by Mark Edwards
‘That’s very kind of you, but maybe you should call a dealer. There might be some valuable books among them.’
‘Yeah, that’s what Heledd said I should do.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s weird. Both our parents dying within a week of each other. What are the odds, eh? She’s got the B & B to sort out and isn’t sure if she’s going to carry on running it. She’s talking about selling it and living on the proceeds. I’m trying to persuade her to move in with me.’
‘How long have you and Heledd been together?’ I asked.
‘Twenty years.’
‘What?’ I was shocked.
He laughed. ‘Including the eighteen-year break in the middle. We were together for a year when we were young. We got back together last year. I finally wore her down.’
‘And neither of you have children?’
‘I have, but they live in Cardiff with their mum, my ex-wife. Heledd doesn’t have kids, though. She says this isn’t a good place to raise children.’
The whole thing saddened me. It seemed Heledd had stayed here all these years because of Shirley, and now she was threatening to take off and leave Olly behind.
We drove in silence for a few minutes. We weren’t far from the retreat now.
‘So you have no idea what secret your dad was talking about?’ I asked.
He hesitated, just for a second, before saying no. There was clearly something, perhaps buried deep, a doubt or suspicion. I decided not to push it. He would be thinking about it now. Hopefully it would come to the surface.
‘Maybe I will come to take a look at those books,’ I said as we pulled up outside Nyth Bran.
‘Cool.’ He made a telephone sign with his little finger and thumb – call me – and drove away.
Julia was in the kitchen, sitting at the breakfast counter with a cup of tea, surveying the garden. Dark circles ringed her eyes but the sunlight touched her hair and lit up her face, stopping me in my tracks.
‘It’s rude to stare,’ she said, getting up and coming over. She peered at the bandage on the back of my head. ‘Any bits of brain leak out?’ she asked.
‘No important bits, I don’t think.’
‘Still got the part that contains your common sense?’
‘Oh God, no. That withered and died a long time ago.’
She smiled. ‘Coffee?’
‘It’s okay, I’ll make it.’
‘If you’re sure.’ Julia leaned against the counter. As I filled the kettle and placed it on the Aga, she said, ‘The police were here again, asking questions.’
‘About what?’
‘About you.’
I turned from the Aga. ‘What kind of questions?’
She cradled her tea. ‘They wanted to know about your relationship with Max, how you got on. Snaith had a copy of your novel.’
‘Sweetmeat?’
‘Yeah. He was flicking through it, reading out some of the violent scenes. He asked me if you had shown any signs of aggression since you’d been here. Of course, Ursula had already told them about the time you threatened Max.’
‘Jesus. They can’t believe that was a real threat, surely? What, do they think I killed Max then hit myself over the head with a rock and jumped in the river? That’s nuts.’
‘I don’t know what they think, Lucas. At least the reporters have gone. There was a house fire in Wrexham, several kids trapped . . . I can’t bear to think about it. They’ve all gone there.’
I finished making the coffee, adding two sugars.
‘Where’s Ursula now?’ I asked.
‘In her room. She’s talking about leaving in the next couple of days.’
‘And Suzi?’
‘Same. Looks like you’re going to be my only customer, unless you’re planning on buggering off too.’
‘I doubt the police would let me go, even if I wanted to. But I’m not going anywhere. Assuming that’s okay with you?’
She met my eye. ‘Of course. I want you to stay.’ A wry smile. ‘I doubt I’ll get any more customers coming here after what happened. Not that it matters, anyway. Maybe the whole thing was a terrible idea. I should start illustrating again. Find work. I’ve still got contacts.’
The energy seemed to drain from her body.
‘It feels pointless. All of it.’
‘Julia . . .’
I got up and crossed the kitchen to where she stood. She looked up at me, eyes brimming with tears. I put my hand out, touched her arm. She stepped closer to me. We were inches apart, the silence so heavy between us, the air as thick as tar. She moved closer still.
Time stopped. The world was silent. I touched her cheek and brushed away a tear with my thumb.
She rested her forehead against mine. Beyond the window, a bird called out. Sunshine danced across the kitchen. I closed my eyes and waited for our lips to meet.
Suddenly, I was holding empty air.
I opened my eyes. She was in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself. She was painfully beautiful.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said as she left the room.
Chapter 33
Drowsiness, poor tolerance of light, feelings of disorientation, confusion. I had the full set, but I didn’t think it had anything to do with my head injury. I sat at the desk in my room and tried to figure out what to do next. The police had my laptop so I couldn’t work. I thought about calling DC Hawkins and DI Snaith and demanding it back, but I didn’t want to face more of their questions. If they suspected me, did I need to get a solicitor? Were they going to bring me in for questioning? Nerves chewed at my stomach.
I opened my phone and caught up on the news. Max got all the headlines, of course. Apparently his last book was now number one on Amazon.
It’s what he would have wanted.
My inbox was flooded with emails from my agent and publisher, both of them telling me if I needed more time to finish the book, that was understandable. Finally, a tiny silver lining – though I felt guilty thinking any positive thoughts. I had lots of emails from readers too, hoping this wouldn’t delay my next novel, and my Facebook page was abuzz with well-wishers. I left a message letting everyone know I was okay, with a link to a page Max’s family had set up for donations to a charity in his name.
I had a knot in my stomach the size of Hawaii. Half of me was afraid that whoever had tried to kill me – and I was sceptical about Glynn Collins’s alibi – would come back. The other half wanted him to appear so I could confront him. I would be prepared this time. I parted the curtains and looked out at the darkening landscape. It was silent out there; silent and still. The retreat was locked up and secure. No one could get in.
I made a list in my aching head of things I needed to do. Go and see Olly to talk more about his dad. Try to persuade the police that I wasn’t a fantasist. Persuade them to check if Zara’s passport had been used.
Persuade them, too, that I hadn’t murdered Max.
I was exhausted. I felt it deep in my muscles, and in my soul. I went along to the bathroom and ran a bath. The hot water soothed me, and by the time the water started to cool I was almost asleep. I dragged myself to the bedroom and, still damp, fell naked into bed. Into sleep.
The door clicked open. Someone was in my room. But, unlike before, I had left the curtains parted. By the light of the moon, I could see a silhouette standing by the bed as it appeared to slough off its skin. Something soft hit the floor.
The silhouette slipped under my covers.
‘What—’ I began.
A finger touched my lips. ‘Shush.’
It was Julia. Her mouth met mine and an arm slipped around me. She was naked, her skin cool and soft. I pulled her closer, feeling how her body trembled, breath quickening as she kissed me harder, silky hair falling over my face, tickling me as she pushed herself up, manoeuvring me onto my back. She lay flat upon me, legs stretched out along mine, breasts pressed against my chest, one hand gripping mine against the sheets. Skin against skin. Lips against lips.
Then she was sitting up, astride
me, rocking slowly, palms flat on my chest, hair falling forward as her hips moved, back, forth, back, forth. I sat up, kissing her deeply and pulling her against me as she nipped at my lips, raked her fingernails down my back. She pushed herself harder against me and I could sense her frustration, the need for an orgasm, and I turned her over, withdrew and put my head between her legs. I glanced up at her, across the glorious landscape of her flesh, the flush around her collarbone, the increasing rise and fall of her chest, and with my fingers and tongue, I made her come.
A moment later, I was inside her again, and I tried to fight it, to hold back, but she murmured, ‘It’s okay’, and I surrendered, a climax like a series of explosions rippling across my entire body.
She lay with her head on my chest. We didn’t speak. A little while later we started kissing again. We kissed for what felt like hours. It felt like a dream, like being outside myself. I know at some point we made each other come again.
I remember hearing someone singing, very faintly in the distance. Un, dau, tri. Mam yn dal y pry. I think I tried to remark on it, but my mouth was too tired, my tongue too heavy.
The next thing I knew it was light.
And Julia was gone.
I found her in the cottage. She had her hair pinned up and was sorting through some paperwork on the kitchen table. She looked up, and smiled when she saw me.
‘Are you looking for breakfast? I’m afraid the schedule’s gone to hell.’
‘No. Of course not. I . . .’ Words failed me. I was as tongue-tied as a love-struck teenager. ‘Julia . . .’
She got up from the table and pulled me into a hug, quietening me. It felt very much like a platonic hug.
‘Julia . . .’ I began again.
‘Lucas. Let’s not talk about it, okay? It was something I needed, that’s all.’
‘Oh.’
She laughed. ‘Please don’t look so disappointed. I really don’t want to have a long, awkward conversation about it. It felt like something you needed too. No more than that, and no less. You don’t want more than that, surely. I’m a mess, and I get the impression you’re not ready to move on.’
Was she right? I didn’t know. It had been two years since I lost Priya. I missed her, of course I still missed her. But the pain, which used to be ever present, the overriding emotion that darkened every hour of every day, had dimmed. Now I could go for hours without thinking about her before being shocked out of forgetfulness by guilt.
But I didn’t feel guilty about sleeping with Julia. Because I was still here, wasn’t I? Still living. Still in need of human warmth and pleasure. Still trying to be happy. I was certain Priya, if she was watching me, wouldn’t begrudge me that. I was sure, in fact, she’d be cheering me on.
It was different for Julia, though. I understood that. It was more complex, because of Lily. I could move on, but Julia was in limbo.
She sat back down and I joined her at the table. She pulled the paperwork towards her, arranging it into a pile.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ she asked. ‘The person you lost . . . I assume it was a girlfriend?’
‘Yes. Yes, she was.’ And I told her what had happened. My panic when Priya didn’t turn up at work. Finding her body. The hit and run.
‘The police found the guy who did it a week later. He was some high-ranking council official who’d been visiting his mistress before work. It was an accident – he was racing to get to the office before he was missed – and he panicked, thinking he’d lose his job and his wife and kids . . . I was there in court. He seemed genuinely ashamed, kept saying sorry, but I still hated him. If they told me he’d killed himself I’d be happy.’ I looked up at Julia. ‘That’s terrible, isn’t it.’
‘No. It’s understandable. If someone took Lily, and if I ever find them . . .’ She didn’t need to complete the sentence but her eyes reflected the hatred I still harboured for the man who killed Priya.
‘I was luckier than you,’ I said. ‘I got closure. And Priya’s death had an unexpected effect on me. I thought if anything like that ever happened to me I would fall apart, that writing would be at the bottom of my priority list, but the opposite happened. Priya had been so enthusiastic about Sweetmeat, which was an embryonic idea at that point, that I became determined, absolutely driven, to finish it. To make it soar, for her. I guess the aftershock of my dad’s death was mixed in with it too, the feeling that I’d never made him proud. So I put everything into that book. Everything. For the first time in my life, it was easy, and I knew it was good.’
‘And when it was successful, did it make you feel better? Did you feel like you’d done Priya and your dad proud?’
‘Yeah, kind of. It was exciting, exhilarating, but it was also kind of scary. When there’s been this thing you’ve wanted your whole life, and you think: if this happens, everything will be perfect, I’ll be happy at last . . . You convince yourself it will fix you. And then it happens.’
‘And it doesn’t fix you.’
‘No. I wasn’t any happier. It didn’t make me any less cut up about losing Priya or my dad. Time was the only thing that could do that.’
She nodded and I went on.
‘I was a mess. I’m still a mess. But you know what? I feel different now, after what happened to me and Max. Almost dying . . . It’s a massive cliché, but it really fucking focuses the mind. This is my second chance. My chance to get my shit together and be happy.’ I was silent for a moment, and she waited for me to continue. ‘Getting to know you, Julia, has made me realise I don’t have any real problems. Nothing compared to what you’ve gone through. You’re so strong.’
‘I’m not strong.’
‘No. You are. You really are. You’re amazing. I know you don’t want any more from me, but I just wanted you to know that I think you’re amazing.’
‘I’m not . . .’ She broke off. ‘Hang on, we’ve got company.’
It was Ursula. She burst into the cottage and came straight into the little kitchen. Her hair was sticking up and there was a bed-crease on the side of her face. She was pale, her expression flicking between anxiety and excitement.
‘Are you all right?’ Julia asked, standing up.
Ursula swiped at her ear as if a wasp was bothering her. Despite my antipathy towards her, I was concerned. There was clearly something wrong.
‘My spirit guide, Phoebe,’ she said. ‘She spoke to me, during the night.’
My concern evaporated. It was just Ursula, talking her usual nonsense.
‘And what did she tell you?’
‘First, she told me where to find your phone.’
I glanced at Julia, to see if she was as incredulous as I was. She mainly looked worried.
‘Oh?’ I said. ‘Where is it, then?’
‘On the bookshelf in the Thomas Room. I asked my guide exactly where and she sang to me. An old children’s nonsense rhyme.’
I stared at her. ‘Wait here.’
I left the cottage and hurried over to the main house, going straight into the sitting room. I located ‘The Owl and the Pussycat’ straight away and pulled it out. I couldn’t see my phone, so I pulled out a few more books, revealing a gap at the back of the shelf.
And there it was. My missing phone.
On the way back to the cottage I pressed the home button but the phone was dead. I waved it as I re-entered the cottage kitchen.
‘She was right. It was there.’ I addressed Ursula: ‘You must have taken it, hidden it there.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
I searched my memory. Could I have put it there, on the shelf, the night Ursula arrived? I had a vague memory of going over to look at the books. It was possible; I could have rested it on the line of books and it might have slipped down behind them. I didn’t know what to think.
Julia spoke up. ‘Did your spirit guide come to you in the night just to tell you where to find Lucas’s phone? Does she do that often? Tell you where to find lost things?’
‘Sometimes she
does.’ She looked meaningfully at Julia. ‘You should sit down, dear.’
‘I’m okay where I am.’
‘Very well. You might find this a little alarming, but I’m going to ask my guide to speak to you directly.’
‘You’re kidding,’ I said. ‘Julia, come on. Let’s go.’
But she wouldn’t move. ‘No. I want to see this.’
Ursula drew in a long, deep breath, spread her fingers out on the table and closed her eyes. She was silent for so long that I felt the urge to speak, to ask her what she was playing at. But then she started talking.
Her voice was different, higher and younger. It was faintly absurd, but eerie too. She kept her eyes shut and tilted her head to one side as she spoke.
‘Julia, your child is gone. Lily is gone.’
Julia put her hand to her mouth. Ursula tilted her head to the other side.
‘But do not worry. She is safe, she is happy. She’s in a better place, the best place. I’ve seen her and spoken to her. She wants you to know that she loves you. Her daddy is with her too and they’re happy together, even though they miss you.’
‘Julia,’ I said, but she shushed me.
Ursula smiled, a ghastly smile that made her, with her white face and voluminous hair, look like a Victorian doll. ‘Lily’s safe now. You don’t need to worry about her any more. You don’t need to look for her. She’s with Jesus.’
PART THREE
Chapter 34
Ursula’s eyes darted around the room, as if she didn’t know where she was. She clamped her hand over her mouth. Moving twice as fast as normal, she exited the room, dashing to the toilet. I heard retching, then the toilet flushing and a running tap. When she came back into the kitchen she was as pale as bone, and beads of sweat clung to her brow and upper lip.
She sat down.
‘Would you mind fetching me a glass of water?’
Julia was frozen still, unable to take her eyes off Ursula. I found a glass, filled it from the tap and handed it to Ursula. She gulped it down.
‘I apologise,’ she said. ‘This always happens when I channel. Would you mind leaving me for a minute, until I get my strength back.’