The Retreat

by Mark Edwards

  Crack.

  Lily tried to make her legs move, but it was as if her soles were superglued to the path. Her whole body had gone cold.

  It’s a crow, it’s a crow, she told herself, staring into the thick tangle of branches where the noise had come from, praying that she’d see black feathers, the bird flapping towards the sky.

  Instead, she saw a face.

  Eyes, peering at her through a gap in the branches.

  Lily tore her feet from the path and ran, blindly, realising within seconds she was still heading away from her house, but unable to stop and turn.

  It’s the Widow! The Widow!

  She crashed through low-hanging branches, leaves clawing at her hair, almost slipping over in a muddy puddle that sucked at her Converse. Tears blurred her vision. She could hardly see where she was going. The path branched left and right and she stopped, paralysed, unable to work out which way to go. She could sense the witch behind her. She tensed her shoulders, convinced that at any moment cold, clawed hands would reach out from the bushes and grab her.

  In the picture book Megan’s grandad had given her, the Widow was a young woman, dressed in red rags. She had long black hair and was as slim as the women on the covers of Mum’s workout DVDs. She would be beautiful if it weren’t for her face. Her eyes were as black as Big Cat’s fur, and her mouth gaped open like a shark’s, with long, needle-like teeth. Lily had discussed this with Megan: the Widow would be old now, so old, and the girls imagined her skin would be as wrinkled as a crocodile’s. Her lips would be stained with the blood of all the children she’d eaten. Her breath would smell like kids’ bones and there would be torn flesh beneath her fingernails.

  There was a rustle behind her and Lily gulped down a scream. She ran, heading left along the path, trying not to slip or fall, leaping over a knotty tree root that tried to grab her toes, like it was the witch’s helper. Now she imagined the trees had faces, that they were watching her, laughing at her. Why had she left her house? It was all Mum and Dad’s fault. Well, when the witch caught her and ate her up and her bones were never found, they’d be sorry, and they’d wish and wish they hadn’t fought, that they’d spent their time loving their only daughter instead.

  It would almost be worth it.

  Just as she had resigned herself to being caught, convinced the trees were closing in on her, forming a wooden cage around her, she saw a clearing up ahead. Light entering the woods; buildings beyond. She sped up and, heart bursting with relief, flew out of the trees onto the estate where Megan lived.

  And there was Megan, standing outside her house. Jake was there too. They were playing a game of tag on the front lawn.

  Lily ran across the road to them.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Megan asked. ‘You look like someone’s chasing you.’

  Lily panted. She couldn’t speak for a moment. Her lungs burned and her heart was going bang bang bang.

  ‘It’s the Widow,’ she said. ‘I saw her.’

  Both Megan and Jake gawped at her.

  ‘What was that?’

  Lily spun round. It was Megan’s grandad, coming out of the garage. There was another man with him, but he was concealed by shadows.

  ‘Lily saw the Widow,’ Megan told him.

  ‘Do your mum and dad know you’re here?’ asked Mr Collins, ignoring what Megan had said. Lily was surprised. He was acting like she’d said something silly and childish.

  She shook her head. ‘I ran away.’

  ‘Really? Well, I’m glad you didn’t go too far. Do you want to go home? I don’t know how long you’ve been gone, but I’m sure they’ll be worried about you.’

  Lily tried to stop the tears coming, but she had no control over them. She could feel her face going bright red too. She hated crying. She knew it made her look like an ugly red frog. Everyone was staring at her.

  ‘Tell you what,’ said Megan’s grandad, handing her a clean handkerchief. His voice was kind. ‘You go inside and play with Megan for a little bit and I’ll call your parents. How does that sound?’

  This time, all she could do was nod.

  As soon as Megan shut her bedroom door, she said, ‘I can’t believe you saw the Widow. What did she look like?’ Unbelievably, she sounded jealous.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘Oh, come on. Don’t be a baby. Did she look like she does in the book?’

  Lily sat down on Megan’s bed and pulled Megan’s giant teddy bear towards her. Megan’s grandad had bought it for her. It wore a little rosette that said World’s Best Granddaughter. Lily stifled another sob. She didn’t have any grandparents. Maybe if she did she could go and live with them.

  ‘Tell me,’ Megan urged. She had found her copy of Folk Tales and Urban Myths, which fell open at the page they were always poring over. ‘Did she look like this?’

  ‘I only saw her eyes.’

  Megan’s voice dropped to an awed whisper. ‘Were they black?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What about her skin? Was it all wrinkly? Were her lips stained with blood?’

  ‘I didn’t see.’

  Megan made a disgusted noise. ‘You’re useless.’

  Anger pulsed at Lily’s temples. She was not useless. ‘I was too busy running to take a proper look.’

  ‘Yeah. A big scaredy-cat. If it had been me—’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t you.’ Lily cut her off. It had been a terrible day. The worst day of her whole life. She felt a hot bubble of hatred expand inside her. An urge to lash out.

  ‘I didn’t see her properly,’ Lily said. ‘But I heard her.’

  Megan’s eyes almost popped out of her head. ‘What did she say?’

  Lily pointed a finger at her best friend’s face. ‘She said your name. She said Megan.’

  Later, remembering Megan’s look of terror, the way she’d flinched, would make Lily feel bad. But in that moment, it was delicious.

  ‘Lily!’ It was Megan’s grandad. ‘Your dad’s here.’

  Lily ran down the stairs and out the front door. Dad was talking to Mr Collins, his hands on his hips. He noticed Lily and turned around.

  ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ he said, putting his arm around her. ‘What are we going to do with you?’

  She didn’t respond. As Dad took her hand and led her to the car, the other man who’d been in the garage came out, wiping his oily hands on a rag. It was Mr Wallace, the man who did work in their garden sometimes.

  ‘Hi, Rhodri,’ Dad said as he unlocked the car.

  Rhodri Wallace waved as they drove away, but he wasn’t smiling. It was weird. If Lily didn’t know better, she’d swear he looked scared.

  Chapter 38

  It was five thirty. Just two hours of daylight remained. I suggested to Julia that we wait until morning, but she wouldn’t hear of it. I didn’t even bother trying to persuade her that Ursula’s map had to be a con or a fantasy – not after our argument that morning. Julia had to find out for herself. She grabbed a little rucksack and threw in two flashlights, along with a bottle of water and a small pair of shears ‘in case we need to cut our way through any overgrown vegetation’.

  Ursula had gone back to her room, saying she was too tired to come along, leaving us with the map. It was crudely drawn, like a child’s sketch of a pirate treasure map. The retreat was situated at the southern tip of this map. Beyond that were the woods where I’d gone walking that first day. Near the top was a large X which, according to Ursula, indicated where we would find ‘the proof’.

  Despite my scepticism, it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It was impossible not to get sucked into Ursula’s fantasy; the boy in me could not resist a map where X marked the spot.

  ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ I asked Julia a final time. ‘It might be more sensible to call the police and let them look.’

  ‘I’m not waiting any longer, Lucas. I need to see. I need to know.’

  ‘I’m coming with you. No arguments, okay?’ />
  She shrugged.

  Julia took a photo of the map with her phone, so we had a backup copy. Her hand trembled and it took two attempts to stop the photo from blurring. Two years of bouncing between despair and hope. Two years of grieving with no body to say goodbye to. Two years of believing that Lily was still out there, still alive. It was all there on her face, in the tension that vibrated through her bones. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs, and turned to me.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  Walking across the garden, I checked back over my shoulder. Ursula was watching from an upstairs window, her face inscrutable. She caught me looking and let the curtain fall back.

  The path was dry, cracks snaking through the mud. Blossom coated the branches of the trees near the perimeter of the woods. Catkins hung above our heads and songbirds called out to one another. If it weren’t for Julia’s brisk pace and the grim determination on her face, this would have felt like a pleasant late-afternoon ramble.

  I wanted to talk to Julia, to tell her everything I’d learned from Malcolm’s journal, but I needed all my breath to keep up with her. It could wait. I was certain we weren’t going to find anything. We’d be home in an hour or two and I could talk to her then. I also wanted to talk to Mum, ask her what she knew about the Historical Society. Surely Dad had said something during that time when Carys Driscoll went missing?

  An image came to me: Glynn Collins, thirty-seven years younger, carrying a little girl into these woods. Maybe heading along this very path. Was the story about the Widow a smokescreen, a convenient tale for a paedophile to hide behind? What if seeing Lily playing with his granddaughter had stirred a sick desire in Glynn, a desire that had lain buried for a long time? She looked similar to Carys, though Lily was older. It was easy to imagine. He had got away with it last time. He thought he could do so again.

  Before leaving the house, I had sent Olly a text explaining what was going on. He’d replied straight away, telling me Heledd was on her way to the police station with the journal. I was keen to hear about their response.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ Julia asked, slowing down as we approached the edge of the woods. Watery sunshine flowed through the treetops, and light danced on Julia’s hair. It was inappropriate to think it right now, but she was beautiful. I knew I could never be satisfied with the single night we’d spent together. But, like all the other things I wanted to say to her, it would have to wait.

  ‘I was thinking about Lily,’ I said vaguely. ‘I want Ursula to be wrong.’

  Julia stopped walking.

  ‘How do you think it feels?’ she said. ‘Not knowing? Being stuck in limbo?’ She looked around, turning her face upwards and shielding her eyes against the light. Branches and twigs formed a lattice against the sky. ‘Sometimes I think I can feel her, here. Her presence. If she did die here . . .’ She swallowed.

  ‘Julia . . .’

  ‘Quiet. Please. I think a part of her is still here, in these woods. She’s there, in the blossom. In the leaves that bud every spring. In the grass that grows on the path. I couldn’t feel her before, but now I can.’ A tear slid down her cheek. ‘She’s watching me.’

  It was silent all around us. Even the birds had fallen quiet.

  ‘If we find proof, like Ursula says . . . At least then I’ll be able to take comfort in knowing she’s still here.’

  I nodded, afraid of choosing the wrong words.

  ‘And then I’ll know it’s okay to join her.’

  I stared at her. ‘You mean . . . take your own life?’

  ‘Why not? I’ve nothing else to live for. Once I know she’s gone, I can be with her. Forever.’

  I went cold inside. ‘Julia. You can’t say that. Lily wouldn’t want that.’

  I wouldn’t want that.

  ‘How do you know what she’d want? You can’t save me, Lucas. You’ve no right to try.’

  She went to move on, but I stepped into her path. ‘So if we do find evidence today that Lily is dead, you’re going to kill yourself? What, are you going to do it right there? In front of me? Have you got a knife in that bag?’

  She glared at me.

  I ploughed on. ‘How are you going to do it? Slash your wrists? Hang yourself from a tree? Oh, I know. You’re going to throw yourself into the river. You can’t swim. It will be perfect. Kind of poetic. You couldn’t save Lily because you can’t swim, so you’re going to drown yourself. I can see the newspaper headlines now. Maybe I’ll write a book about it.’

  ‘Get out of my way.’

  She tried to get around me but I grabbed her arm. ‘Julia, listen to me . . .’

  She punched me in the chest with her free hand. Her fist was sharp and the shock made me step back, but I held on to her.

  ‘Let go of me!’ she hissed.

  This was getting out of hand. I let go and we both stood there, facing each other, shaking. I didn’t know what to do. I was terrified I’d wrecked what remained of our relationship. But it was a sacrifice worth making if it made her reconsider and see sense.

  Her face was pink, a tremor of fury coursing through her. I needed to diffuse the tension between us.

  ‘I’d be pretty upset if you killed yourself,’ I said, deadpan.

  She didn’t laugh.

  ‘Okay. Quite upset. Although the royalties from my book about you would help ease the pain.’

  ‘You’re such a dick.’

  She fought the smile that flickered at the edge of her lips.

  ‘Yeah. Maybe I am a dick. But I’m your friend, Julia. And at the risk of getting all serious again, I care about you. Also, I don’t believe in spirits or the afterlife or any of that stuff. When you’re dead, you’re dead. If you kill yourself, you won’t be with Lily, you’ll just be gone. And the world will be a shittier place.’

  She held her head in her hands. ‘I can’t talk about this any more. We’re losing light. We need to press on.’

  I studied her face. I had no idea if what I’d said had made any difference, or if she was serious about suicide in the first place. But I made a vow that if we did find proof that Lily was dead – and I didn’t believe that would happen today – I would do everything I could to persuade her that it was worth carrying on. That there could be life after death.

  We reached the clearing a few minutes later. I figured we only had an hour left until dusk. Julia consulted the map.

  ‘We’re right here,’ she said, pointing at a spot between the woods. The little run-down hut had been crudely drawn by Ursula, a small square with a pointy roof.

  ‘Have you ever been in that hut?’ I asked.

  ‘No, why would I? Don’t tell me you have?’

  ‘Actually – a couple of times. My first day, when I came for a walk. Then again, when I saw . . .’

  ‘What?’

  I realised I hadn’t told Julia about that. ‘I saw Ursula come into the woods, the day after she arrived. I wondered what she was up to, so I followed her.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She vanished.’

  ‘You mean you lost her?’

  ‘It depends how you look at it,’ I said.

  Julia looked up at the darkening sky. ‘We should get going.’

  We walked side by side across the field towards the next line of trees. Magpies, perhaps the same ones I’d seen before, watched us go. We were still only a third of the way through the map, and the chances of us getting there and back before it was pitch-black were now close to zero. I explained my concern to Julia.

  ‘I’m not stopping now,’ she said. ‘We’ve got the flashlights and the sky is clear so we’ll have moonlight. Haven’t you ever camped in the woods?’

  ‘No. It’s not my thing.’

  ‘You should try it.’

  I hesitated before speaking. ‘How about we go together? If it’s so much fun. This summer, you can show me what it’s all about.’

  She shook her head. ‘You’re incorrigible.’

  ‘Yep.’

  We
entered the next set of woods. It was noticeably darker now. There were noises in the undergrowth, rustling in the bushes. I refused to let it bother me. But when we reached the point where I’d lost Ursula before, I heard a heavier crack behind us and stopped walking.

  I listened, gesturing for Julia to stay silent. Nothing.

  We pressed on. The woods grew thicker and darker, as the remaining sunlight found it harder to break through the canopy. The path forked several times, but Ursula’s map clearly showed us which way to go, though the line of dirt beneath our feet grew increasingly narrow and more overgrown, until we found ourselves stepping over thorny brambles and holding back branches that tried to block our way.

  And then we hit a wall: a solid wall of vegetation, dense with prickly leaves. It covered the path and stretched for ten metres in both directions. We would have needed a machete to hack our way through it. We checked the map. We were so close. The X was just beyond this point.

  ‘Shit,’ Julia said. ‘What are we going to do?’

  I eyed a nearby tree.

  ‘Wait there.’

  It had been a long time since I climbed a tree. It took all my strength to hoist myself onto a lower branch, but from there it was easier. I picked my way around the trunk, picking out places to put my feet, ducking beneath branches and concentrating so hard that I didn’t look until I was halfway up, with a clear view over the barrier that stopped our progress.

  I peered into the half-light, rubbing my eyes like a cartoon character as shadows knitted together to form the shape of a building.

  ‘Fuck,’ I said, hardly believing what I was seeing.

  ‘What is it?’ Julia called up.

  I leaned forward, to make sure I wasn’t mistaken.

  ‘It’s a church,’ I said. ‘An abandoned church.’

  Chapter 39

  I climbed down from the tree.

  ‘There’s a path that leads around to the church,’ I said. ‘Follow me. We need to retrace our steps a little.’

  We headed back the way we had come, then pushed through the trees until we came to another path that snaked off to the left. I led the way, skirting around the edge of the mass of vegetation. It was getting harder to see. We were, I estimated, twenty minutes from dusk. I could sense nocturnal creatures stirring in their hiding places, ready to emerge when twilight turned to night.