THE SILENCE OF THE STONES: Will the secrets written in the stones destroy a young woman's world? The runes are cast. Who will die?

by Rebecca Bryn

  ‘Hold on, Alana.’ Panic edged the voice.

  She gripped Bramble beneath her arm, clenched her fingers tighter as the surf pounded the rocks beneath her, and looked up. Rhiannon’s mouth formed a slow smile and the fingers gripping her loosened their hold. Air rushed past her as she fell; her muscles spasmed and she woke with a start.

  4 am. Cold sweat bathed her body and her heart hammered. She was safe… safe. Rhiannon had saved her life. She threw on a dressing-gown and went downstairs to make tea but the smile on Rhiannon’s face refused to fade. Why would she dream that? It was irrational.

  She took the tea into the living room and sank onto the settee. It was delayed shock: she’d almost died. The reality hit her. She could have died without making her peace with Dad, without seeing Mum and Saffy again, without telling Tony she loved him. Without seeing Greg and Maddy. She could have left the people she loved thinking she didn’t care about them. It was time she faced her responsibilities and stopped acting like a spoiled child the world owed a living.

  Her fine vee-chisel lay where she’d dropped it the night before. The cold metal had a feel of reality: calming, purposeful. The childlike forms that represented Mannaz emerged slowly from their stone sarcophagus, freed to dance with the joy of life she’d almost lost, the joy of life Nerys Reece had stolen from Cadi and Bethan.

  She swapped the chisel for a file and worked on, going down through the grades, finer and finer as daylight fingered through the gap in the curtains. She wiped a dusty hand across her brow: another element of the mock-up was finished. Its inspiration was Cadi and Bethan, and it was her best work yet.

  She’d showered and dressed by the time a knock came at the door: the tall police officer stood on the doorstep.

  ‘Miss Harper. How are you?’’

  She stood back to let him. ‘Is this about Cadi?’

  ‘We’ve had your DNA results. There wasn’t a match. The bones we found don’t belong to Cadi.’

  ‘So it’s Bethan.’

  ‘We’re still waiting to hear about the DNA we have on file for Nerys Reece, but I thought you’d want to know.’

  ‘Thank you. Not Cadi. I don’t know whether to be relieved.’

  ‘It isn’t easy not knowing. I don’t know how families live with the uncertainty, year after year. If there’s anything I can do…’

  ‘No… Just let me know when you get the other results, if you’re allowed. Greg, Bethan’s younger brother… He’s a friend.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll let you know once the family have been informed.’

  She let him out and made coffee. Nursing the mug between her hands she stared at the finished carving. Bethan was dead, there was little doubt of it now, the bones had to be hers, but Cadi? Could she still be alive, somewhere?

  ***

  The familiar streets of Leicester seemed more crowded than Alana remembered. The air smelt of chlorine, from catalytic converters, and petrol and fast food. Traffic buzzed like annoying wasps, cars darted into gaps too small, hooting impatiently, and tall buildings loomed above her, man-made cliffs blocking out the sky. In the café where she’d arranged to meet Dad, cutlery and crockery crashed and clattered above the hum of chatter. She’d forgotten the world was such a noisy place.

  Dad got to his feet as she made her way between tables. She kissed him and sat opposite him. ‘How are you, Dad?’

  ‘I’m well. You look… prosperous.’

  ‘I got a loan.’

  ‘I’m glad. I do want you to succeed, Alana, but you have to do it by your own effort, not mine.’

  ‘I can see that, now. If I default, I lose The Haggard. It makes me all the more determined to succeed.’

  ‘You will. I have every faith in you.’

  She smiled. ‘I spoke to Mum again. I know the truth… why you blame Siân.’

  His eyes shot wide open. ‘She told you?’ He lowered his voice. ‘What exactly did she tell you? I doubt it was the truth.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because you wouldn’t be this calm.’

  ‘I’ve done angry. I’ve moved on to acceptance. I understand, Dad. You’re as much a victim in this family as Saffy is.’

  He nodded, though his expression was still sceptical. ‘Talking of Saffy, I saw Tony, yesterday. You should speak to him, Alana.’

  ‘And tell him what?’

  ‘He still loves you.’

  ‘He told you that?’

  ‘He didn’t have to. I told him you were unattached.’

  ‘The truth would break his mother’s heart.’

  ‘She died, last week. He was on his way to the funeral directors.’

  ‘I should ring him. I should send my condolences, at least.’

  ‘He’d appreciate that. Talk to him, Alana. Please, don’t throw your life away because of Mike. Trust Tony. He’ll do the right thing by you and Saffy.’

  A woman at the next table smiled at her. She smiled back. ‘You really think so?’

  Dad gestured to the woman. ‘Come and join us. Alana, it’s time I introduced you to Emma, my partner. Emma, I’d like you to meet Alana, my daughter.’

  The woman held out a hand in greeting. ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Alana. Your father talks about you all the time.’

  ‘He does?’ The hand was soft and firm. Emma was younger than she’d expected. She must be twenty years younger than Dad. At least she wasn’t the archetypal platinum blonde, or she’d have suspected Dad of a mid-life crisis. ‘I expect much of it isn’t good.’

  Emma laughed. ‘He won’t have a word said against you.’

  ‘Really? We’ve had our moments.’

  Dad smiled. ‘So how is life in West Wales?’

  ‘Different.’ There was no point worrying him with runes, and bones and death. None of it concerned him, now. ‘I’ve almost finished the mock-up sculpture I’m doing for the Arts Council funding.’

  ‘Do you think you’ll get it?’

  ‘I’m hopeful. The sculpture’s relevant to the history of the area. It should attract visitors.’

  Emma stirred coffee. ‘I’d love to be able to paint or sculpt. It must be great to have talent. I’m very envious.’

  She liked Emma, despite her determination not to. ‘Maybe Dad will bring you to the unveiling. Mind you, it could be a while yet.’

  Emma put her hand on Dad’s. ‘I’m not going anywhere, if that’s what you’re thinking. We’re for keeps. You don’t have to worry about Derek.’

  She smiled, and a weight she didn’t know she was carrying lifted from her shoulders. She hid her relief in her coffee cup. Just Mum and Saffy to sort, now… and Tony.

  ***

  She thumbed in Tony’s number as she walked to Minnie. She ended the call before it rang. Tony could well be at home today. She owed it to him to speak to him in person. Life was too short to avoid things just because they were difficult.

  He opened the door. ‘Alana. I expect you’ve heard.’

  She moved into his arms: it felt like being home. ‘Tony, I’m so sorry. I’ve only just found out. Dad told me.’

  He moved away, too soon. ‘The funeral’s tomorrow. Mum always liked you, Alana. It would mean a lot to me and Dad and Mike if you’d come.’

  He needed her. She’d have to put up with facing Mike. ‘Of course, I’ll come. I can stay with Mum overnight.’

  ‘I called round to Trafalgar Street, to let you know, but they said you’d moved.’

  ‘I’m living in Pembrokeshire, now. My aunt’s cottage.’

  ‘Your Dad said you’re on your own. What happened? You and your new fella didn’t work out?’

  He had a right to be angry. He had a right to the truth, not to think he wasn’t good enough for her. ‘There never was anyone else, Tony.’

  ‘I don’t understand. I thought we were good.’

  ‘We were.’

  ‘So why, Alana? You got bored?’

  ‘No. Tony, I…’

  The door opened and Mike swaggered in
. ‘Hi, Bro.’ His smile as he faced her was arrogant. ‘Hello, Alana. Long time, no see.’

  Bile rose into her throat. The walls closed around her. She shrank away from him as he planted a kiss on her cheek. He had her against the wall again, hands and body trapping her: too drunk to fight him as he forced himself on her. ‘No…’ The darkness cleared as he moved away. Tony was looking at her strangely. She forced a smile. ‘I have to go and see Mum and... I’ll see you tomorrow, Tony.’

  ‘Two o’clock at St Barnabas, New Humberstone.’ He gave her a brief hug and she almost ran to the front door.

  ***

  Alana tried to keep her voice calm. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d been in contact with Siân? Dad thought she’d been cut out of your lives. You lied to him.’

  Mum stood her ground. ‘She was my only sister, Alana, and she was interested in how you were doing. We swapped news… of you and Cadi. Would you have cut Cadi out, if you’d known about her?’

  ‘I didn’t have the option, did I? You and Siân saw to that. Dad was just the poor sucker that had to put up with your scheming.’

  ‘And I never heard the last of it. He made me feel guilty every day of my life. I never meant to hurt anyone. I thought we were doing the right thing.’

  She let her arms fall to her sides. She’d told Dad she’d done angry. This was her chance to prove it. ‘I brought you a photo of Cadi. At least you have something of her, now.’

  Mum took the photo. There was genuine sorrow in her eyes. ‘I remember Siân looking like that in her childhood photos. There’s a frame in my bedroom might fit it, Alana. Top, left drawer of the chest.’

  She had the drawer knob in her hand before she realised obedience to Mum was the habit of a lifetime: it would be petty to refuse, now. Face down in the drawer, a silver frame held the image of her father as a young man. Mum wasted no sentiment on a relationship that was over.

  The corner of another frame stuck from beneath envelopes labelled swimming certificates, GCSE certificates, birth/marriage/death certificates. She pulled the frame out: a wedding photo. It was the wrong shape. She put it back.

  Birth certificates. She’d never seen hers, she realised: Mum had dealt with the application for her first passport for a school trip, and her child passport and new photos had been all she’d had to send to renew it when she was adult. She’d never needed further proof of identity.

  Whose name filled the space marked father on her certificate? Dad or Dafydd? Curious, she opened the sealed envelope marked birth/marriage/death certificates. Mum’s birth certificate, her parents’ marriage certificate, her grandparents’ death certificates. The next birth certificate brought her up short: Cadi Alana Ap Dafydd. What was Mum doing with that? Surely Siân would have needed it? Father: Dafydd, as she’d expected. Mother: Siân Alana Ap Dafydd, nee Williams… not Gweneth.

  They’d taken the deception that they weren’t twins to the limit. Even DNA probably wouldn’t have proven Cadi wasn’t who they said she was, with Mum being so closely related to Siân, and she and Cadi having the same father. She unfolded the next document. It was a deed poll, a change of name… Katherine Alana Harper?

  A letter dropped to the floor. Her fingers trembled as she retrieved it. Heart in mouth, she read it.

  Dear Sirs,

  I, the undersigned, having joint parental responsibility for Cadi Alana Ap Dafydd, consent to her name being changed to Katherine Alana Harper. For the purpose of changing my daughter's name, I hereby delegate parental responsibility to my sister, Gweneth Harper of 17a Bradgate Rise, Leicester who is my daughter's aunt and with whom my daughter resides. Also, my daughter wishes to be known by the English version, Katherine, rather than the Welsh, Cadi, as she is now in an English school and risks being teased.

  Yours faithfully,

  Siân Alana Ap Dafydd, Mother

  Dafydd Ap Dafydd, Father (having joint parental responsibility.)

  She sank onto the edge of Mum’s bed unable to take in what she’d read. She read it again, slowly. She was Cadi? She didn’t have a sister? She’d never had a sister? A sense of loss dropped into the void in her stomach and swelled to fill it. Cadi wasn’t dead, or missing. The photos, the portraits were of her, not her sister. Tears streamed down her cheeks. So, who was her mother? Siân or…

  It had all been lies, all lies. Her whole life was a fucking lie. She’d done anger? She hadn’t scratched the surface. The tsunami about to be unleashed would sweep the world from beneath Mum’s feet. This time she wasn’t leaving until she had the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

  ***

  She faced her mother, if she was her mother, across the living room, photo frame in one hand, the deed-poll letter in the other. A muscle spasmed in her cheek. ‘I came to tell you the bones they found on the moors aren’t Cadi's. I was trying to find a way to break the news gently. But you knew they weren’t hers, didn’t you?’

  ‘They’re not Cadi’s?’ Mum’s eyebrow rose, questioningly. She appeared flustered. ‘What do you mean? Why would I know that?’

  ‘I gave them a DNA sample and they weren’t a match.’

  Mum’s expression didn’t change. She seemed bewildered. ‘So Cadi's still missing. There’s still hope she’s out there, somewhere, alive and well.’

  ‘Oh, she’s out there, alright. Alive and fucking furious.’ She waved the incriminating document. ‘You and Siân have had thirty years to get your story straight. Why don’t you have another go at the truth, if you’re capable of telling the truth, that is.’

  Mum paled. ‘Alana, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  She began to read. ‘Dear Sirs, I, the undersigned, having joint parental responsibility for Cadi Alana Ap Dafydd, consent to her name being changed to Katherine Alana Harper. Well?’

  ‘I think Saffy’s awake.’

  ‘Leave Saffy. Truth, now. Who’s my mother?’

  Mum’s shoulders sagged. ‘You wanted to protect Saffy from knowing her father was a rapist, so you’ll understand why Siân wanted to protect you.’

  ‘Siân was my mother?’

  ‘She left you The Haggard, didn’t she?’

  ‘You’re saying Siân was raped? Too much of a coincidence. I don’t believe you.’

  ‘No, you were a child of love.’ Mum walked to the window and stood with her back to her, then turned back again, her lips pursed. ‘Siân adored Dafydd, but he was an alcoholic. He used to get violent with the drink. She was terrified he’d hurt you.’

  ‘So, why didn’t she leave him and take me with her?’

  ‘She did try, once. He found her, begged her to go back and like a fool she did.’

  ‘She gave me up, instead?’

  ‘It was the only way she could be sure of keeping you safe and not letting Dafydd drink himself to death.’

  ‘But Dafydd’s signature is on the letter.’

  ‘She forged it. Told him you’d gone missing.’

  ‘And that wasn’t crueller than letting him drink himself witless?’

  Mum rubbed her forehead as if her head was about to explode. ‘You don’t know what he was like. Siân… Siân and I fabricated a huge falling out. It was the only way we could think of to give you a fresh identity, somewhere he wouldn’t look. We left it a couple of years, until you had to go to school, and then applied for the name change from my address in Leicester. It’s a simple enough process, though it was a risk. No-one picked up on it. Luckily, it was Nerys’ name people remembered, not yours or Bethan’s, and that was mainly in Wales. It wasn’t such big news in England.’

  The enormity of the lie hit her like a brick. ‘Nerys… For God’s sake, Mum. Nerys went to jail for my murder… Oh, God. How could you do that to her?’

  Mum’s expression hardened. ‘She was no innocent. Two of her babies dead? She started acting oddly when she became pregnant again. We did what we thought was right. Did it matter whose murder got her put away? It wasn’t just me and Siân, the others... Bethan was a d
eath waiting to happen, not to mention the new baby. What chance would that have had?’

  ‘You lied.’

  ‘It wasn’t all lies. You didn’t see how Nerys was.’ Mum’s hands clamped into fists. ‘She killed her own babies! You have no idea what it’s like to want a child… Yes, it was Derek who was infertile, not Siân, and yes, I was jealous of her, parading her new baby.’

  ‘How do think that made Dad feel?’

  ‘Dad? How do you think it made me feel? It eats away at you… nappy and baby lotion adverts on the telly, mothers pushing prams, proud grandparents… mothers who neglect their children, kill them… they’re all knives that drive deep into salt wounds.’

  ‘You still lied.’

  ‘The most believable lies have a basis in truth. I did love you the moment I saw you.’ Mum’s face contorted at the memory. ‘Oh, it was easy for you, Alana. We tried for years for a baby, every month a disappointment, but you... you pop one out the first time you don’t use protection. And you wanted to kill her, like Nerys. You walked away from the one thing I would gladly have suffered rape for.

  She clenched her own hands. ‘You don’t gladly suffer rape, Mum. You have no idea what it’s like. The nightmares…’

  ‘I wanted Saffy so much. More even than I wanted you… a tiny baby all of my own. Someone who’d love me unconditionally, not a stroppy toddler.’

  That child. Her fingers, and the hard edge of the picture frame she was clutching, dug into her palms. ‘And the nightmares were why I wanted to abort her.’ She was screaming at her mother now, but she couldn’t stop. ‘I knew I couldn’t love her. I didn’t want her to have a childhood like mine. I didn’t want her growing up feeling she was that child.’ A thump from upstairs silenced her.

  ‘Oh, no. Saffy...’ She dropped the silver frame and ran up the stairs and into her daughter’s bedroom. A small figure hunched in the corner of the bedroom. Large brown eyes peeped from above a pink bunny, clutched tightly in small fingers. That child. ‘Oh, God.’ She sat on the floor beside her and held out her arms. ‘Lana’s sorry, Saffy.’ Saffy held the rabbit tighter. ‘Nana loves you. Nana and me had a silly row, that’s all. It’s all right.’