by Rebecca Bryn
Saffy didn’t look convinced.
‘I love you, too, Saffy.’ She held out her arms again.’ Give Mummy a cuddle?’
Saffy hotched closer. She held her daughter tight, trying not to let her see her tears.
‘Don’t cry, Mummy.’
She buried her face in Saffy’s curls, and breathed in the smell of baby talc and warm child. ‘I love you, Saffy. I love you so much. Don’t ever forget that.’ She let her go at last. She wanted to take her home, now, away from her scheming grandmother, but she couldn’t risk having a child in Coed-y-Cwm until Nerys was found. Saffy was safer here. ‘I’ll come back and fetch you, I promise. As soon as I can.’
She left her playing tea party with her dolls and went back down the stairs to face her mother.
‘Is she okay?’
‘I told her we had a silly row. She’s fine.’ She brushed a palm across her wet cheek. ‘I’ll never forgive you for what you’ve done.’
Mum dry-washed her hands. ‘The end justified the means.’ She studied her finger nails. ‘We were too late to save Bethan.’
‘His name’s Greg.’
‘Whose name?’
‘The baby. Nerys’ fourth child. He was born in Holloway, and taken from her at birth. He never knew his parents. I’ve met him. His name’s Gregory and I really like him, Mum. He’s found James, his birth father. Now he’s searching for Nerys.’
Mum’s hand covered her mouth. ‘Oh, God. Stay away from him, Alana.’
‘Why should I?’
‘Nerys was wicked, even her father said so when she was little. Don’t you understand that, yet? He’s got her genes… for all we know he could be a dangerous psychopath.’ Mum shook her head. ‘Oh, Siân… why did you have to get me mixed up in all this? I’m sorry, Alana. I’m so sorry.’
‘Sorry?’ She took a step towards her. ‘Sorry! Nerys is out there somewhere… Maddy thinks she killed Siân, and Mair and Non because they testified against her.’
‘But those deaths were accidents.’
‘Or clever murders. She was released because the evidence didn’t stack up against modern thinking and DNA. If she was innocent, then she knows Siân and the others perjured themselves… She’s had thirty years to plan her revenge, like you’ve had thirty years to concoct your lies.’ She wanted to scream at her, to ram home the horror of what she’d done, but she forced her voice to a low growl. ‘I’ve had signs on my door, like those on Mair’s before the fire.’
Mum’s hands were shaking. ‘There were signs before Cadi… after Bethan went missing.’
The scream battled to get free. ‘If Nerys did kill Siân, she could be coming for me.’
‘But she doesn’t know who you really are.’
She plucked the silver frame from the carpet and looked at the photo. ‘And Dad was a party to all this. Have you any idea the damage you’ve both done?’
Mum was shaking. ‘Don’t blame your father. He never wanted…’
‘He never wanted me.’ She let out a deep breath and let her arms fall limply at her sides. ‘I’m done here. You’re not my mother. I want nothing more to do with you.’
She threw the photo frame onto the sofa, strode from the room and slammed the front door behind her. How the hell was she going to face Greg, now?
Chapter Seventeen
Katherine pulled the duvet over her head and pressed her hands over her ears. Her parents’ raised voices carried through the floorboards and made her curl into a tight ball. It hadn’t always been like this, though she couldn’t remember when the shouting had begun. She took her hands from her ears.
‘That child…’
She clamped them back again and curled into a smaller ball. What had she done wrong? She wouldn’t do it again, she promised, if only she knew what it was she’d done. Hot tears soaked her hair. The garble of voices fell quiet. Footsteps thudded on the stairs and the door to her bedroom opened. She didn’t want to be Katherine anymore: one day, she promised herself, when she was grown-up, she wouldn’t be. She clutched her need tight inside her, built a little wall around it so it wouldn’t cry out, and pretended to sleep.
Alana woke with a start. She was in a hotel room, not her bedroom at Mum’s. She’d had a row with Mum… Her heart thudded as full memory of the previous day flooded back. She wasn’t Katherine: she’d never been Katherine. She was Cadi.
The dream of her childhood faded, leaving a bitter taste. She understood, now, why her presence had caused such acrimony between her parents, and exactly when the shouting had begun. She strained to retrieve some elusive memory of life before the gospel of St Gweneth, but failed. She’d only been three when she’d been taken from her real parents.
No, wait… the feeling of déjà-vu when she’d first arrived in Coed-y-Cwm: the doodles on her telephone pad of the house with too-small windows across the green. That had to be a memory of her previous life, and was now all she had left to cling to.
She breakfasted and paid her bill. There were things she needed and, in Leicester, she knew where to find them. Minnie was a reassuring presence, a solid if rusting reminder of who she was, Alana: she climbed into her gratefully. Shopping, lunch, funeral.
She stood at the back of the church. She’d liked Tony’s mum and regretted not being able to be there for her while she was ill. She’d lost more than just Tony when she’d left him; she’d forfeited his whole family. Tony and Mike stood shoulder to shoulder with their father at the front of the church, heads bowed. She bowed her own as the vicar began the service.
Talk to Tony. There was nothing she wanted to do more, but now wasn’t the time to drive a wedge between him and his brother, and his father had enough to contend with. The service was short, as Tony’s mum would have wanted. Maybe she’d planned it herself: she’d known she wasn’t likely to survive the cancer. She’d had time to say her goodbyes. She waited as the coffin was carried from the church and the family mourners filed past. Tony glanced at her briefly, his face rigid.
Outside again, she made for the street where she’d parked Minnie. She couldn’t face Tony and Mike again, and she’d had more than enough of funerals. A man detached himself from the group of mourners as she passed: his hand on her arm prevented her.
‘Alana?’ Mike’s dad pressed her into a hug. ‘I thought it was you.’
‘I’m so sorry about Diane. I…’
‘You think you’re prepared… I don’t suppose anyone ever is.’
‘No.’ She struggled for the right words. ‘I didn’t want to intrude.’
‘You could never intrude, love. We’re having a few people back to the house. You’d be very welcome.’
‘That’s kind. I’m not sure I should. Tony…’
‘Tony hasn’t stopped loving you, whatever he says.’
‘I’ve never stopped loving him.’
He sighed. ‘You youngsters don’t realise how short life is, and youth is even shorter. I don’t know what happened between you, but is it too late to put things right?’
She hugged him. ‘It’s typical of you to help sort other people’s lives, even now. This is about you and Diane… and your family. You don’t need me there, not today.’
He kissed her cheek. ‘You know where we are if you change your mind. Take care, Alana. Remember what I said.’
She stopped at the church gates and glanced back, an unwilling exile. Tony’s father folded back within his group of friends and family. Tony looked towards her over the heads of the crowd. She wanted to run back and throw herself into his arms, to be home again: she turned and walked away.
***
The clatter of the letter-box reminded Greg that some people were hard at work already. He threw on his dressing gown. The daily paper lay on the doormat.
Missing Children Killed in Satanic Ritual.
Police have discovered the bones of a young child, thought to be the remains of one the girls who went missing from Coed-y-Cwm in West Wales 30 years ago.
‘Satanic ritual! Anythi
ng for a front-page story.’ Greg stalked into Maddy’s bedroom and threw the paper on her bed. ‘Is this down to you?’
Maddy sat up in bed, hastily covering her nakedness with her duvet. He caught a brief glimpse of a full breast, and a tattoo on one shoulder. She scanned the headline and thrust the paper at him. ‘Does this look like my name?’
‘You must have mentioned the runes to someone.’
‘I didn’t. If the runes are on the stones, anyone could have seen them. Anyway…’ She jabbed a finger. ‘It says here who wrote it.’
‘Mundhildur Vilhelmsdóttir? What a bloody mouthful. ’ He scanned the report, still angry. ‘It doesn’t say if they know who the bones belong to. It could be Bethan.’ He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to calm an impending headache.
‘It could also be Cadi.’
‘I should get back to Coed-y-Cwm. Alana will need all the support she can get, whichever way the findings go.’
Maddy’s expression was unreadable. ‘You’re not going without me.’
‘Still the reporter after your bloody scoop?’
‘That was uncalled for. You’ll need a friend there, too.’
‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’ He hugged Maddy apologetically. ‘I know you wouldn’t write anything before running it by me and Alana, first. It’s just… reporters don’t seem to care who they hurt.’
‘We… I care about the truth. Sometimes, reporters use sensationalism to persuade people to read it.’ She disentangled herself from his arms. ‘I’ll look up our earliest train.’
He threw clothes in a holdall and checked his wallet for cash.
‘Greg, if we hurry we can make the 11.15 from Paddington. Gets there about four o’ clock this afternoon.’
The train was delayed and it was already getting dark when they arrived in Coed-y-Cwm. There was an Audi outside Alana’s house when they parked the hire car. He dipped the headlights. ‘She’s got visitors. I should have rung.’
Maddy peered through the window of the other vehicle. ‘It could be a police car. Come on. If this is about Cadi and Bethan, it concerns you.’ She hurried to the cottage and rapped on the door before he could stop her.
Alana opened the door and looked past Maddy to him.
He felt his cheeks flush hot. ‘If it’s not convenient…’
‘You saw the news report? I should have phoned you.’ She seemed upset. ‘Come in, both of you. The police are here, asking questions about the fire at Mair’s. It seems they’re not a hundred percent satisfied, now, that it wasn’t arson.’ She closed the door behind them and addressed the police officers. ‘This is Greg Anderson, Bethan Reece’s brother. Maddy is a friend.’
The older officer clasped his hands behind his back. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Mr Anderson. Miss Harper’s already been told the result of our first DNA test.’
Alana let out a deep breath. ‘The remains don’t belong to Cadi.’
He sank onto the arm of her sofa. ‘So it’s Bethan.’
The officer looked at Alana and Maddy.
He glanced at the officer. ‘You can speak in front of the girls. We’re in this together.’
‘If you’re sure. I’d ask you all not to spread this around until we’ve had a chance to contact Mr Anderson’s natural parents.’
‘Of course.’ He nodded.
‘We also did a second test. We compared the DNA to samples we have on file belonging to Nerys Reece, your mother, Greg. The bones don’t match her DNA either.’
Alana looked up sharply.
Maddy frowned. ‘You mean there’s a third child?’
‘So it would seem. I’m afraid Cadi and Bethan are both still officially missing.’
‘Was another child reported missing at that time?’
The officer shook his head. ‘Not locally, but investigations are ongoing. These cases never close. It’s only a matter of time before we discover who it is.’
‘It is a girl, though?’ Maddy was wearing her innocent-bystander face.
‘We can’t tell at this stage. Further tests may show if the remains are male or female. It’s difficult with sub-adult bones, apparently.’
‘So it’s definitely a child?’
He glanced at Maddy, warningly. ‘Closure is all the victims’ families really want, and the truth. In a way, knowing Bethan was dead, how she died, would have been a relief.’
The younger officer nodded. ‘I’m sorry we couldn’t help. Mr Anderson, do you know where your mother is living at present?’
‘I was born when Nerys was in prison, and adopted at birth. I’ve never had contact with her. I was rather hoping you’d know.’
‘She registered with her local police when she was released, but she’s moved since. She’s slipped under the radar. I’m afraid…’
The older officer cut his colleague short. ‘And your natural father? Have you had contact with him?’
‘I met him recently for the first time.’
‘We’ll need to speak to him. Do you have an address for him?’
‘He lives in Clynderwen... a farm… Station Road.’ He shook his head, still in shock. ‘A third child. He believed my mother was innocent.’
The older officer smiled fleetingly. ‘Like I said, these cases are never closed.’ He looked at his colleague. ‘We want the truth too, and we won’t stop looking for the girls. We’ll be in touch. Thank you for your help, Miss Harper, Mr Anderson. We’ll see ourselves out.’
***
Alana stared at the portrait on the wall. Cadi was alive and well. Alive, angry and confused.
Maddy moved to stand beside her. ‘I’m so sorry, Alana. A third child… there’s no mention in any of the newspaper reports I’ve read of a third child going missing around that time.’
Greg’s shadow fell across the portrait. ‘Dad seemed so sure Nerys was innocent. How can he believe that, now?’ His hand brushed hers. ‘We’ve all lost so much because of Nerys. She was my mother. I feel…’
She turned and forced herself to face him. His dark eyes were full of pain. ‘Guilty? Don’t. This isn’t down to you.’ She longed to tell him the truth, or as much as she knew of it. It would put Mum and Dad in jail for perjury. And if it was discovered later that she knew and had said nothing, she’d be in there with them: Saffy would be taken into care. She couldn’t let that happen, if she could prevent it. ‘You lost your parents as well as your sister.’ She’d lost hers as well and could lose her daughter. ‘We’re in this together, Greg.’
‘I can’t believe they released her… Where the hell is she?’ He paced across the room, scattering stone chippings. ‘Just when I’d begun to believe she could be innocent. She should be locked away for the rest of her life.’
Maddy’s tone was cautious. ‘We don’t know she killed this child.’
‘Don’t we? Bethan, Cadi and now another little girl… She’s a murderous bitch.’ Greg swivelled on one heel and faced her, his eyes bright with tears. ‘I’m the son of a murderer.’
She opened her arms: his warm breath shuddered against her cheek as his arms closed around her. Maddy let herself out of the front door and clicked it shut behind her.
***
Early morning sun slanted across the roof of the church on the hill. The gravestones threw long shadows, as long as the shadows that darkened Alana’s mind. She removed the withered flowers from the vase, replaced the water with fresh, and arranged daffodils, and willow stems full of yellow catkins. The bright splash of colour lifted her spirits.
Dafydd Ap Dafydd
Age 59 died February 18th 1999
Dearly loved husband and father
And
Siân Alana his wife
Aged 66…
Dearly loved husband and father. ‘How could you say that, Siân? That’s the sort of thing Mum would do, keep up the appearance of a perfect life when it was all a sham. I don’t understand how you could sacrifice Nerys like that. How you could put him before her and me. She was innocent… and I’m your dau
ghter.’
The number of portraits of her testified to the fact that Siân had loved her and missed her. ‘I don’t understand.’ Her finger traced her father’s name. ‘What were you really like, Dad? I can’t believe you were the monster Mum… Gweneth says you were.’ Mike was a monster as far as she was concerned. She didn’t want him anywhere near Saffy. Were she and Siân really so different?
Scattered pieces of jigsaw lay at the edges of her mind’s reach: several thumbed neatly into place, while others seemed to belong to another puzzle entirely. Putting a child out of harm’s way, she could understand, but the subterfuge was elaborate, not to mention extremely risky. What state must Siân have been in? How had she got other members of the village to back her story and impugn Nerys? It was a mind-blowing conspiracy but it had worked, until now.
Her mobile rang. Mum again. She rejected the call. That made fourteen missed calls. She couldn’t talk to her, not yet. She rubbed her forehead to ease the ache. Mum, Dad, Saffy, Greg, James, Nerys. What she did next affected them all, and could affect half the village.
What if Maddy was right about the deaths being revenge, and not the accidents the police thought they were? They were re-examining the fire in the light of Mair’s death. If she told the police who she was, they’d look again at all the deaths. Who else could be at risk? Who in the village had given evidence against Nerys? She could hardly ask the residents without arousing suspicion.
Elin’s initial reaction to her presence leapt to the fore. Siân, how could you do that? Elin had known who she was, immediately, and Elin would have alerted those who’d been involved. No wonder people had avoided her: they were terrified of what truths she might resurrect.
She thumbed down to Greg’s number. Maddy had researched the trial, but she’d want to know why the sudden interest. She was a reporter; could she trust her with the truth? She switched off her phone. Who else would be likely to know? James Reece, Greg’s father would have been at the trial. She cast her mind back to Greg’s last visit, back beyond the feel of being held in his arms that had left her breathless and confused. He’d said his father lived in Clynderwen. Someone there would know his address.
