by Mark Edwards
Nobody noticed Carys was not among them until this morning.
The woman faced down the cries of incredulity in the library with excuses. There are so many children, she said. It was getting dark. Carys was so quiet, ‘a little mouse’, that she tended to shrink into the background. The staff are overworked and tired. None of the other children said anything.
I am sure heads will roll at St Mary’s children’s home. But that won’t help poor Carys.
All I could think of was the conversation in the Miners Arms on Monday night. The faces of my fellow Society members around the table.
I told my assistant I wasn’t feeling well and left the library, leaving the gossips behind. I headed straight to Albert’s house. Rhodri Wallace – another old classmate – was in the garden, cutting the hedge. He was a likeable boy at school, good with his hands and popular with the girls. Now he was the most in-demand gardener and handyman in town. He raised a gloved hand when he saw me. His face was as pale and shocked as all the others I’d seen on the way over. I didn’t stop to talk to Rhodri – instead, I headed inside.
Albert was as horrified by little Carys’s disappearance as I was.
‘It has to be a coincidence,’ he said.
‘Do you really believe that?’ said I. ‘Two days after our conversation?’
His eyes were wide, disbelieving. If he was acting, he was doing a very good job of it. But maybe it was fear of being exposed. Or fear of Glynn.
‘You think one of the others took that child, took her into the woods to be sacrificed to the witch?’ He paced the room. ‘What does the legend say the witch demanded? What did the townsfolk do in the stories?’
I told him that the child was meant to be secured to a tree in the heart of the woods and left for the witch to take.
Albert nodded. ‘You and I know there’s no such thing as the Widow. It was less than twenty-four hours ago, so if they did take her and tied her to a tree, she’d still be there. Are the police searching the woods?’
‘I don’t know. I hear they’re organising search parties now.’
He picked up his phone and I asked him what he was doing.
‘Calling Glynn.’
‘Are you mad? It could have been him.’
‘It could have been you,’ he said to me. ‘It could have been any of us.’
‘But you have less reason than the rest of us for doing it. You don’t have children. That’s why I came here.’
We stared at each other.
‘Do you believe in the Widow?’ he asked.
‘Of course not. Do you?’
‘No, I don’t. But what did Shirley say? All it takes is for one person to believe. It could have been any of you. Any parent who was trying to protect their child.’
He was right. I knew it wasn’t me. I didn’t think it was David – he always seemed so rational, had even confessed to being an atheist because he couldn’t believe in something for which there was no scientific proof. Glynn was the obvious suspect. I knew he could be cruel, that he was unfaithful and unafraid of violence. I’d seen him square up to men in the pub. At school he was a bully. And his mother – she undoubtedly believed in the old stories. Glynn seemed to believe in them too.
His one redeeming feature was that he doted on his daughter, Wendy.
But would he really take and sacrifice another child because he believed she might be in danger?
‘We should go to the police,’ Albert said. ‘Tell them about our meeting and what Glynn said.’
‘Wait. Let me think.’
I imagined myself talking to the police. Accusing my fellow Society member of this terrible crime. The thought of falsely accusing someone filled me with horror.
And there was another reason not to go to the police, of which I am deeply, deeply ashamed. If the police took us seriously, they would want us all to provide alibis, wouldn’t they?
I couldn’t do it. Because I was out yesterday evening, visiting a friend. And if I was forced to give an alibi, Sylvia would find out.
I read this part out to Olly. He sighed.
‘His friend. He mentions her in other parts of the journal. The old bastard was cheating on my mum.’
Just like the man who killed Priya. Men with secrets, flinching from justice. My opinion of Malcolm plummeted.
I read the final paragraphs of the entry.
I persuaded Albert that we should keep quiet. The chances were, I said, none of the members of the Society had taken that girl. It was a coincidence. He agreed. The girl had probably wandered off, he said. She would turn up in a day or two.
But on the way home, I made an anonymous call to the police, from a phone box, advising them to search the woods, to look for signs that Carys had been tied to a tree.
Just in case.
Chapter 36
In the following entry, Malcolm described the next meeting of the Historical Society. All four of them were there, along with Shirley:
We all sat in silence at first, nobody quite daring to speak, shifty eyes flitting around the table. Shirley kept clutching her cross. Albert gave me meaningful glances and David looked green around the gills. The girl still hasn’t turned up, though I heard the police had searched the woods and interviewed known sex offenders in the area. The detective in charge of the investigation was quoted in the paper, saying it wasn’t helpful that local people kept telling him the girl was taken by the Widow, chosen because no one had given her an offering.
Glynn leaned forward and looked around the table at each of us in turn.
‘So,’ he stage-whispered. ‘Which one of you did it?’
There was a flurry of denials and accusations. It descended into a fierce argument. I couldn’t work out if Glynn was acting, cleverly trying to lay the blame at someone’s feet. Creating a smokescreen of confusion.
‘How about you, Glynn?’ I said. ‘Was it you?’
He smiled. ‘Perhaps what people are saying is right. Perhaps the Widow came into town and took her.’
Absurd. But I couldn’t work out if he actually believed that.
I examined each of my so-called friends in turn. Was one of them guilty? More than one, perhaps, working together? What if it was all of them?
Before we wrapped up, Glynn said, ‘At least she won’t be missed. The girl, I mean. At least the Widow didn’t take anyone important.’
The entry ended there. Olly said, ‘I flicked ahead, seeing if there were any more references to it. All I know is the girl was never found.’
‘What do you think?’ I asked. ‘Do you think one of them did it?’
He shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I know a bloody witch didn’t come into town to grab her. But it’s a hell of a coincidence, isn’t it, if she did just wander off? Did your dad ever say anything about it?’
I set the journal aside, placing it next to my empty coffee cup. ‘No. Not that I remember. I mean, I must have heard about the disappearance and the rumours.’ I explained the similarities to my novel. ‘We moved away in 1981, a year after this happened. Maybe that’s why. Maybe my dad wanted to get away.’
Olly’s eyes were wide. ‘You think it might have been him?’
The very thought made me sick. ‘I don’t know. It goes against everything I know about him. Did your mum ever mention Carys and what happened?’ I asked Heledd.
‘No.’ She had picked up the journal and was flicking through it, as if the answer to all of this might be contained in its pages. ‘At least not in any detail . . . She always said this town wasn’t safe for children, that if I ever gave her grandchildren she would worry herself sick about them.’
‘But she never elaborated?’
‘Hmm?’ She was distracted by the journal. ‘No. I mean, she told me about the Widow. Every kid around here knows about her. But that’s it.’
I got up and went over to the window. The sun was struggling to come out from behind the clouds.
‘What are you thinking?’ Olly asked.
‘I’m thi
nking that thirty-five years after Carys went missing, history repeated itself. A child was taken. A newcomer to the town, a family that weren’t integrated into the community.’
‘You think they did it again? With Lily Marsh?’
I paced around. ‘It can’t be a coincidence. And Glynn Collins is the obvious suspect. Back in 1980 he thought he was protecting Wendy. Or – sorry, Heledd, but I have to say it – Wendy and you.’
She met my eye but didn’t say anything.
I had to ask. ‘Is Glynn your dad?’
She didn’t answer for a few long seconds. ‘I don’t know. Mum never told me.’ She had gone pale and now I felt terrible.
‘Let’s leave it, eh?’ Olly said, putting a protective hand on his girlfriend’s shoulder.
‘Okay. Yes, I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter . . . I mean, it doesn’t make any difference to what we’re talking about. Glynn could have been protecting Wendy. And maybe . . . maybe this time he was trying to protect his granddaughter, Megan.’
Olly gaped at me.
‘Glynn Collins,’ he said. ‘He’s always scared me. Back when I was a kid, I mean.’
Heledd had set the journal aside and was deep in thought, tuned out of the conversation.
‘Glynn met Lily through his granddaughter, Megan,’ I said. ‘She knew him . . . It would have been easy for him to lure her away, maybe tell her she needed to go with him to see something. She would probably have trusted him. Now he’s got it in for me too. He knows I’ve been nosing around.’
The back of my head, where it was still bandaged, was beginning to throb again.
‘But he’s got a rock-solid alibi for the night I was attacked.’
I thought about that. Was somebody helping him? If so, who?
Olly was agitated. ‘You know what I said about keeping all this secret, about protecting our dads’ reputations. I think we’re beyond that now, aren’t we? We should go to the police. Show them the journal.’
‘There’s no point. Last time I talked to them they dismissed me as a writer with an overactive imagination.’
‘Let me do it,’ Heledd said. ‘I’m local and I got on well with the policeman who was there when Mum died.’
‘I bet you did,’ Olly muttered, which made Heledd roll her eyes.
‘I think it’s a good idea,’ I said to Olly. ‘They might listen to her.’
‘I suppose so. Maybe I could come with you?’
She hesitated, and I thought I could tell what she was thinking: that the police would respond better to her solo.
‘Perhaps it’s best if Heledd goes on her own, in the first instance anyway,’ I said.
Olly grunted and we lapsed into silence again. I parted the curtains and peeked out at the street, paranoid that someone was watching us. That Glynn would come here looking for Malcolm’s missing journal. Heledd’s phone rang and she said, ‘Excuse me’ before taking it out of the room.
Olly watched her go then picked up the journal, flicked to the relevant entry and tapped the page. ‘Something just struck me. Albert Patterson . . . You know he lived at Nyth Bran?’
I nodded, even though it hurt to do so.
‘That’s a weird bloody connection, isn’t it? Lily Marsh disappearing after living in that house. If Albert hadn’t died, what, five or six years ago, I’d say he was the prime suspect.’
‘Plus he didn’t have kids, did he? Like your dad said, he had no one to protect from the Widow, so why would he do it? Did you ever meet him?’
I thought about the photo I’d found hidden in the book at the retreat. The tall, skinny man and his stern-faced wife.
‘Yeah. I went to his house a couple of times when I was a kid. He was all right, a nice bloke actually. He loved kids, even though he didn’t have any of his own. Loved playing with us, keeping us entertained while the other adults stood in the kitchen and chatted about boring stuff.’
Heledd came back in. ‘That was the estate agent,’ she said to Olly, who nodded.
The pain in my head was getting worse. I stood up. ‘I should go.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Olly asked, showing me to the door.
‘I don’t know. This headache is making it hard to think straight. But I’ll call you later.’
‘All right.’
‘If you see Glynn, don’t say anything to him, okay? Not yet.’
Heledd kissed my cheek as I left. ‘I’ll let you know what the police say about the journal.’
‘Thanks.’ They stood side by side, their faces pale with worry. ‘Be safe,’ I said.
I drove back towards the retreat, a wall of white noise inside my head. Fortunately, the roads were quiet and I was able to drive on autopilot. Halfway back, my phone rang. It was that detective, DC Hawkins. I ignored the call. I didn’t feel ready to talk to her yet.
I stopped at a petrol station and bought a pack of extra-strong painkillers, ignoring the warning on the packet and gobbling three. Then I pulled over by the side of the road, killed the engine and closed my eyes. The silence was broken only by the occasional passing car, and the gentle bleating of sheep in an adjacent field. I emptied my mind and waited for the paracetamol to kick in and rub away the sharp edges of my headache.
By the time I reached the retreat I was feeling better. As I went in, I saw Ursula coming down the stairs. She had a sheet of paper in her hand. She looked even more wild-eyed than she had earlier.
‘Have you seen Julia?’ she demanded.
‘I’ve just got home.’
‘You’re no use.’ She stalked off into the kitchen.
Suzi appeared, carrying her suitcase down the stairs.
‘You’re going?’ I said.
She didn’t answer with words, but with a look of panic. She looked dreadful: washed out, her hair lank and with rings around her eyes.
‘I saw her,’ she said.
‘What? Who?’
‘Lily. I went for a final walk in the woods, to say goodbye, and I saw her.’ She hugged herself. ‘She was there in the distance – and then she vanished.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Goose pimples rippled across my arms.
‘It was like . . . like she was made of smoke or mist. She was dressed in red – red like blood. I need to tell Julia.’
She started towards the kitchen. I grabbed her arm. Everyone here was going crazy, haunted by visions in the woods. It had to be group hysteria, a swirl of grief stirred up and encouraged by Ursula. ‘No! You are not going to tell Julia—’
‘Tell me what?’
Julia appeared at the top of the staircase. She came down towards us.
‘Oh, Julia. I saw her. I saw Lily.’ Suzi shook me off. ‘I saw her ghost.’
I wanted to scream. Julia was staring at Suzi, arms wrapped around herself. I took hold of Suzi’s arm again, more gently this time. ‘Come on, Suzi. You’re clearly in shock after what happened to Max. You should rest . . .’
Then Ursula came out of the kitchen and spotted Julia. ‘There you are.’
The wound on the back of my head pulsed.
Ursula flapped the sheet of paper she was holding at Julia. Her eyes bulged.
‘My guide . . . she came to me again. She told me where to find proof – proof that Lily has left this realm.’
I stepped between them. ‘Julia, don’t listen to this. It’s insane.’
Julia pushed me aside. ‘Shut up, Lucas.’ She grabbed the sheet of paper from Ursula’s hand.
Suzi had slid down the wall onto the floor and sat there, hugging her knees, rocking back and forth.
‘What is this?’ Julia asked. I moved behind her and looked over her shoulder, staring at the lines and curves, the crosses and squiggles on the sheet of paper.
‘It’s a map,’ Ursula said. ‘I drew you a map.’
Chapter 37
LILY – 2014
Lily sat on her bed, cradling Big Cat in her arms. She held him against her cheek and screwed her eyes shut.
Mum and Dad were f
ighting again.
‘When the hell were you going to tell me?’ Mum shouted.
She couldn’t make out Dad’s reply.
‘You’re ruining us! Fucking ruining us!’
Lily winced at the swear word. Mum never swore except when she was yelling at Dad. Lily wasn’t totally sure what he’d done wrong. Something to do with money and lying and broken promises. The usual stuff they argued about. Lily wished her parents could be more like the ones she saw on TV, parents who cracked jokes and put their arms around each other.
Mum swore again and Lily searched the room for her headphones. Where were they? She remembered: they were in her bag, in the closet downstairs.
She crept out of the room and down the stairs, opening the closet and pulling out her bag. The headphone wires were tangled up. She tried to unknot them, Chesney sitting blinking at her as she grappled with the stupid things. She wanted to ask Mum or Dad to help but they were still screeching at each other. She heard Mum say that name again. Lana. Hot tears of frustration burned Lily’s cheeks and she chucked the bag and the stupid headphones back into the closet. Chesney jumped down from the windowsill and dashed to the front door, miaowing to be let out.
Lily opened the door and watched him slink across the lawn.
She wished she was free too.
‘I’ve had enough!’ Mum yelled.
So had Lily. Closing the door quietly behind her, she slipped out into the garden. She climbed over the fence into the overgrown meadow and entered the woods.
It was still and quiet among the trees. Autumn leaves formed a carpet of red on the path. Lily imagined herself as a movie star, attending the premiere of her new film. Reporters asked her if she would ever forgive her parents, who deeply regretted how they’d behaved now she was a superstar.
She was so engrossed in her fantasy that she wasn’t sure if she was going in the right direction. Megan’s house wasn’t this way, was it? She paused, trying not to panic.
Something moved in the trees.
Lily went absolutely still. It’s just a bird, she thought. A big bird. Probably a magpie. There were loads of them around here.