by Mark Edwards
‘Is it . . . ?’ I could hardly bring myself to say it. ‘Is it Lily?’
‘I can’t tell. I want it to be her so much that I’m seeing her. But I don’t know. I don’t know.’
‘Let’s plug it into a computer,’ I said. ‘Make it bigger.’
I ran upstairs and grabbed my laptop, along with the USB cable I used to charge my missing phone. Back in the kitchen, I plugged Ursula’s phone in and navigated through a series of permissions messages. Finally, I was able to import the photo.
It appeared full-size on the screen. It was a top-of-the-range laptop with a retina screen so the photo appeared bright and vivid. It was a little out of focus, but we were able to zoom in on the girl’s face so her features were visible enough to identify her.
‘It’s not Lily,’ Julia said, the disappointment making her voice tremble.
I put my hand on her shoulder, which drew a knowing look from Ursula.
‘But I know her,’ Julia said, staring at the picture. ‘It’s Lily’s friend, Megan. Her family lives on the other side of the woods.’
She grabbed her car keys from the hook on the wall.
‘Where are you going?’ I asked.
‘To talk to her. I want to know what she was doing.’ She left the kitchen, then turned back. ‘Come on. Bring your laptop.’
‘Do you feel bad now?’ Julia asked as she drove onto the main road.
‘About accusing Ursula of lying? A bit. I still think she’s dangerous, though.’
She laughed. She seemed a little giddy. ‘You don’t get on with many people, do you?’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Oh, just that I know you don’t like Max. And you’ve taken an instant dislike to Ursula. Also, I read an interview with you online, and you were doing the whole Greta Garbo “I want to be alone” thing.’
‘I don’t think my ironic sense of humour comes across in interviews.’ I paused. ‘Wait, you were reading an interview with me?’
Did I imagine it, or did she go a very pale shade of pink? ‘I . . . um . . . I like to keep up with what my guests are up to.’
‘Right.’
Neither of us could think what to say. Eventually Julia said, ‘You must think I’m losing it. After what happened earlier . . .’
‘Of course I don’t. It’s totally understandable.’
‘It was a bit bonkers, though, wasn’t it? My plan to leave a picnic in the woods?’
We headed west, skirting the edge of the woods. This was close to where I’d found the creepy hut and been picked up by that gossiping taxi driver. We were driving in a loop, so it was a lot further by car than it would be on foot.
‘Here we are.’
Julia pulled into a little housing estate comprising twenty or thirty houses which looked like they’d been built in the last decade or so. Neat square lawns, wide pavements, trampolines in half the gardens. An estate designed for young families. Julia pulled up outside Number 22, which was one of the largest houses, positioned in front of the woods that stretched all the way to the retreat.
Julia rang the doorbell.
‘Hi, Wendy,’ she said to the woman who answered the door. She was in her late thirties, slim and wearing a slogan T-shirt. A black Labrador was trying to get past her. She grabbed its collar and held it back.
‘Julia. This is . . . a surprise.’ She gave me a quizzical look, eyes dropping to the laptop under my arm, then invited us in, saying, ‘Get down, Barney’ to the dog, which leapt about trying to give both Julia and me a hug. Wendy finally shut Barney in the kitchen and invited us into the living room.
‘Is Megan around?’ Julia asked.
‘She’s in her bedroom. Is everything all right?’ She kept glancing at me, clearly trying to figure out who I was.
‘I wanted to ask her something.’
Wendy gave Julia a curious look, then gestured for us to take a seat, though neither of us sat down. Wendy left the room, calling Megan’s name up the stairs. Getting no reply, she went up, her footsteps echoing behind her.
Julia paced the room, chewing her thumbnail, giving off waves of nervous energy. I examined the framed pictures on the mantelpiece. Wendy had two kids, Megan and an older son. Next, I examined the bookcase, something I do whenever I visit someone’s house. I can’t help it. If I enter a house with no books it makes me uneasy. I wonder what’s wrong with the people who live there.
I was drawn past the paperback bestsellers to a book I recognised. Folk Tales and Urban Myths. I’d seen this book recently, but where? I took it down and flicked through it. It was a kids’ book, full of stories about legends like Bloody Mary and the Beast of Bodmin Moor. It went back further, describing how communities would live in terror of witches and werewolves, night demons and weeping women. The illustrations were vivid and creepy.
‘Lily’s got that book,’ Julia said. ‘I have no idea where it came from. She just brought it home one day.’
That was where I’d seen it. Lily’s bedroom.
I replaced the book on the shelf as Wendy came back into the room, followed by the girl from Ursula’s photograph.
‘Hi, Megan,’ Julia said.
‘Hi, Mrs Marsh.’ The girl fidgeted awkwardly, sucking on a strand of hair. She perched on the edge of the sofa, both legs jiggling up and down as if her body couldn’t contain all its energy. She couldn’t make eye contact with Julia.
‘How are you?’
Megan shrugged. ‘Good, thanks.’
‘Were you outside my house earlier?’ Julia asked.
Megan dipped her chin and didn’t answer. She stared at a stain on the carpet as if it might contain the answer to the meaning of life. Finally, after her mum said her name, Megan said, ‘Yeah.’
‘What were you doing there?’
Megan stuck out her bottom lip. ‘Just looking.’
‘At the house?’
She nodded, and then the lip she’d been sticking out trembled. ‘I wasn’t doing anything wrong. It’s just . . . sometimes I miss Lily. I like looking at your house and remembering.’
‘Oh, sweetheart,’ Julia said.
Wendy swooped in and folded her daughter up in her arms. ‘You’re upsetting her,’ she said to Julia.
‘I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I thought . . . It’s stupid, but I had this idea that Megan might know something.’
‘About Lily?’ Wendy shook her head. ‘It was two years ago.’
‘I thought maybe she knew something and was coming to tell me.’
‘What’s going on?’ A male voice came from the doorway.
‘Grandad!’ Megan extricated herself from her mum’s arms and leapt across to the man who’d entered the room, flinging her arms around him. He was completely bald and in his sixties.
‘What’s the matter, angel?’ he asked Megan.
Before Megan could reply, Wendy told him what had happened.
‘There’s no law against her going into the woods, is there?’ he said. His teeth pointed in half a dozen directions. I did a double take. He stared back at me with evident hostility.
Was this the man Zara had encountered at the chess club?
‘We’re all very sorry about what happened, Mrs Marsh,’ the bald man said. ‘But that doesn’t mean you can come here upsetting my granddaughter.’
I didn’t like his hostile tone.
‘With respect,’ I said, ‘Julia was upset when she saw Megan.’
‘And you are?’
‘Lucas Radcliffe,’ I replied.
‘He’s a writer,’ Julia said. Wendy looked confused, so Julia added, ‘I’ve turned the house into a writers’ retreat.’
The bald man narrowed his eyes at me. It suddenly struck me that, if this was the man Zara had encountered at the chess club, there was a chance he knew I had hired her. And Julia didn’t know about that.
We needed to get out of there before he let the cat out of that particular bag.
‘It must bring it all back,’ Wendy said, giving me a
temporary reprieve. ‘I’m so sorry, Julia. I wish there was something we could do.’
‘But there isn’t,’ said Megan’s grandad, still training his hostile gaze on me. ‘Let me show you out.’
We went back out to the car. Julia was fully deflated now.
‘I feel sick,’ she said. ‘Do you mind driving?’
She handed me the keys and I got into the driver’s seat.
‘What’s Megan’s grandad’s name?’ I asked. ‘Do you know?’
‘Glynn Collins. Why?’
‘Oh, I just thought I recognised him, that’s all.’
‘He’s well known around here,’ Julia said. ‘A pillar of the community. I remember he offered to take Michael out for a drink, introduce him to some of the other local men, but Michael wasn’t into that kind of thing.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know. Men’s clubs. Groups of blokes who think women only have legs to get from the kitchen to the bedroom. Michael had his faults, but being a rampant misogynist wasn’t one of them. Glynn asked him if he wanted to join the local chess club and Michael went along to take a look, but said it wasn’t his scene. Apart from a receptionist, there were no women, just a lot of old blokes.’
As we were about to drive off, something caught my eye. There was somebody in the upstairs window, watching us. The teenage boy whose photo was on the mantelpiece.
Julia followed my gaze. ‘That’s Jake. Megan’s brother. He’s very sweet.’
The boy stood up and pressed the tips of his fingers against the glass.
‘It’s been hard for Wendy,’ Julia said. ‘Apparently Jake has the mental age of a five- or six-year-old.’
‘A kind of Peter Pan.’
‘I guess that’s one way of looking at it. Can we go home?’
‘Yes, of course, sorry.’
I raised my eyes to Jake once more. He was mouthing something, but I was unable to read his lips. He was pointing too, at the woods beyond the house. I concentrated on his mouth, trying to figure out what he was saying. It looked like one word, over and over.
It looked like ‘Lily’. And then, as I stared at him, he said another word. It looked like ‘window’.
No, not ‘window’. Widow. He was saying ‘widow’.
Chapter 23
LILY – 2014
Dad came into Lily’s room and said six words that stabbed her in the heart with an icicle.
‘Megan’s grandad is taking you out.’
She stared at him.
‘Nice of him, huh?’ Dad said. ‘He called and said he was taking Megan to the adventure playground and Megan asked if you could go too. He’s going to pick you up in fifteen minutes so you’d better get a wriggle on and get dressed.’ He sighed as he rummaged through her chest of drawers. ‘Goodness, Lily, it’s a mess in your room. Where are your leggings?’
‘I feel sick,’ she said. ‘I think I’ve got a temperature.’
He felt her forehead. ‘You seem fine to me. Come on. Don’t be a malingerer.’
‘A what?’
Huffing and sighing, she dressed and waited for Megan and her grandad to arrive. As long as she stuck close to Megan, as long as she wasn’t left alone with Mr Collins, it should be okay.
Mum had gone into Wrexham today, because she had an appointment, so Dad was looking after her. As Lily brushed her hair, she tried to put her fear of Megan’s grandad out of her mind, but that only freed up space for her other worries to creep into. Her worries about Mum and Dad.
Mum seemed sad at the moment. She’d had a summer cold for weeks and complained about being tired all the time. Quite often, Lily would walk into the room and Mum would be sitting there, staring into space, and she wouldn’t respond unless Lily said her name really loud or got right up in her face. Dad said she was a zombie and Mum narrowed her eyes at him and said it was all his fault.
Lily didn’t know whose side to take. She didn’t want to take anyone’s side. She thought maybe her parents needed a date night, which was something Megan’s mum and stepdad did – even though the thought of them kissing and being lovey-dovey made her want to vomit – but there was no one around to babysit. The whole thing was like horrible homework that the teacher hadn’t explained properly.
Megan and her grandad turned up and they went out. The two girls sat in the back seat and Megan talked non-stop about her brother and YouTube and the Bloody Mary video game. Lily tuned out and concentrated on Mr Collins. She could only see the back of his head, and his eyes in the rear-view mirror. He concentrated on driving, humming along with some rubbish old music on the radio.
She relaxed until he said, ‘Everything all right, Lily?’
He had caught her staring at him. Her ears burned and she shrank back into her seat, not speaking until they got to the adventure playground.
The playground was massive. There was a chute slide and rope bridges strung between trees and even a flying fox. Lily started to relax, until a horrible boy, who was part of a group of annoying kids who kept hogging the slide, shoved her out of the way.
‘Hey!’
When the boy reached the bottom of the slide, Megan’s grandad went up and whispered something in his ear. The boy went white and he kept out of Lily and Megan’s way after that.
Maybe Mr Collins wasn’t so bad after all. He bought them ice creams too, and slushies. Mum never let Lily drink slushies because she said they contained ‘more Es than a rave party’, whatever that meant. But Megan’s grandad clearly wasn’t one of those grown-ups who was obsessed with looking after your teeth.
Back in the car, he said, ‘I need to go into town before I take you home, Lily. I’ve texted your dad and he said it’s fine.’
‘Okay.’
As they approached Beddmawr, Mr Collins suddenly got this look in his eye – that ‘I like scaring kids’ look – and said, ‘Did I ever tell you girls where the Red Widow came from?’
Megan sat up. ‘No! Tell us, Grandad.’
Lily shrank back in her seat. She really didn’t want to hear it.
‘Lily, you’ll be interested in this. Did you know your house is built on the site of an old slate mine?’
She’d heard her parents talking about it before. Slate was basically a kind of rock. Once upon a very boring time, lots of people had spent their whole lives digging it up and using it to build roofs.
‘Yes, Mr Collins,’ she said.
He grunted happily. ‘That mine opened two hundred years ago, you know.’
‘When you were a boy,’ said Megan.
‘Very funny. Now, slate mining was a dangerous business . . .’
Lily’s mind wandered off to something more interesting. Her attention drifted through the window and across the fields to her house and, more specifically, her kitchen. What would it be tonight? She fancied burgers, or maybe pizza, or pasta . . .
‘And he was crushed to death.’
Her attention snapped back to Mr Collins.
‘Terrible business,’ he said. ‘And most terrible of all for Dafydd’s wife. She was pregnant, and they say the shock made her lose her baby.’ He shook his head. ‘The world was a cruel place back then, girls. None of the mollycoddling that goes on now. Dafydd’s wife, whose name was Rhiannon, didn’t just lose her baby – she lost her home. She was starving, alone, penniless. And now homeless.’
‘So she went to live under the bridge,’ Megan said. ‘You’ve told me that part before.’
‘Ah, but Lily hasn’t heard the story.’
Megan frowned and nodded. She clearly took the story very seriously.
‘Poor Rhiannon made a home under a bridge. She was a very pretty woman with all this black hair. One morning, a young man from the mine went down to the river and saw a dozen dead fish floating on the water, with Rhiannon standing by the bank. He ran back to tell the other men and that’s when they decided. She must have killed the fish using witchcraft. And do you know what happened then?’
Megan’s eyes were wide and round.
‘The men formed a gang and drove her into the woods,’ she said.
‘Exactly. They were going to burn her but they were afraid to get too near her. Instead, they banished her, thinking she’d die in the woods anyway.’
‘Were there wolves?’ Lily asked.
‘No. They died out four hundred years ago. But it was cold and inhospitable and there was nothing to eat.’ He cleared his throat. They were almost in town now. ‘As she headed into the woods, Rhiannon called out a curse. She said that if the townsfolk didn’t bring her a child as a sacrifice, she would come into town and choose one. Do you know what happened next?’
‘Tell us, Grandad.’ Megan’s voice had dropped to a whisper.
Mr Collins’s eyes sparkled. ‘The people ignored her warning. But a week later, something terrible happened.’
They had stopped at a traffic light and he turned round in his seat, the seatbelt straining against his belly. ‘The prettiest girl in the town disappeared. A girl as pretty as you two. She was eight years old, out running an errand for her mother. And she never came home. The townsfolk searched the woods, and guess what they found?’
‘What, Grandad?’
‘A pile of bones at the foot of a tree. Among the bones was a necklace the pretty young girl had been wearing.’
Lily closed her eyes, imagining it. The girl’s mum and dad, crying over the bones, crying and wishing they hadn’t ignored the Widow’s demands.
Mr Collins showed his horrible teeth. ‘The best part is, it’s all true.’
Lily turned to look at Megan, expecting to exchange a smile about the scary but silly story – as if it were true! – but Megan looked as serious as she did when their teacher told them Important Facts.
They parked near the river – the same river where the witch had killed those fish – and Megan’s grandad went into an old building, leaving the radio on for them. He came out ten minutes later and they saw him go into the bookshop next door. When he got back to the car, he handed each of them a paper bag. Inside each was the same book: Folk Tales and Urban Myths.
‘You’ll enjoy that, girls,’ he said. ‘Right, Lily, we’d better get you home.’