The Retreat(35)

‘Tuck in,’ said Megan’s mum.

As Lily concentrated on what food to choose – avoiding the crisps because she had a thing about food other people had touched – Megan shouted, ‘Grandad!’

Lily looked up as Megan threw herself into the arms of a stocky bald man who’d come into the kitchen. He gave Megan a hug and whirled her round, laughing, then saw Lily. He put Megan down.

‘Hello,’ he said.

Lily stared at him. She knew him. He was the man who’d tried to help her when she fell off her bike. The man with crooked teeth.

The Stranger.





Chapter 17

Karen stood on the doorstep of the retreat with her suitcase at her feet. The sun was out for the first time in months, and the breeze was soft against my face. Spring was finally here.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to stay?’ I asked.

‘I can’t. Not after last night.’ She hung her head. ‘I’m so embarrassed.’

‘Don’t be. So what are you going to do?’

She lifted a shoulder. ‘Just go home, see the doctor, flush my stash down the toilet. Finish my goddamn book. Maybe the countryside doesn’t suit me. I need to be surrounded by people. The nights are too quiet here and my brain is too noisy.’

‘I get that.’

The taxi trundled up the driveway towards us. It was the same car, the same driver, who’d given me a lift when I got lost in the woods. Olly, that was his name. He got out and hefted Karen’s bag into the boot, nodding at me and muttering, ‘All right?’

‘Did Julia talk to you about last night?’ I asked Karen.

‘She tried. She asked me if I’d ever heard you singing this weird song. Something about a fly.’

‘And what did you say?’

‘That I couldn’t remember, but it was possible.’

That was good.

‘We’d better get a move on if you’re going to make your train,’ Olly said. I gave Karen a quick hug and watched her go. Now, unless another writer turned up, it was going to be just me and the lovebirds. That was another thing that made me wonder. Less than a week ago, Suzi had been upset with Max for trying to get into her room, and now she was inviting him in. What happened? Had he worn her down? Perhaps her original protests had been exaggerated.

As Max had reminded me, it was none of my business.

I went inside and found Julia in her usual spot by the Aga, phone to her ear. She finished her conversation and sighed.

‘That was the National Bat Helpline. They said it’s quite unusual to find a bat in the attic at this time of year. But if you have a bat roost, as it seems I do, you have to leave well alone. It’s illegal to disturb them.’ A little smile. ‘I’m actually quite happy about them being there. It’s cool, isn’t it? It’s nice to give them a home.’

She drummed her fingers on the table.

‘Have you heard any other noises coming from Lily’s room?’ she asked.

‘No.’ I watched as she chewed her lip. She was a mess of tics and visible tension. ‘Julia, did you see a counsellor after Lily disappeared? It might help . . .’

She reacted angrily. ‘The police offered a grief counsellor. I reminded them that there’s no proof she’s dead.’

‘But—’

‘I know. I know Michael is dead and I should have seen a counsellor to talk about losing him, but I couldn’t. I knew they’d want to talk to me about Lily, that they’d try to make me accept that she was dead too. So I didn’t go. I couldn’t.’

I nodded. I wasn’t sure if she was right about what the counsellor might do – the one I’d seen had mainly listened and given me a chance to talk – but I understood that it was complicated. She couldn’t separate what had happened to Michael from what might have happened to Lily. It seemed as if Lily’s disappearance had robbed Julia of the ability to deal with her husband’s death.

‘Come with me,’ she said, getting up.

A minute later, we stood outside Lily’s bedroom. Julia opened the door and gestured for me to follow her inside. As she stepped across the threshold, her breathing became noticeably heavier. She held a hand against her chest, and I could imagine her heart thumping beneath her palm. She clenched her jaw, as if fighting against physical pain.

‘It’s exactly as it was the day she disappeared,’ she said.

It was a typical little girl’s room. Pink curtains, open to let in the morning light. A single bed against the wall, covered with a purple-and-white bedspread, little cushions propped up against the headboard. A dressing table covered with trinkets. Little dresses hung from a rail. A bookcase bearing novels by authors like Roald Dahl and David Walliams, along with a book about folk tales that caught my eye. On the wall, a 2014 Taylor Swift calendar, along with posters featuring fresh-faced stars I didn’t recognise.

‘Most of them are YouTubers,’ Julia said. ‘Michael was always complaining about how much time she spent watching videos.’

I noticed an iPad on the bedside table.

‘I come in here every couple of weeks to charge it. I know she’ll want to watch it when she comes home. She’ll have a lot to catch up on.’

There was a huge pile of cuddly toys in the corner, every animal imaginable. On top of the pile was a large black-and-white cat, a smile sewn onto its face.