by Rebecca Bryn
‘I’m afraid it’s a bit of a mess, inside.’
‘You were born there. It could have been a happy home, despite the tragedy of losing Angharad and Tomos. You have The Haggard, now. I thought, when it’s repaired, I might give this one to Gregory.’
‘That’s very generous. He’d love it, I’m sure. He and Maddy will be coming later. You and Irene can stay for tea?’
‘Thank you. That would be lovely. I have thirty years of birthdays and Christmases to make up. I wish… I wish there was something I could give you.’
‘You’re here… Da.’ Where had that come from?
‘My darling girl.’ Tears welled and overflowed. ‘It’s what you used to call me. Oh, Beth, my little Beth, all grown up. I’ve missed you so much.’
She hugged him then, the barriers and the awkwardness melted away. ‘I’m Alana, now, Dad. It’s who I am.’
He nodded through his tears. ‘Your Mum and Dad, the ones who brought you up… Don’t shut them out. They did what they thought was right at the time… Don’t judge them too harshly.’
‘You can forgive them what they did?’
‘I can understand the desire to protect you. I can’t say I can ever forgive what they put Nerys through.’
She nodded, understanding. ‘They’re part of my life. I suppose they always will be. Did you know Nerys’ father had sexually abused his girls?’
‘Not until the police spoke to me. It was a shock. It explains why she’d never leave you alone with her parents. Looking back, so much makes sense, now. I always put her forgetfulness down to her fey spirit. Now I realise, even back then, these alters were already part of her life.’
‘Will you come with us to see her?’
‘As long as Irene’s okay with it. I owe Nerys so much. She gave me my life back, when hers was in ruins.’
She took his hand, rough and work-calloused. ‘Come. There’s someone I want you to meet.’
She opened the door and a ginger cat cannoned out, followed by Saffy. ‘Pwydewi…’
She grabbed Saffy in passing: her daughter kicked and wriggled. ‘This is your granddaughter, Saffy.’ She shoved the protesting child into her grandfather’s arms and held out a hand to Tony. ‘And this is your future son-in-law.’
Saffy made shaking hands impossible. ‘God, she looks like you did at her age. Beautiful, if spirited.’ James put her down. She toddled off after Pryderi.
‘There’s something else, something I want to tell you.’ She put a hand on her stomach and looked at Tony. ‘I’m pregnant. If we have a little girl, I want to call her Bethan. If we have a boy, I’d like to call him Tomos.’
Tony smiled and hugged her. ‘That’s the best news ever.’ He shook James by the hand; her father was crying again. ‘I’ll look after all of them, James. I promise.’
***
The breeze whipped at Alana’s hair. The gravestones leaned and whispered among brambles tinged with autumn colours. Hawthorn bushes were red with bright berries. The floral tributes, a testimony to the number of well-wishers who’d attended Cadi’s funeral, had wilted and died. She put them in a bin liner.
James had warned them of the media interest the case would cause, and there had been several approaches from newspapers for exclusive rights to her story. Enough cash had been offered to solve her financial problems for years. She and Greg had turned them down. All approaches had been met with the same answer. Sole rights to their story had been given to Mundhildur Vilhelmsdóttir, a young, upcoming freelance reporter, who they trusted to write the story with sensitivity and total truth. Maddy had been overwhelmed: the inside story, the scoop of the decade as one reporter had called it, would establish her career.
Saffy pulled petals from a fresh pink chrysanthemum. Tony passed her a bottle of clean water for the vase. Something Dad once said about Mum flooded into her mind. One day you’ll realise she’s taken your life and rearranged it according to the gospel of Gweneth Harper. She hadn’t realised, then, how literally he’d meant it.
She arranged the chrysanths in the vase. She didn’t realise she was crying until a small body launched itself towards her.
Saffy flung her arms around her neck. ‘Don’t cry, Mummy.’
‘Happy tears, Saffy. Cadi’s with her Mummy and Daddy again.’ She stood up, swinging Saffy onto one hip.
Tony’s hand found hers and squeezed it reassuringly. She smiled up at him and moved his hand to her stomach. His face lit. ‘I felt her move.’
Saffy looked puzzled. ‘Me feel.’
Tony placed Saffy’s hand beneath his own, and the baby kicked again. ‘Bethan Angharad, Saffy. Your little sister… woke up to say hello.’
She looked back to the inscription she’d carved on the headstone, and sent up a silent thank you to the god of fractured lives.
Below the names of Dafydd and Siân, the words read:
also
Cadi Alana Ap Dafydd, their only daughter
Died accidentally June 2nd 1985 Aged 3 years.
Love reunites those who wait.
The End
Rebecca Bryn lives on a small-holding in West Wales with her husband and dog, where she paints the coastal scenes that inspire her. She is happy to answer questions about her writing and her novels at www.facebook.com/rebecca.bryn.novels and at www.rebeccabrynandsarahstuart-novels.co.uk
The poem, The Vigil, was inspired by the tragic disappearance of Madeleine McCann on May 3rd 2007.
Her second novel, Touching the Wire, was written to commemorate the seventieth anniversary of Holocaust Memorial Day on January 27th 2015. And was inspired by a television report that made her examine her own feelings about forgiveness.
Touching the Wire.
Part One - In the Shadow of the Wolf
In a death camp in 1940’s Poland, a young doctor and one of his nurses struggle to save lives. As their relationship blossoms, amid the death and deprivation, they join the camp resistance and, despite the danger of betrayal, he steals damning evidence of war-crimes. Afraid of repercussions, and for the sake of his post-war family he hides the evidence, but hard truths and terrible choices haunt him, as does a promise not kept.
Part Two – Though the Heavens should Fall
In present-day England, his granddaughter seeks to answer the questions posed by an enigmatic carving. Her own relationship in tatters, she meets a modern historian who, intrigued by the carving, agrees to help her discover its purpose. As her grandfather’s past seeps into the present, she betrays the man she loves and is forced to confront her own guilt in order to be able to forgive the unforgivable and keep her grandfather’s promise.
http://mybook.to/TouchingtheWire
Her third novel, Where Hope Dares, is a thriller set in the High Atlas Mountains of Morocco, and not in our time.
In a time of religious, social and political upheaval, Kiya, a healer, is kidnapped to fulfil an ancient prophecy and taken north across the mountains to a brutal pagan high priest. Her storyteller husband, Raphel, sets out on a thousand-mile journey to bring her home. He has to face the mountains, sea and desert, and a warmongering regime with only hope and headful of stories to aid him. Their only friend, Abe, an itinerant peddler, has his own secret agenda decreed by a long-dead pope. Hope comes from where they least expect it, but who can they trust – friend or foe?
http://getbook.at/WhereHopeDares
NB: Your opinion is important to me. If you’ve enjoyed The Silence of the Stones, please take a moment to leave a rating and review at http://mybook.to/SilenceoftheStones I’d really appreciate your feedback. Thank you – Rebecca.
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