‘Get off me!’ Cilydd shouted. ‘Just get away from me! How could you do this? To Gwelw? To your wife? Leave her like that! And let me take the blame for everything... I could have gone to prison for killing you!’
‘It never would have happened, Cilydd, I assure you. We have ways of making sure those things don’t happen... listen, I can explain it all. Just hear me out.’
Cilydd felt sick. Goleuddydd had meant to leave him. Doged had no intention of killing himself. He was in a house full of people who wanted to abandon their loved ones and play games with their emotions.
‘I don’t want to hear it. I want to get out of here. Back to my wife – your wife!’
He grappled to try to find a door handle. It seemed there wasn’t one. He banged on the cold, white door. Nothing. Doged had taken a seat, now, as though he were warming himself up for the telling of a tale no one wanted to hear.
‘Cilydd, you have to calm down. I urge you, sit here with me. There’s no point in banging – they won’t open the door. They decide when we get to come out, not us. That’s the way of things. It’s a way of keeping everyone in order, you see. What we agree to is a controlled freedom. I mean, when you think about it, freedom can be a little overrated. Too much freedom and you can get yourself into a lot of trouble, believe you me. It’s not quite the same as being locked up in some cell somewhere. I mean, I’ve got everything I could possibly want in this room. When the door opens, I go out. If it doesn’t open, I stay here. It’s as simple as that. So please, Cilydd – step away from the door.’
‘Are you... are you going to come back, is that it? You’re ready to take my place...’
He thought of the portrait in the hallway, the one Arthur had painted. How absurd it would all seem if Doged walked in through that front door again.
‘I had no intention of ruining things for you, I promise. Gwelw and Lleuwen, the life I left behind – the one you inhabited, it’s yours. At least it was. I would never take it away from you. You’ve done a marvellous job. Caring for them the way you did. I was sceptical at first of course, I never thought it was going to work – I never thought it would turn out the way it did. But you seemed to fit the bill better than I ever could.’
‘But how do you... how do you know? I mean, have you been watching us?’
‘No, of course not. But we get reports. It’s all part of the deal. Except in my case, you and Gwelw... well it was Ysbaddaden’s idea. There was no question about it, I had to disappear. I’d made a real mess of things at the Assembly. All those hospitals I’d shut down, all those medical botches I’d had to cover up – things were going to unravel very soon and they would take my family down with them. Night after night Gwelw would come into my study and see me hunched, crying, tearing myself to pieces over the stress of it all. You know too well what she’s like – no-nonsense, seeing every problem like a bone which just needs slotting back into place, a reduction as she calls it – she just couldn’t understand how much I wanted to leave it all behind. She warned me – don’t do anything silly, or I will never forgive you. But I had to. As much as I loved my wife and daughter I simply had to. But in leaving them, the best I could do was make sure that they would be looked after. That’s where you came in. I had to make sure someone would care about what happened to them. That’s when Ysbaddaden thought of it. I know it might seem as if nothing can touch that man, but I rather think he felt quite bad about the way things turned out with your wife. That’s when he came up with this – a solution – a simple act of kindness. And when he showed me your file I remembered meeting you, at the Assembly, that day. I remembered liking you. You weren’t like those others – you seemed to wear your losses better somehow. I mean, I couldn’t have just anyone filling my role. You seemed to be, well, determined, I suppose. A survivor. I knew she would like that about you. Not a quitter, like me.’
‘But I was about to kill myself...’ Cilydd said, wishing, at that particular moment, he’d succeeded.
‘No, you were never going to do that. You had suicidal thoughts, of course, those were your own – but think about it – you weren’t really going to do it, were you? Not until we put you right out there, on the far edge of that ledge. When you found yourself there you thought that the end had come, naturally enough. You thought there was nothing else for it but to jump. But then I came along. And you saw what a horrible thing it was – something you didn’t want after all – am I right? The tumble in itself didn’t actually happen like you think it did –what you witnessed as one continuous movement would not in fact have been that at all. In fact, it took us hours to manoeuvre the whole thing. I was freezing by the end of it, seemed like I’d been in that water for ages.’
Doged shivered with the memory of it. Cilydd saw the whole thing again himself, the black, dark birds coming at him on the cliff. Turning his head. Making him sleepy, making him think there was nothing for it but to jump. And then of course there had been Doged’s wilful, helping hand. The hand that was offering him a new life.
‘But Gwelw, and Lleuwen. I mean... I love them. I truly, truly love them both. You couldn’t have... you couldn’t have organised that... you just couldn’t have...’ As if it had just happened he saw his hand sliding between Gwelw’s legs in the community-hall car park. The passion he had felt at that moment. Was that unreal too? Was it those birds? He tried to recall if there had been any dark shadows twittering above him.
‘The love, no. The passion, certainly not. That was genuine – a stroke of luck. I mean, the marriage, we anticipated. With my death on your conscience, and her turning up at the Missing Persons’ Network – it was bound to drive you together. But the love you talk of now – I mean, I didn’t realise you felt like that. It’s... well, it’s even more of a comfort I suppose. Or at least it was. Until you turned up here. I mean, I don’t know what will happen now. To Gwelw and Lleuwen. I’m sure Ysbaddaden will have someone lined up for them, so I shouldn’t worry about it too much.’
‘What do you mean, lined up for them? As soon as I get out of here I’m...’
‘Oh, Cilydd.’ Doged lowered his eyes and seemed genuinely to sympathise with him. ‘There’s no getting out of here, once you’re in. I thought you’d have understood that much. I think that’s the mistake your wife made.’
‘What happened to my wife?’ Cilydd asked quietly.
‘They never told me what happened to her.’
‘From what I gather she completely changed her mind once she was here, and demanded to be let out. Of course no one lets you go once you’re here. But she convinced one of the doctors who was looking after her to let her go and before anyone knew it she was halfway through the forest. That’s when they set Ysbaddaden’s wild boar on her, poor thing. I mean, you can only imagine how frightened she would have been. But it’s the only way if someone makes a dash for it like that. Ysbaddaden never meant to kill her. I think he was hoping that the boar would just scare her, hunt her down, keep her cornered in that pigsty until someone came to retrieve her. He did everything he could to make sure she was brought back safe and well, rushing both those doctors to the site. But they were too late. It’s amazing the boy survived, to be honest. And although I doubt they could have done much to save her, he was still furious with those doctors, I tell you. I’ve never seen him so angry. You can see why – I mean, no one had died on his watch before. The operation isn’t about killing people off. It’s about saving them, providing them with a haven. So those doctors had really damaged his reputation. Not that they had meant to, of course. I remember them – quite lovely people. Quite brilliant too. A man and a woman. They both used to have a room on this floor. I gather both wanted to disappear because of some medical scandal or other. Always blame the doctors, don’t they? But they couldn’t stay here. Not after that. He had to get rid of them.’
‘Did he... did he kill them?’
‘No, no, nothing like that. I gather he sent them away to the farm to run things there. I think... I think perhaps the boy
went with them.’
So that’s who Cilydd’s parents were. Not even a couple, just two people driven together by a terrible mistake.
‘I can’t believe they just left her there, though... it’s just so... so barbaric.’
‘Well, she was dead. This isn’t a house for the dead.’
‘Isn’t it? Aren’t you all pretending to be dead?’ Cilydd asked. He was angry now. Those doctors, Culhwch’s makeshift parents, had left his beautiful Goleuddydd lying on her back in that pigsty. Wrenched her open like an animal. But they’d done it to save his son. He saw now the logic in Goleuddydd’s command: don’t remarry. She had known, in running away, what these people were capable of. What they knew about her, of him; possibly she guessed how they would interfere in his life. How they would try to fix things, and only make things worse. Like leaving her bleeding in an empty pigsty.
‘We can’t control what those left behind will think of us, they write their own little narratives, they believe what’s best, what’s easiest for them to believe. Some will keep the fire alive. Others won’t. A rational, sensible woman like Gwelw will accept the facts, and won’t rely on flimsy conjecture to keep her going. That’s the kind of woman she is. She buried me in her mind the day they found my wax jacket, I know that much. So I’m not pretending to be dead. It’s just that my absence is open to inter-pretation. And certainly here I don’t feel dead, either. I may not have the freedom I once had, but what I’ve got is a new life. It’s a quieter one. But it’s a new start. Without all the usual drudgery or responsibility that life brings. Without the risk. Without the hurt. It’s a perfect life in many ways.’
But your voice is dull and lifeless, Cilydd wanted to tell him. A life where you care for nothing, risk nothing, is exactly that – nothing.
Doged let out a heavy sigh and turned his head.
‘I think you should go now,’ he said. ‘I get very tired these days when I have to talk for long periods of time. I honestly don’t know how I managed it all that time in the Assembly. I’m just not used to it now. I fear it’s too much for me. I’m sure they’ll come for you soon.’
As soon as he’d finished the sentence the door opened and Ysbaddaden and his guards re-entered.
‘I hope you enjoyed your little tête-à-tête, gentle-men. You’re looking a little more enlightened now, Cilydd, less in the dark, shall we say. Thank you Doged, for saving me the trouble of explaining all that – such things really can get a little complicated, and one often forgets the exact sequence of events. Now, I think it’s time we got you settled in, don’t you? I think you’re going to like it here, Cilydd.’
‘But my boy... and Arthur,’ he protested as he was dragged – ever so politely it seemed by the mute, smiling boys – out of the room.
‘Oh don’t worry Cilydd. The boy can come too. In fact, you can both consider yourselves officially missing. As for Arthur, well – Arthur is – and always has been – a little bit of a nuisance as far as we’re concerned.’
Cilydd was staring down another spiral of stairs. They were unlike the others he’d trodden before –they were rusty and creaked as he descended. He was being dragged further and further into the heart of the building. The surroundings became more and more stark, until they were travelling in shadow, damp filling his nostrils.
‘My son,’ Cilydd said. ‘You’ve got my son. What have you done with him?’
‘Oh, he’s fine. But he won’t be running off with my daughter, I’ve made sure of that. You see, Olwen can’t ever leave this place. Not while I’m still in the land of the living. The trouble is she knows everything. She’s always known it. It’s what she’s grown up with, people coming, people going – she was born into it. I always wanted a child, you see. I suppose I was rather hoping that Culhwch might become mine, one day – but after what happened with Goleuddydd... well, I couldn’t do it. You see, he was a horrid reminder of what happened and I had to send him away. But I wanted to make up for it. Never take on another pregnant woman – that’s what my advisors told me. But I wanted to prove to them I could do it. That’s just the kind of man I am. I mean, when I solved my first mystery it was like a light had descended on me. It was like I was gifted, special. And I couldn’t bear never doing it again. I suppose that’s why I wanted to gather up all those mysteries, solve them for myself. Be part of something. And it was the same when I found Olwen’s mother. She wasn’t like Goleuddydd, you understand. She was a timid little thing, just a child herself. Fourteen. Terrified of someone finding out about the pregnancy. So I took her in. She didn’t have to pay, not like the others. Just give me the child, I said to her. I’ll take care of it. All that time I was thinking of Culhwch, what a mess I’d made of things. Olwen was my way to put things right, you see. A lovely, natural birth it was. Her mother was so very brave. Not that Olwen has ever known that her mother is living here. She thinks it’s just her and me – that was the arrangement. And you know there’s something so very special about Olwen. The day she was born the fields around this place just lit up with white flowers. The purest, whitest flowers. It was like the ground forgiving me for what I’d done to poor old Culhwch. Such an unfortunate name – Culhwch – I know. But how can any of us really escape the circumstances of our birth? It’s always there, you see. It was the one name we could give him. He carried the darkness of that pigsty within him – and here was Olwen, brimming with light, her name a white trail of flowers. They’re so different. And I’m afraid, for that reason, they simply can’t be together. This house, the house of the missing – it’s her home. In some ways, she’s always been missing – we never registered her birth, so technically, she doesn’t even exist. And it was my hope that one day, Olwen would grow up and be part of all this. But your children, however conditioned they are, never turn out exactly how you planned, do they? When she fell pregnant – well you can imagine, it caused something of a stir in here. ‘Who was it?’ I asked her. Turns out it was Ffercos son of Poch who’d forced himself on her. A grubby little thing. You can imagine how wounded I felt. I’m afraid I rather... I rather lost it. I suppose he was our first... deliberate fatality.’
‘The word you’re looking for is murder,’ Cilydd said.
‘Another vulgar term that is bandied about all too readily by journalists,’ Ysbaddaden replied. ‘I suppose Culhwch fancies himself as some sort of father to this child now, but honestly, Cilydd, how can he be? He’s been living in seclusion all his life. All he’s ever known is birds and make-believe. He’s just a little boy.’
‘That’s because of you. Because you stuck him on that farm with two people who didn’t even want to be his parents...’
‘Not at first, no. But I gather they both developed quite a lot of affection for the boy in the end. There were times, when we took our days out to visit them, that I glimpsed real happiness in them. Contentment even. They were happy with their farm, with their little family life – even if there was no love between them. Surgeons they were, both of them. I never anticipated they’d make me the offer they did. To give me all their money so I could buy this place in my own name, and hide them there. An odd proposition, I know, but when you’re a man without responsibilities and someone offers you this enormous estate – well, you’re hardly going to say no, are you? And one night when we were all settled, they got the idea that I could keep tracking people down, and offer them a safe haven. For free, at first. And time after time I was surprised by how much people wanted what I was offering. Not surprising though really. When I found most of them they were holed up in bedsits and hostels, sleeping rough. And there I was, offering them a room of one’s own, away from it all. Safety. But then sure enough it started getting more and more costly and we realised that we had to make people pay to come here. They had to organise it. A little tricky, isn’t it, advertising something you don’t want anyone to know about? But we managed it. Friends in high places, that sort of thing. It’s amazing actually how many people do know we exist, but keep it firmly under their hats. Tak
e the police, for example. Turn a blind eye to every single case thanks to our connections with the force. I mean, how else do you think we were able to move a family into the farm, even as the investigation continued? Culhwch was moved in, right under their noses. And the business slowly started coming in. As long as we kept an eye out for suitable cases, we never struggled to fill the rooms.’
‘So you just picked Goleuddydd out at random?’
‘Hardly. Goleuddydd was more or less volunteered to us. I mean, she comes from a very powerful family.’
Cilydd’s stomach churned as the truth dawned on him at last.
‘Oh my God,’ he said. ‘Anlawdd. Anlawdd set her up.’
‘He just subtly informed her of our existence, that’s all. He gave her the option, he never forced her...’
‘He killed her!’ Cilydd realised he was shouting now, his voice deflating as the corridor around him seemed to narrow to a thin strip. ‘By sending her here he killed her, he must have known that. But then... it doesn’t make sense... he was the one begging me to get Arthur on to it...’
‘Yes. Indeed. Arthur. Think about it. Arthur who’d been pottering around the streets selling hand-carved animals for half his life. Arthur the street artist. Arthur the carver. Arthur, who hadn’t solved a single case in his life. Get good old Arthur on to it, Cilydd. Look, I know it’s a shock. But Anlawdd isn’t a bad man. It just... just didn’t work out as he planned, that’s all. We offered the boy to Anlawdd, to make up for things, but he didn’t want him. It was too painful for him, as you can imagine. But he did stress in no uncertain terms that were we to give the boy to you, he would cut our funding...’
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