Elin sat cross-legged on the sofa, hugging the cupped warmth to her chest with both hands.
“Aah!” she exhaled contentedly as she took her first satisfyingly hot sip of the sweet infusion. “I’m glad you’re back mum,” she said.
“Why’s that, cariad?”
Elin, realising the truth that she had been a little afraid would make her appear foolish, shrugged and said, “Just am, that’s all…”
The pair sat in gratified, tea slurping silence for a moment before Elin’s mum broke the contentment with her next question.
“You weren’t scared, were you?” she asked, taking another sip of tea, “being alone in the house?”
Elin’s legs shot to the floor from their folded position and stared open-mouthed at her mother. “Don’t be silly!” she protested. “Why would you say that?” She too sipped her tea to cover her apprehension.
“Well,” began Glenda. “I have to admit to feeling a mite uncomfortable myself when your father’s out and I’m here on my own,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I especially don’t like the hallway.”
Elin struggled to keep a grip of her mug of tea dregs without dropping it.
“The hallway!” she exclaimed, surprising herself.
“You’ve noticed it too, haven’t you?” her mum stated. “I’ve seen your reluctance to leave this room. And it isn’t all down to your glandular fever and feeling tired, I’m sure,” she proclaimed.
Elin, taken aback that her dread had been detected, coughed, covering her true feelings. But at the same time, there was relief she was not alone in her fear. She decided to probe further.
“It is a bit oppressive, I suppose,” she admitted, immediately regretting the harshness. “I think it’s because in here it’s so welcoming with the red walls,” she tried to recover. “Like a cosy womb!”
“It’s more than that”, Glenda said firmly. “It is okay in here but I have never liked that hallway.” She put her teacup and saucer gently down on the table and placed her hands neatly back in her lap.
“Your father found the house and fell in love with the place. Well you can understand it, can’t you? The views are phenomenal.” Elin nodded. “The pictures the estate agents sent to our old house in Bridgend were great. The room dimensions were most impressive. As you know, our reconnaissance missions to the area left us almost breathless with excitement. It’s a lovely town.”
She took a deep breath before continuing. “I had an awful feeling when I first walked into this place. Your dad seemed not to notice, and I put it down to the rather gruff greeting we got from the vendor. I don’t think he really wanted to sell the house, explaining that his wife had recently died, and he was struggling to manage the place by himself.”
She had Elin’s full attention. “By the time we looked around everywhere and were chatting in this room, I felt completely different. I had fallen in love with it too. As we left I noticed the hall still felt strange, but I was on a high by then and couldn’t wait to move in. Since we have moved in, I get the shivers every time I’m there.”
“Did the man’s wife die in the house?”
“I never asked, and he didn’t say.”
Mother and daughter sat in uncomfortable silence, imagining the seller’s wife coming to her death, and her sticky end befalling her in the hallway. Glenda announced that more tea would be a lovely idea in an effort to change the subject and lighten the mood again. They spent the rest of the afternoon playing chess, with Elin losing most every game.
Chapter Ten
Neil woke late. The three hours of bumpy sleep in the car had done little to satisfy his requirement. He opened his eyes and realised where he was. A huge grin bisected his face as the thrill and relief of being back home consumed him.
He could hear Emma’s shrill voice coming from downstairs. Not what she was saying, but from her tone she was asking Mum something. The gorgeous aroma of baking wafting through the crack under his door signalled a lovely family Christmas scene unfolding.
He threw on his dressing gown and stretched and yawned, then made his way downstairs to join them. As he walked into the large oak kitchen with its impressive feature island, his mum looked up from tapping some pies.
“Hello sleepy-head,” she greeted lovingly, ruffling his bed hair the while. “Want to taste one of these fresh mince pies for your breakfast?” She then corrected after a glance at the wall clock, “lunch?”
Neil oohed and ahhed as he threw the hot pie from one hand to the other, snapping at the unfeasibly fiery mincemeat with his goofy bucked teeth to try and avoid burning himself.
“Be careful,” his mum warned with a rueful shake of her head, “They have only just come out of the oven.
“Delicious!” Neil declared, a finger of triumph pointing in the air.
“Good! You can help with the next batch if you like.”
Neil loved crumbing the flour and butter to make the pastry. He joked that nothing got his hands clean quite like making pastry (but of course he had washed them meticulously first).
Emma looked as though something on her mind was troubling her. Neil could guess what before she spoke. He wouldn’t try to stop her. If she was curious, she deserved a grown-up answer he supposed.
“Mum?” she began, glancing at Neil, she took solace in his compliant expression. “Mum?” she said again, a little firmer to make sure she had her full attention. “There was a girl in Neil’s lounge last night. Not Bronwyn, a different girl.” Neil’s mum gave him a knowing look, as if to suggest ‘at last, my son has a girlfriend.’
“Yes?” she said with a smirk. Emma was oblivious to the hopeful undertones.
“She was as close as I am to you now, but Neil didn’t see her!”
Neil exhaled slowly, releasing some of his tension. For the first time, the subject would be broached by people he respected and loved, Neil looked up to heaven and offered a silent ‘thank you.’
“I think she was a ghost!” Emma hissed, wide eyed.
Their mum stared at Neil, lips crinkled to counter the twinkle in her eye.
Neil decided to tell all. “I didn’t see the girl, but there have been weird things going on at that house”. He explained all the bizarreness, and when he was finished, his mum wore pursed lips and a frown.
“I think you may well have a ghost.”
Neil’s shoulders slumped in both relief and dismay. He had known there was no rational explanation, and his mum’s readiness to agree frightened him, but at least now he could have her support.
“You should have a séance,” she suggested.
A flush of nerves caused Neil to sweat. That sounded too up close and personal. His plan of helping at a distance was exciting. But actually contacting spirit… No. He couldn’t.
“What’s wrong, Neil? There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“You’re an expert, are you, Mum?”
“Not really. But Auntie Sylvie is. She’s psychic. Didn’t you know?” Neil did not know. “When you go back after Christmas we could ask Sylvie to conduct the séance, if you like,” she said rhetorically. “She’ll soon tell you what’s what. She’s coming over on Boxing Day. You can probe her then.”
Neil opened and closed his mouth but no words came. His mind assimilated possible responses: Terror? Gratitude? If Auntie Sylvie was an expert, maybe it would be okay. It was not knowing how to deal with it that was distressing, wasn’t it?
Neil had until Boxing Day to do whatever he could from the safety of his computer. Perhaps Auntie Sylvie wouldn’t have to bother. And if she did, Neil hoped he could count himself out and leave the self-proclaimed experts to it.
Aeron and Bronwyn were leaving together. Their bags in their respective parents’ cars, they were going for a last drink, mums and dads too, before heading home for Christmas. They didn’t mention the strangeness at number twenty-four, but both of them, despite the prospect of missing one another, were secretly pleased to be leaving.
The two sets of par
ents greeted one another warmly. Bronwyn and Aeron’s relationship was no secret, and they were all aware they would see each other a lot more when their offspring finished university. Marriage had been talked of, and although anything could happen in the year left, it was definitely on the cards.
Bronwyn had always been super-confident in front of her possible future in-laws, but Aeron suspected he wasn’t liked by Bronnie’s parents. He was large and tattooed, and he didn’t speak as eloquently as his cultured girlfriend.
He was wrong. Bronwyn’s mum and dad thought him perfect for their daughter. Quiet and respectful and never gave them a moment’s worry in his treatment of her. No philandering or fibbing ever was brought to their attention. And Bronwyn had never seemed happier.
But as they sat for their lunch in the magnificent heights of The Tower at Meridian Quay, the two sets of parents became aware of a vague undercurrent of anxiety between the pair of lovebirds. The two gazed not at one another, but at the vast sweep of sand of Swansea Bay, three hundred and fifty feet below them.
“Is everything okay, you two?” Bronwyn’s mother, Natasha felt compelled to ask. With their attention brought to their odd behaviour, Bronwyn and Aeron looked at one another and immediately squashed closer on the bench seat. Aeron took Bronnie’s hand to appease her mother and plastered a smile on his rugged face.
Bronwyn answered for the two of them.
“Yes mum. We’re fine.” She reached over and placed her free hand on her mum’s leg and gave a reassuring little squeeze. “It’s been a little odd at the house for a few weeks that’s all,” she explained.
“Odd?” replied Natasha in concern. “What do you mean?”
Aeron and Bronwyn glanced at one another in brief conference before Bronwyn explained it was nothing. That it had just been a long term at uni and they were all tired.
Natasha wasn’t entirely satisfied but was reassured that whatever squabbles had gone on in Swansea hadn’t been between her favourite couple, so she let it go and did her best to lift the mood. She did a sterling job, and they were soon as far removed from the strange troubles at Rhondda Street as the lofty height their lunchtime venue could provide.
After lunch they bid fond farewells and hugged before getting in their cars and making the drive to their not-too-distant homes. Bronwyn’s family lived in the rugged interior of Carmarthenshire, whilst Aeron’s lived even closer in the valley’s community of The Rhondda. It wasn’t far, but it felt far enough for the pair of them to immerse themselves into Christmas family life, untroubled by the spooky uneasiness they were escaping in Swansea.
The Hedge’s family home was beginning to look a lot more Christmassy. Neil and Emma were always in charge of decorating the tree in the lounge. It was a tradition they enjoyed greatly, despite some fairly childish, lop-sided attempts in Christmases past.
It had looked classier the last couple of years due to Emma being old enough to take a bit more care, and Neil being especially keen to do a good job after the relative squalor of his Swansea accommodation.
Seeing the tree nearly done, and spending time with his jolly little sister caused a spring of delight to bubble up within him he could scarcely contain. He felt a bit silly at how excited he felt. It wasn’t the presents. Although, who wouldn’t be thrilled about getting a car? But it was more than that. It was the whole feeling of Christmas. Of family.
He had even asked not to be told what Emma was getting so he could enjoy the thrill of her surprises too. His mum and dad always said what a great big brother, he was. Last year he stayed up late on Christmas Eve building a bright pink bike with stabilisers whilst his mum and dad wrapped all her other little gifts. Festive music filled the room from one of many Christmas CD’s in their collection while mulled wine and one or two chocolates from the tree sustained them.
The tunes put them in good Christmas cheer, but also made them nervous they wouldn’t hear little footsteps coming down the stairs. So Neil’s other job was to keep leaping up and checking every few minutes in between tightening nuts and bolts on her bike.
He smiled down upon her angelic blonde head knowing she must be even more excited than him. He gave her a quick squeeze and she looked up at him with adoration as she put another sparkly bauble on the tree.
It soon looked magnificent. Proudly showing their doting parents, who made all the right noises, they continued with seasonal adornments to the rest of the room. Once completed, Neil had nothing left but to relax and wait for permission to start on the Quality Street and Roses chocolates. That, and find out what he could about previous pretty girl occupants of number twenty-four, Rhondda Street, Swansea.
Chapter Eleven
Neil’s hands hovered over his laptop keyboard, unsure what to type. He began by entering the address. Zoopla informed him of its purchase price, and the average of other houses in the street compared to the national average. No interest to Neil.
He added ‘death’, ‘died’ and ‘obituary’ to the search. No-one came up as being listed present at the address at the time they had passed away. He was getting nowhere. If he couldn’t find out who the girl was, how could he learn what she wanted?
He changed tack and typed in her description, wondering if whatever had happened to her might be newsworthy enough to get a hit. Quite a few as it turned out. From the 1940’s right up to a few years ago. He decided the most recent might be the most likely.
There was no direct link to the girl on his screen and the house. But maybe a boyfriend had lived there, or possibly a best friend, or somebody at least. He tapped the keys in furious excitement, opening tabs with pictures of all the girls fitting the description Emma had given. He thought she might recognise one of them as the same girl.
“Emma,” he called. She skipped in expectantly.
“Yes?”
“Come here and see if any of these pictures look like the girl you saw,” Neil invited. Emma gazed long and hard at the images on the display. Neil moved from screen to screen showing the various photos, but none seemed to be familiar to her. He tried brightening the image. Then he tried pre-empting his own suspicions by clicking on further pictures of the most likely candidate.
Emma peered unconvincingly at the images that meant nothing to her on her brother’s laptop. She really wanted to be helpful. It was exciting. Neil could tell she was struggling to come up with something of any use.
He let out a huge sigh and lifted his hands away from the keyboard at a loss what else he could do.
“I suppose that one might be her.” Emma volunteered in response to Neil’s despondency. “I didn’t see her for very long. It doesn’t look that much like her though.”
Neil took what he could get, encouraged the image was at least from the most recent obituary. And it was undeniably an ‘unfinished business’ sort of story. The poor girl had been murdered by her boyfriend. He put aside Emma’s uncertainty, attributing any error to her young age. This could be it, Neil concluded.
“Thanks, Emma,” he said, going back to the display and blocking her view.
“Who is she, then?”
“I’m just reading about it now. I’ll tell you later.”
“Let me see!” she shrilled.
Not wanting to squabble and attract attention, he let Emma get to the screen.
She perused the content as though she understood every word. “Ah,” she said, then “Hmmm.” Taking in precisely none of it, she was satisfied that reading about this girl was completely boring. She decided to leave her brother in peace and go and play something fun.
Neil carried on reading everything about the murdered blonde girl.
Her father had disapproved of the union. Born of resentment, her lover killed her in a ‘if I can’t have her, no-one can’ fit of jealous rage.
It struck Neil as entirely possible that someone involved with the victim may have lived at number twenty-four, Rhondda Street. How could he find out? He noted the girl’s name, ‘Jacqui Lloyd’. A Google search produced much t
he same result as the description of her had with only a few additions. Still no mention of number twenty-four.
The boyfriend, convicted of her murder and presently serving consecutive life sentences at Bridgend was named as one Ryan Evans. Accusations flew of him being a gold digger whose main interest in Jacqui was her connection to her father’s empire of pubs and clubs in the area.
A search of his name and the address achieved nothing either. Neil wouldn’t believe he wasn’t onto something. Even if he didn’t understand quite what it was yet.
His fingers poised for action above the keys were failed by a mind which could think of no other research to perform. And even if he did come up with a plausible theory of what Jacqui might want, he wouldn’t know how to go about achieving it. That’s if he even had the stomach for it. He had tried, but he was slowly coming to the conclusion he was going to need Auntie Sylvie’s help after all.
Chapter Twelve
“What time is Dad picking Alis up from the station?” Elin asked after her fourth mind-numbing trouncing from her mother at chess.
“Seven or eight, I think, cariad,” she answered. “Your dad’s going to pick up a takeaway on the way home. It’ll be far too late to cook, and I’ll be doing enough of that over Christmas.”
“Chinese, or Indian?” Elin inquired.
“He’ll probably let Alis choose after her journey. Any preference?” Elin shrugged. Her appetite was so poor at the moment it would be unfair to give an opinion.
“Another game?” Glenda offered. Elin shook her head with as much vigour as her incredible fatigue would allow.
“Sorry mum,” she said. “I’m far too shattered to engage my brain again. What about finding a soppy Christmas film on the telly? Get us in the mood,” she suggested.
Glenda was plainly happy with the proposal because she immediately switched the television on and searched the listings for something suitable. One of the many family friendly films on offer was selected, then the two Treharne women proceeded to talk through it.
Blurred Lines: A box-set of reality bending supernatural fiction (Paranormal Tales from Wales Book 9) Page 41
