘Look, you go and lie on the settee and I’ll make us something to eat. Did you see the midwife today?’
I nodded, easing myself onto the couch and hoisting my elephant-like calves aboard the footstool.
‘The head’s engaged, apparently. That explains this sensation of heaviness I’m getting all the time. But she said with a first baby it can be like that for a few weeks. My blood pressure’s up a bit, too. I’m not sure I can put up with this for much longer.’
Sarah grimaced. ‘Well, I don’t think you’ve got much choice in the matter, unfortunately. Baby will come when he or she is good and ready, as well you know.’
‘You’re a real comfort, I must say!’ I threw a cushion at her, laughing. ‘Ouch!’ The baby kicked me hard in the side as if to express its disapproval.
Sarah looked thoughtful. She peered down at my ridiculously rotund abdomen. ‘How many weeks are you now?’ she asked.
‘Thirty-six. Four more weeks of this to go,’ I groaned.
‘Well, you never know, it could arrive a bit early. Fingers crossed, eh!’
I nodded. I lay back and tried to make myself comfortable whilst Sarah busied herself in the kitchen. Closing my eyes, I found myself drifting off to sleep. I was shattered. I awoke abruptly, an oddly warm, wet sensation around my lower half.
‘Sarah! Oh God, I think my waters may have broken …’
I stood up and a sudden, searing pain gripped my lower stomach. I cried out in distress as my legs gave way beneath me. Worryingly, a patch of blood seeped through my leggings.
Things seemed to happen very quickly then. Sarah telephoned the hospital, who asked a string of questions. The pains had started to come thick and fast. It was excruciating – almost as though the baby was trying to come out sideways. I didn’t know which way to turn. An ambulance arrived within the hour and I was thoroughly checked over. Everything was a blur thereafter. I vaguely recall being bundled into the back of a vehicle on a stretcher and someone clamping a clinical-smelling mask across my face – then nothing.
*
Suddenly, I seemed to be passing through a narrow tunnel. The dark walls glowed red and I could see the glow of a soft, white light ahead of me. I understood somehow that I must head towards it. I felt weightless and a wonderful sense of peace washed over me. I knew neither fear nor pain and all worry had been erased. An exhilarating rushing sensation coursed through me. But a familiar voice stopped me in my tracks. I stared ahead in surprise as Graham stood, bathed in a pale yellow light, before me.
‘You have to go back,’ he said gently. ‘It’s not your time. She needs you.’
*
Emily Sarah Philips was born, four weeks prematurely, by emergency Caesarean section at 7:53 p.m. on 21st September 2009. I cradled my firstborn close to my chest, breathing in the sweet, almost edible scent of her soft downy head. Tears blurred my vision as my thoughts turned to Graham and how he should have been there to share in the moment. And ho
w, if he had not come to me, I might have carried on towards that light and our daughter would have been left without a father or a mother.
Sarah appeared at my bedside, her eyes shining. I could see that she had been crying.
‘Well done, you,’ she said softly. ‘You’ve done it! You’re a mum now. And she’s just perfect.’
She stroked Emily’s tiny cheek. ‘You had me worried there for a time. They said it was a suspected placental abruption and they needed to get the baby out as soon as possible.’
I smiled weakly. ‘You said she’d come when she was good and ready. She’d obviously had enough of being in there!’ I planted a kiss gently on Emily’s head. The surge of love I felt for this tiny, helpless being was overwhelming. I knew then what my purpose in life was – to keep her safe and happy, always. I owed it to her – and to Graham’s memory. Part of him would always be with me now. I felt somehow complete.
Sarah stayed a while longer, but left after the nurse announced pointedly that I needed to get some rest. I had been put into a small side room on my own. Emily was tucked securely into her cot at my bedside and I lay, sore and bruised but euphoric, gazing at this perfect little creature of my own making. It felt quite unreal. The lights on the ward were dimmed and, exhausted, I soon succumbed to sleep.
Graham came to me that night. Somehow I knew that he would. I woke to see him standing next to the bed, gazing at me with his soulful grey eyes. I felt no fear. It seemed the most natural thing in the world.
‘She’s beautiful, Annie. I’m so proud of you both. You’ll be a wonderful mother. Never forget me …’
I cried out and reached out to embrace him, but as quickly as he had appeared, he faded away as my outstretched hand passed through his waning vapour. I was saddened but strangely reassured by this encounter. To know that I had made him proud meant the world to me.