by Rebecca Bryn
Unable to concentrate on building a website, she switched off and went back to her sculpture. Paint coloured the latest stone chips on the floor: paper sacks of earlier rubble stood by the door ready to be taken to the tip. She was deep in the dance again when her mobile rang. She laid down her hammer and flipped it open, one-handed. She’d end this for good. ‘Mum, for God’s sake, stop ringing me.’
‘You okay, Alana?’
She dropped her chisel. ‘Tony?’
‘Dad said he spoke to you… at Mum’s funeral. Can we talk? Grab a coffee, somewhere?’
‘I’m back in Wales, Tony. What do you want to talk about?’
‘You told Dad you still loved me.’
‘You told him you still loved me.’
‘I don’t understand, Alana. I can’t move on, not without some kind of explanation. Why did you leave me if you loved me? Was there someone else?’
It had been easier, at the time, to let him believe that but she couldn’t lie to him, not now. ‘No.’
‘So, why?’
How much of the truth could she avoid? ‘I left because I was pregnant.’
‘You had our baby?’
‘No, Tony. I’m sorry, but she isn’t yours. I wish she was.’
‘So who’s?’
‘It’s not important.’
‘No?’ Tony couldn’t hide a hint of sarcasm. ‘What happened to her?’
‘Her name’s Saffy. She lives with my mother. It’s complicated.’
‘You’re in a relationship?’
‘No.’
‘So, how is it complicated?’
‘Saffy was a mistake. The result of a one-nighter. I didn’t want her.’
‘I don’t believe you.’ Tony’s voice was impatient. ‘Not the fling or that you didn’t want the child. You’re not like that.’
‘I’m not the person you think I am.’
‘If Saffy isn’t mine, whose is she?’
She longed to unburden her heart but it would destroy Tony and his family. ‘I can’t tell you.’
‘Can’t or won’t?’
‘You don’t need to know.’
A short silence was followed by a drawn breath. ‘We were to be married, Alana. I loved you, for Christ’s sake. Don’t I deserve the truth?’
Tears ran down her cheeks. ‘I can’t, Tony.’
‘I know you, Alana. You wouldn’t have casual sex… You wouldn’t risk what we had for that. You’d have had to be blind drunk and have someone take advantage. The only time I’ve known you to be drunk was…’
‘No.’
‘Our engagement party. You felt sick and went outside for air. Jesus… It’s someone I know, isn’t it? A friend.’
‘Please, don’t ask me.’
‘If you won’t tell me, I’ll ask Mike… he may have seen who followed you out. I’ll kill the bastard.’
Sobbing, she clasped the mobile to her heart and sank to her knees amid the ruins of her life.
***
Alana sat on the seat and looked down the length of the small steep-sided valley that ran along the back of the village. Blackthorn blossom blew past her face like tiny snowflakes in the wind. The valley sides, clothed in the spiny bushes, looked as if they were covered in a fine dusting of snow.
She shivered, despite the early-morning sunshine glinting off the rushing river far below; along the valley, broken trees and bushes showed white bones where Mair’s car had scoured its fatal path down to the river.
It was Good Friday, and the shut-up cottages in the village had suddenly sprung to life. Cottage owners who lived away were spring cleaning and painting, ready for the season, and early holiday-makers’ cars stood around the green. She felt for her mobile automatically, but she’d left it at home. In fact, she’d left it switched off all week to avoid the temptation of answering Mum’s blackmailing calls. The decision she had to make hadn’t become any easier.
She left the seat reluctantly and carried on along the footpath towards home. Idleness, even this early in the morning, was a luxury she couldn’t afford: the deadline for her Arts Council grant loomed ever closer, and she had paintings in several galleries, all of which would be open for business today. She needed to check her messages in case someone showed an interest in buying her work.
The village was already awake when she turned the last corner. Two young boys kicked a ball on the green, their excited voices alien after the silent childlessness of winter. Holiday-makers, apparently, weren’t put off by tales of death and abduction, or they knew nothing about it. Or maybe they took ghoulish pleasure from staying in the village of death.
The door to Stuart and Elin’s house burst open and a dishevelled Elin stumbled out. A suitcase hurled past her, followed by another. A dark coat flapped onto the ground at her feet like an injured crow.
‘Go to your fucking Reverend.’
‘Stuart…please.’
‘Get lost.’
‘I’ll kill myself, then you’ll be sorry.’
‘Go on, jump off a cliff. See if I care. Your lover can say a eulogy at your funeral.’ The door slammed.
‘Stuart… Stuart.’ Elin hammered on the door with her fists. ‘Stuart, open this door.’
Silence bled from the door. Curtained windows stared blindly. The boys on the green gawped, statue-still. Elin lowered her arms, a defeated scarecrow before what had been her home. She tried to feel compassion for her but failed. Elin had perjured herself and stolen Nerys’ life. Elin’s infidelity had broken her partner’s heart, as Dad had broken Mum’s, and Mum, Dad’s.
She’d had her relationship with Tony wrecked by Mike’s lust, her love wrenched from her, and the fact that she’d had to break Tony’s heart, too, only made her angrier with Elin.
The sound of a car engine broke the spell. Elin gathered together her belongings and looked around her, as if lost in her own village.
‘Where are you going to go, Elin?’ It wasn’t what she wanted to say, but serves you right for being a promiscuous cow was kicking the woman when she was down.
Elin gaped at her. Her mascara had run; her normally immaculate hair stuck out like straw and her face was wan beneath the layers of makeup. ‘I don’t have anywhere I can go.’
She’d felt that way, once, and she hadn’t been entirely blameless. Her heart softened from granite to limestone. ‘I don’t have room, not even floor space to offer you.’
Elin straightened, and jabbed a finger towards her. ‘Stay with you? Life was good before you came. This is your mother’s doing.’ The finger jabbed her chest. ‘I know who you are, girl. You’re the spawn of the devil. You’ll come to a bad end, I promise you. God has judged you.’
She brushed Elin’s hand aside. ‘And I know what are you, Elin.’
‘You can’t touch me… I’m one of God’s elect. I have been chosen.’
The woman was mad. ‘Chosen by whom? Reverend Thomas, for his bit on the side? Why don’t you go to him, then? I’m guessing he doesn’t want you, now.’
Colour flushed Elin’s cheeks. ‘You know nothing about me.’
‘Oh, I know all about you. You and Siân, and Mair, and Non.’ She leaned towards the woman, anger brushing aside prudence. ‘I’m still considering what to do about you and the others.’
No amount of powder could mask the blood leaching from Elin’s face. She took a step backwards. ‘This is all down to you, isn’t it? You’re evil. You sent the letters, set the fire. You killed them… Why don’t you kill me, too?’ Mascara ran down Elin’s cheeks. ‘I wish I was dead. I’d rather be dead than sent to jail.’ Elin turned and ran across the green, leaving her coat and suitcases where they lay.
She stood stunned, as the blonde figure slowed to a walk, a hand clutching her side, and disappeared round the corner of the last house in the village. What letters? Elin thought she was responsible? Why would she think that? To protect her identity and her family from those who knew the truth? Spawn of the devil. Siân had a lot to answer for.
Chapter Nineteen
The fridge hummed gently and insistently. Alana stood in front of it with a hammer in her hand, trying to remember what she was supposed to be doing. Elin’s accusations had thrown her. If Elin went to the police, they could come knocking on her door at any moment.
She was being ridiculous: she hadn’t known Siân existed when Mr John had contacted her about The Haggard, and she hadn’t even been in the village when Mair’s house burned to the ground. Could she prove where she was when Mair and Non died? Could she prove she hadn’t known Siân? Could she prove she hadn’t set a delay mechanism to start the fire while she was away?
Maybe she wasn’t being ridiculous: Elin had conspired with others once before with staggering success, so what was to stop them all fabricating evidence against her, now?
This was stupid, and getting her nowhere. The burden of proof lay with the courts, not her. The witnesses had already been proven to be unreliable, and Elin had as much to lose by going to the police as she had, unless Stuart throwing her out, and Reverend Thomas rejecting her, had made her think she had nothing left to lose. Elin was a loose cannon: there was no telling what she might do. She should go to the police herself, and blow the whole thing wide open.
She opened the fridge door and stared inside, seeing nothing. Mum and Dad might have been misguided, but she still loved them. What was the sentence for perjury and child abduction?
The humming stopped and she closed the door: she’d been going to check her messages.
21 missed calls.
Voicemail: 11 messages.
Mum: Alana, it’s Mum. Please ring me.
Mum: Alana, I have to speak to you. Ring me, please.
Mum: Think of Saffy, Alana.
Mum: Alana, it’s me again. Your Dad doesn’t deserve this. It wasn’t his idea.
Greg: Alana, it’s Greg. Can you give me a call?
Mum: I only did it for you. Please, Alana. I love you. Xxx
Mum: Please, ring me.
Tony: Hi, Alana. I need to talk to you. Where are you?
Dad: Hello? Alana? Oh. I expect you’re busy. Hope you’re ok?
Annette: It’s Annette here, from the gallery. Will you take a reduction of £50 on Incoming Tide, Solva? Ring me asap.
Mum: For God’s sake, Alana. Put me out of my misery.
She returned the call to Annette and agreed the reduction. Three hundred pounds was better than a lost sale.
She ignored Mum.
She’d ring Dad, later.
What was she supposed to say to Greg? She couldn’t see him again and keep lying to him. And anyway... there was Tony. Mike had ruined everything, but it had been her fault, too, flirting and drunk. Who was she to judge Elin’s love life? Where are you? Tony’s voice caressed her mind. ‘I’m here, Tony.’
She jumped at a loud rapping on the door. The police! Her heart thundered: there was no escape. The rapping came again, louder. ‘Open the door. I know you’re in there.’ She hadn’t done anything wrong… The police had nothing on her but wild accusations from an emotionally-disturbed pensioner. She flung open the door, still shaking, and fell into Tony’s arms.
‘You weren’t answering your phone so I asked your dad where you were.’ He pushed her away gently, his face full of concern. ‘Alana, you look awful. Are you okay?’
‘Yes… no… Just hold me, Tony.’
***
Suddenly hot and cold, faced with Tony, Alana kicked a lump of stone aside with her foot. Plastic sacks, half-full of rubble still littered the floor by the front door. ‘Welcome to The Haggard.’
‘What the hell happened?’ Tony looked around the room. ‘You demolishing the place?’
‘Not exactly.’ She waved at tall shapes, draped like statues in a grand house shut up while the family wintered abroad. ‘I haven’t had time to clear up.’
‘What are you doing here, anyway?’
‘Trying to have a life? What are you doing here?’
‘Gasping?’ Tony smiled and grasped the coal shovel. ‘Stick the kettle on, Alana, while I shovel some of this crap into these bags.’
Typical of Tony to wade in. ‘Thanks. You still have half a sugar?’
‘No. Given it up.’ His voice was drowned out by the rapid-boil kettle. She took the coffee into the living room.
He perched on the low table amid a pile of paperwork. ‘We have some serious talking to do.’
‘I’m not going to tell you who Saffy’s father is.’
‘I need to know what happened, Alana. It’s driving me mad. I know this may be hard for you but the more I think about it… were you raped?’
Mike’s hands were all over her. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘But it wasn’t a one-night stand, was it? I meant more to you than that.’
‘You were my life, Tony. My future.’
‘Mike said several people went out after you did. He couldn’t remember who they were… but it was someone I know, if that’s when it happened. Will you at least tell me if it was that night?’
She nodded. ‘I’d had too much to drink. I was flirting… happy… I didn’t want sex. He…’ She closed her eyes and turned away to hide her revulsion, her self-loathing.
‘Who, Alana?’ His voice was gentle now. He turned her towards him; his hands held hers, softly but urgently. ‘Please, I can’t live like this, suspecting everyone I know… my friends… of raping the woman I love.’
She hadn’t thought how that would feel. ‘It wasn’t a friend.’
‘If it wasn’t a friend…’ His brow furrowed. ‘We only invited friends and family.’
She shook her head, pleading with him not to make the connection.
His grip tightened. ‘Not…’
Tears ran down her cheeks unchecked.
‘No, not Mike… please, tell me it wasn’t Mike.’
She had no need to nod.
‘I’ll kill him.’ He strode to the front door and stopped. Hands on the door he banged his forehead against the wood. ‘You bastard. You bastard.’
‘Tony…’ She shook his shoulder. ‘It’s done. It’s in the past. Nothing you do will alter what’s happened, and think what it would do to your dad if he knew. I have a daughter, Mike’s daughter, and I have to live with that. Can you? That’s the important question, now.’
He turned to face her, his eyes shining with tears. ‘I… God, Alana, what are we going to do… How can you even look at me without seeing him? I shouldn’t have come, stirring it all up again… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’ He flung open the door and strode to his car.
‘Tony… Tony, come back.’ She ran out after him and grabbed his arm as he yanked open the car door. ‘You can’t drive in this state.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘Tony, I love you.’
He whirled to face her. ‘Love… I can’t ask that of you, now. To be part of this family, to have a constant reminder, and I don’t know if… Mike, Mike’s child… It makes me feel sick.’
‘It made me sick too, but Saffy’s already a constant reminder, and I’ve grown to love her. I didn’t think I could. Maybe, in time, you…’
‘I don’t know… I’m sorry, Alana, but I just don’t know.’
‘It’s okay… it’s okay.’ She’d had two years to get used to the idea. She held him by the shoulders. ‘Tony, I know you’re in shock but listen to me. I love Saffy. I wouldn’t have chosen a child of rape and, more than anything, I wish she was yours but… She deserves my love. I want to be a mother to her, as soon as I sort things here. We come as a package, now.’
‘I don’t know how you can stand there and be so calm.’
She sighed and managed a weak smile. ‘I’m confused, imperfect and full of contradictions. I think that covers all bases. Come back inside, please, Tony. I’m in serious trouble, and I really need someone to talk to.’
***
Rhiannon threw the remains of a packet of cheese and onion crisps into the bin. Hateful things. The milk in the
fridge was off and the half loaf of bread was only fit for toast. What day was it? Would the shop be open?
She consulted her journal anxiously: she was relying on it more and more to augment the gaps in her memory.
Wednesday: Did telling for Elin. Raidho, Jera, Eihwaz.
The next four pages were full of childish scribble, similar to the drawings on the walls. One of them had ears and orange stripes, and looked a bit like Pryderi. Lowrie had found her coloured pens and gone wild with them.
She turned the page to find Nerys’ hand. Thursday. We’re down to last tea bag and what have you done with my marmalade? She’d given the marmalade away, and used the last tea bag at breakfast, so that meant it must be Friday, unless Nerys had gone without tea as well as marmalade on her toast.
She contemplated the runes that had lain untouched on the cloth on the kitchen table since Wednesday. Raidho - a journey, positive developments. Jera, reversed - matters coming to a head. And Eihwaz, which stood for el, the first two letters of Elin’s name, and had fallen on its right side. Eihwaz was sacred to Odin, who gathered souls for their journey to Valhalla. Elin, steeped in Calvinist teachings, thought herself chosen.
Like the 13th card of death in the tarot deck, it was symbolic of death, the gate to the underworld, but death in the sense of a cycle of life. Death, as in death, regeneration and rebirth. Patience was needed to work through a period of stagnation. Old ways would give way to new.
She rotated the Eihwaz rune-tile between her fingers, the well-worn edges comforting in her palm. She was tired of having patience. Stagnation, and Nerys, were getting on her nerves and Lowrie was no better, whining and crying and making a mess.
She moved across to the window and lifted the net. Elin hadn’t come back yet, and her suitcases lay on the grass where she’d left them that morning, after her row with Alana. She’d seen Elin, jabbing her finger in Alana’s chest, and she’d seen her back away when the girl stood up for herself. Both had seemed very angry. What had that been about? A van was parked in the road outside Elin’s house. Judging by the sign-writing, Stuart was having his locks changed. If it were Good Friday, as she suspected, it would cost him an arm and a leg.