The Retreat(13)

‘Of course not!’

She got up. ‘Let me have a word with her. Maybe I can persuade her that you’re a good egg, and not a creepy voyeur with a dead child obsession.’

Before I could protest, she left the room. I sat there, feeling like a schoolboy whose mum has gone to talk to the head teacher to plead his case.

Five minutes later, Julia appeared in my doorway.

‘Can we have a chat?’ she said.

‘Of course. Come in.’

She closed the door behind her. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and, fresh-faced and makeup-free in her baggy jumper and leggings, she looked younger than her age. But she had dark smudges beneath her eyes and her skin was so pale it was almost translucent. She was so thin too, as if grief had melted the meat from her bones.

‘Listen, Julia, I promise you I had no idea about Lily before I came here. It’s a total coincidence that I wrote a book about . . . missing kids . . . I would never ever dream of exploiting—’

She cut off my babble. ‘Lucas.’

‘Sorry.’

‘No, I’m sorry. I overreacted. You can stay, assuming you still want to.’

‘I do.’

‘Good. That’s settled then. Let’s forget it ever happened.’

She went to leave, but I stopped her by saying, ‘Do you want to talk about it? About Lily and Michael?’

She focused on a spot on the carpet. ‘Not really.’

‘I understand. It hurts to talk about it.’

She looked at me curiously and I added, ‘I lost someone too, someone I loved, and it still causes me pain just to think about it, let alone talk about it. For you to lose two members of your family . . .’

She shook her head. ‘One. Only Michael. I mean, yes, Lily is lost, but she’s not dead. I’m sure of it.’

‘Oh.’

She made an exasperated gesture. ‘Everyone assumes she’s dead. The police, all the people in town, my friends. Everyone. But they don’t . . .’ She sat down on the bed. ‘Okay, I’ll tell you. But you have to promise you won’t put it in a book.’

‘On my mother’s life.’

‘Okay.’ She turned her face towards the window. ‘It was New Year’s Day, two years ago . . .’



The path along the riverbank was slick with mud. It sucked at the soles of Julia’s wellies. The wind caught her from behind and she almost lost her footing – heart flipping, arms windmilling – until Michael grabbed her arm.

‘Careful.’

‘I’m fine.’ She wriggled free of his grip and pulled her coat tightly around herself, shivering. She called out to Lily, ‘Stay where I can see you!’

Their daughter was a little way ahead. Eight years old and skinny as a snake, the coat she’d got for Christmas unzipped and hanging from her bony shoulders. She’d refused to put on her hat or gloves, insisting she didn’t need them. And it was true: Lily was like a human radiator; always had been. On bitter winter nights, when drafts invaded their house – the house that, Michael liked to say, had its own weather system – Julia would steal into Lily’s bed and bask in her glow.

Lily was clutching her favourite toy, Big Cat, which she’d had since she was a baby. She raised an arm and carried on along the bank at her own pace. She was at the point where the path descended towards a copse of trees that hugged the bend in the river. She glanced back occasionally, an unreadable expression on her face. Lily had been studying her parents closely today, watching them as if trying to see inside their heads.

Most likely she was watching them because she didn’t trust the peace between them.

Julia opened her mouth to call out again, to tell Lily to stay where she could see her, but Michael said, ‘Leave her. She’s happy.’

‘I know. I just don’t like her going into the trees on her own.’

‘Stop fretting. She’ll be fine.’

He put his arms around her and pulled her into a kiss. He still smelled of last night’s alcohol and the kiss was brief – but, after a dry spell that had threatened to turn into a drought, it was still something.

Julia made her way down the final stretch of the slippery path, glancing at the river as she went. All that recent rainfall had made the water level rise and it was fast-flowing here, churning white as it swept around the bend. This was a popular spot for white-water rafting, groups of tourists heading downstream from Beddmawr. Julia shivered again and decided her New Year’s resolution on the spot: she would conquer her long-held fear and learn to swim.

Lily was still ahead of them, approaching the copse at the bottom of the slope. Julia turned to speak to Michael – and saw him sneak something into his pocket.

‘What was that?’

‘Nothing.’

She stepped closer. ‘Show me.’

‘Come on, Julia, it was nothing.’ He went to move past her but she stepped into his path, making him slip. As he snatched at her arm, she stuck her hand into the pocket of his fleece. He tried to stop her, but she was too fast.

She held up the hip flask. The evidence.

The broken promise.

‘It’s for the cold,’ he began, before trailing off. She expected him to be apologetic, sheepish, but his eyes flashed with defiance. In that moment, he looked just like Lily, when Julia told her to tidy her room or do her homework. I don’t have a husband and child, she thought. I have two children.