The HUM: The complete novel

by Michael Christopher Carter

  The frequency her daughter’s name caused her heart to beat wildly increased by the hour. Debates about murder trials without a body on ‘This Morning,’ were followed by experts’ critique of mental health services and care in the community. The question featured on every bulletin was, “Mental illness; is it a get out of jail free card?”

  It all washed over Diane. She wasn’t really listening. Just staring, ready to pounce if reports of Stephen Holmes’s safe return reached the airways.

  And then they did. Stephen Holmes turned up. A farmer spotted him dazed and confused, wandering in the middle of his field. The farmer put himself in the frame for Stephen’s assault briefly, but there appeared to be no case to answer.

  Stephen’s expected horrific injuries were non-existent. He had no recollection of the farmer having harmed him or keeping him against his will. He had no recollection of anything since his night with Carys.

  Mention of her name flushed the colour from him like a dial on a television, leaving no doubt to the truth of Carys’s testimonial.

  Mainly though, he was confused. Extremely confused. Baffled where two weeks had gone. He only remembered being with Carys in his car and then blinding lights shining through the windows; glimpses of people surrounding them. The next moment, he was still in the field but it was daytime and his car had disappeared!

  With any other possibility too disturbing to consider, he drank up the explanation offered by the police. They told him he must have sustained an injury and suffered amnesia as a result. The reported blood loss must have been somewhat overestimated.

  Carys no longer had the stomach to pursue the assault and attempted rape charge after the worst two weeks of her life. Stephen was free to go. He apologised through others to Carys for any ‘misunderstanding.’

  The girls, pleased to have Stephen back and warned by him how difficult Carys could make things, dropped their charges too. Four assault charges, an attempted rape and a possible unlawful killing were wiped out by the sheer exhaustion of the two main parties. Carys, at last, was also free to go.

  Carys, Diane and Geraint wanted to put the last two weeks behind them and get the family move complete. Carys couldn’t wait. She’d been saved from the brink of disaster in the nick of time. Diane’s prayer had, it seemed, been answered.

  Chapter Seventeen

  On the move

  A rather shamefaced Geraint arrived to move his daughter and wife to their new home in Pembrokeshire. His whereabouts when they both needed him only glossed over.

  He couldn’t cope. The stress he’s endured during his time policing in Cambridge came flooding back, overwhelming him like a sandcastle to the tide. He’d forced on his suit of saviour armour in his initial rage at his daughter’s abuse, but returning to the quiet suburbia of his new Welsh beat, he allowed the cracks to break him.

  His job was safe; compassionate leave had been granted for as long as he needed; the reasons for his move well known. But he hadn’t rushed back to Stella’s to be their rock. He’d hidden in the new house, beavering away from dusk ‘til dawn with unnecessary D.I.Y chores (predominantly involving knocking down walls and painting things blue.)

  But he was here now, and taking on a role of authority over the gaggle of press who had congregated at Stella’s gate. Diane felt unable to be disappointed in her husband, understanding all too well how not feeling oneself could affect behaviour. And Carys couldn’t bear to admit his limitations. She’d long learned to live with her mother’s shortcomings, but her dad too? Where would that leave her?

  Seeing the throng of press from her bedroom window, she was grateful she had little to organise to join her parents in Wales. She and Diane had thrown out any clutter two weeks ago. She had no furniture or anything of any size to pack, and she wasn’t into clothes. A couple of pairs of shoes and her laptop loaded into the car and they were ready to leave.

  They all said a grateful goodbye to Stella, awkward under the scrutiny of the men standing feet away, telephoto lenses collecting god only knew what magnified images of them.

  “You take care of yourself, young lady,” choked, squeezing Carys in a tight hug. When she pulled away she turned to all three of them. “Don’t be strangers, you three, will you?”

  They smiled and said of course not. They all knew realistically though that the Ellis family would have no reason to come back to Royston any time soon.

  “Stella could come and stay with us in Pembrokeshire, couldn’t she?” Carys suggested joyfully.

  “Yes! Come down for a holiday. It’s a lovely place. We’re close to some really special beaches.”

  “Thanks. I’ll take you up on that!”

  Desperately trying to avoid giving the press the satisfaction of their growing rage at the invasion of privacy, they into the car and waved fond, albeit hurried farewells through open windows as the Saab pulled onto the Great London Road. Four or five hours later, their new life could begin.

  Hurrying south towards the capital and away from the ordeal the charming yet regrettable area had subjugated them with, Geraint breathed a sigh of relief. For the first time in weeks, the irrepressible father and husband returned to something of his usual vigour, cracking punny jokes and boring the other’s with little known facts about the areas or wildlife they passed.

  “They’d barely finished this road when we moved here, do you remember?” Of course, Carys didn’t remember, and Diane looked as though she had no idea what he was talking about as the London Road joined the M25 London Orbital.

  “Which way do you want to go round? We could go via Dartford. We go over two bridges then. And that one wasn’t built when we moved here. We may never see it again. Although the other way is a lot quicker, and there is a small toll…”

  His wittering mind seemingly wanted to catch up on weeks of despondency. The girls shrugged. They just wanted to get there as soon as possible, but wouldn’t deny him his sight-seeing bridge.

  “Do whatever will make you happy, darling,” Diane said in a faultless but clipped tone.

  “Mmmm hmmm. No. We’ll go anti-clockwise. A true Welshman would never want to pay twice!” Diane forced a smile and settled down for a nap.

  As they sped and occasionally crawled around the capital’s by-pass, the scenery remained flat and boring. Occasional outposts of light industry, indistinguishable from one another, were all that broke the monotony until they turned abruptly onto another concrete carbuncle.

  “Wake me up when we get to the big bridge,” Carys asked, shifting into a comfy position for a nap as well, leaving Geraint to endure the scenery of the M4 alone.

  She slept soundly. As the miles passed, the troubles of the past fortnight shrank in the distance. By the time she was awoken by Geraint’s obligatory rendition of ‘We’ll Keep a Welcome in the Hillside,’ she was more relaxed than she’d felt for a long time.

  “I love how you have to pay to get into Wales, but getting into England is free!” Geraint chuckled as they approached the Second Severn crossing. Traversing the huge expanse of water high above, they clocked up four miles before they reached the one-way tolls.

  While waiting for the barrier to rise, Geraint’s impatient fingers tapped the steering wheel as his right foot prepared for pole position in the race for the normal road lanes. Carys flinched at his disquiet. His enthusiasm had a ring of falsity to it that worried her.

  “Who’s gonna be first into Wales?” he asked, unfairly reaching his arm forward to claim the win.

  ‘Croeso i Gymru’, ‘Welcome to Wales,’ the sign declared.

  “It’s good to be home,” Geraint sighed.

  The mighty Severn estuary marked an ocean like boundary between the two nations. United against warring with one another for five hundred years, since the act of Union, they still shared an uneasy resentment of one another.

  The Welsh resented the seat of power in Westminster, and the English resented them resenting it.

  With his audience awake again, Geraint treated them to arti
cles from Geraintipidia once more.

  “Cardiff was the busiest port in the world in its day, you know.” Carys was impressed, but she’d heard it all before. It was an obligatory monologue they endured every time they crossed the border.

  “Of course, none of the money was seen by the Welsh. All kept by bloody English and Scottish lords, wasn’ it. Marquis of Bute, it was, built most of it. Then the iron barons from Yorkshire. The industrial revolution might have started in Wales, and we may have roofed half the world from slate from our hills, but damn few pennies stayed with the Welsh, I can tell you.”

  And tell them he frequently did. The fact his countrymen of yore had been too busy tending livestock to make the most of the opportunities their environment offered, was a notion lost on Geraint.

  Carys shared her father’s distaste for what the development had meant for the scenery, but did wonder if Wales would have been by-passed by civilised society were it not for the land’s exploitation. People living in simple dwellings off the fat of the land, like newly discovered tribes in far-flung places in deepest Amazonia. With a smile to herself, she couldn’t be sure if that might not be better.

  “Look at that!” he roared at the Port Talbot steelworks. Carys thought it possessed a certain beauty. There were only so many mountains that needed to remain ‘unspoilt,’ surely?

  “We’re just a dumping ground for things too unpleasant to have in England!” he ranted. “If a power station’s needed, stick it in Wales. Unsightly industry? Wales is the place to put it. Droughts in England? Why not flood a Welsh village and make it a reservoir?”

  “Alright, Dad. Calm down,” Carys squeezed his shoulder affectionately.”

  “No. I bloody won’t. Do you know, the great city of Liverpool has given a public apology to the flooded Welsh village of Capel Celyn, now Llyn Celyn! That’s Celyn Chapel to Celyn bloody Lake,” he translated unnecessarily to his English wife.

  Diane shared a glance of concern with her daughter. He really was going off on one, this time.

  “It wasn’t just Wales, Dad. It was a time of Empire, wasn’t it. It was happening all over the world. I think it’s more about the rich exploiting the poor, and that’s still happening. I think you’re being a bit racist.”

  “Racist? Me? I’ll tell you who’s racist. Do you know where the name ‘Wales’ comes from? Do you? We called ourselves ‘Cymru’—‘People.’ The bloody English, in Saxon times, called us ‘Weles’—‘Different!’ Now we’re named after that. ‘Different!’ That’s bloody racism for you.”

  The irony of bestowing for hours his opinion that his countrymen and women were different didn’t seem a point worth making to the ranting zealot driving them home.

  “I suppose the industry is part of our heritage, cariad,” he mellowed. “Beyond the mountain beside us,” he indicated with a nod right, “is the ‘green desert of Wales.’ That’s mile upon mile upon mile of undulating mountain pasture. You could climb to the top and not see a man-made structure as far as the eye can see.”

  Carys was interested, but Geraint’s monologue burgeoned on obsession as he blathered on.

  “That’s the Cambrian mountain range. The oldest rock known to geologists is named after them. They give way to ‘Black Mountain’ and the ‘Brecon Beacons’ ranges to the east and to the massive Snowdonia ranges of ‘Cader Idris’ to the north.”

  Carys nodded, struggling to maintain interest, debating suggesting she wouldn’t remember any of this, but decided against it in case it set her dad off with greater fervour.

  Several other mountains were named and heights given but Carys was unable to keep up. It had been a big mistake to keep this Welshman from his homeland for so long.

  “Look down to your left and you’ll see the great sweep of Swansea Bay.” Frustrated as Carys was becoming, she was pleased to see the sea.

  The gorgeous crescent of golden sand meeting calm blue ocean was exquisite. The city of Swansea hugged the bay and surrounding hills, with Mumbles islets and pier in the far distance leading to Gower, Britain’s first Official Site of Natural Beauty.

  “How long now, Dad?” Carys moaned.

  “About an hour,” he said, beaming at her in the rear-view mirror. Diane had dropped off again.

  “You okay, Dad?” she asked, meaning more than just how he was now, but giving in with a sigh when words failed her. “You’ve been driving for hours.”

  “Fine thanks, cariad. Just excited to get you home.”

  Carys hadn’t even seen home. Journeys down to view it had all been done when she was in school and revising. A bubble of anxiety welled within at the realisation she hadn’t followed up any of her applications to Uni. She’d be lucky to be accepted so late now. She sighed, determined not to let it spoil her day.

  Pictures from estate agents had shown a pretty impressive house. Prices in Pembrokeshire hadn’t caught up with Cambridgeshire and the difference was obvious.

  Just on the outskirts of the town of Narberth in the centre of the county was Ty Hedd (House of peace.) They’d seen it as a sign because the Welsh word for police is heddlu, roughly translating to ‘peace army.’

  Their journey took them around the picturesque little town and out towards the coastal resorts of Tenby and Saundersfoot. A short drive up a steep hill and Carys gained her first glimpse of the new Ellis family home.

  In appearance, it was comfortingly similar to Nutters. A large, white, double fronted house with a slate roof that unsurprisingly (as Nutters roof was also Welsh slate) had a reassuring familiarity. Whilst equally steeply pitched, there was some subtle difference which meant it suited the house much better.

  As with their old home, there were a number of outbuildings. Carys wondered if her mum’s pottery might finally get completed. The garden boasted several acres, and accordingly, there were plans for horses, goats and perhaps even a business as a garden centre.

  Enjoying an elevated position, the house offered wonderful views of the Preseli mountain range, ten miles to the north. It was a dramatic difference to the infinite flat fenland Carys had grown up with and she liked it. The town nestled in a valley below the mountain reminding Carys of a model village. She couldn’t wait to enjoy the amazing coast which brochures promised were unspoiled.

  She had no idea what she wanted from her life. She had no friends. But a new optimism drove through her veins and she giggled. If she’d been in touch with any sort of prophetic knowledge, if such a thing existed, then her optimism would be very short lived.

  Maybe the hope she felt now was crucial to give her the strength to cope with the turn her life was about to take.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Carys’s Unearthing

  Carys had applied to several close by Universities but had yet to receive any offers. Without tempting fate by contacting them she attempted to relax in her ignorance. Geraint and Diane recognized the pitfalls of this approach but also, how much their daughter had endured. They didn’t want to push her.

  Both delighted in seeing Carys relishing the area and encouraged her daily trips to the beach. Swimming in the clear sea and soaking up the sun gave her a fresh outlook, and indeed a fresh look. ‘Surf girl’ suited her. Maybe she should arrange surfing lessons, she thought.

  Ty Hedd had been home for a couple of weeks now and everything was great, apart from one small concern. Putting it down to her different routine and super active lifestyle, she couldn’t ignore it forever: she hadn’t yet had her period. It was too early to panic, but it had become a nagging worry.

  Their first family attendance of the church Geraint and Diane discovered months ago was planned and Carys was looking forward to it. It might be just what she needed: to finally make some friends. She wouldn’t admit it, but surprised herself that she was quite keen to meet the Pastor’s son who’d taken a shine to her photo. The idea of it weeks before had been horrific. With all that behind her, she was relieved to have those sort of feelings again.

  Everyone was up and showered in
plenty of time to arrive at church (held in the town hall) before the sermon started-testament to Carys’s keenness. An expectant buzz charged the air as people busied about setting out chairs and testing the sound system. It was like a concert. Not what Carys associated with church.

  An elderly entourage ambled over to greet them, recognising Geraint and Diane.

  “So lovely to see you again!” an enthusiastic septuagenarian in a smart suit hailed, vigorously shaking each of their hands.

  “This is our beautiful daughter, Carys,” Diane introduced. The elderly man, so full of life, was delighted to meet her and wished her a wonderful time.

  Next they met the Pastor, Dan Paulo. An air of majesty exuded from him as he welcomed his flock to the large hall. He wore typical ministerial smock but with a tie rather than a dog collar of priesthood. Not a handsome man, but he commanded the room with a magnetism Carys supposed must be from God.

  His son, nicer looking, and commanding some of the holiness his father emanated, came over. “You’re Diane and Geraint’s daughter,” he said with a wink. “I recognise you from your photos. Even more beautiful in real life.” Carys blushed suitably.

  “Marco,” he said by way of introduction. He turned away and spoke to someone involved with the sound system. Before leaving he turned back to Carys

  “We’ll have to grab a coffee later?” Carys smiled a timid approval. He seemed nice. Half jogging away, he jumped onto the stage, strapped an electric guitar to his chest and preceded to tune it. Carys swooned. She could get used to this.

  The family took their seats in the middle of the congregation. It wasn’t long before the music started. Praise songs played with the backing of the full band, sung by a mousy girl with the voice of an angel.