The Retreat(39)

‘Yeah. My dad taught me.’

‘That’s marvellous. Maybe you can give me a game sometime, though you have to give me a chance.’

He hissed with laughter.

‘So, how long have you lived here, Lily?’

He was one of those grown-ups who always said your name, even when you were the only other person around. Like he had to keep saying it or he’d forget what it was.

‘Since last September.’

‘Oh, not long. That’ll be why I don’t know your family. They keep themselves to themselves, don’t they?’

She had no idea what to say to that.

‘Where did you live before?’

‘Manchester.’

‘United fan, are you?’ He showed her his crooked teeth again. They were yellow too. He must have a rubbish dentist. Or maybe he never cleaned them. His eyes, which were also a bit yellowy where they ought to be white, roamed down to her legs again.

‘City,’ she managed.

He started going on about how different it must be living here after growing up in a big city. It was such a familiar topic that it calmed her a little. She stopped gripping the seat so tightly, and noticed how her hands had made sweaty marks on the black leather.

‘Dangerous places, cities . . .’ Megan’s grandad said.

They were halfway there now. Five more minutes and she’d be home.

‘Still, it can be dangerous around here too,’ he said.

‘Because of the witch?’ she whispered.

His eyes flicked sideways and she could tell he was mulling over what to say. There was no other traffic on the road but they were going slowly, as if he didn’t want to take her home anytime soon. A smile crept over his dry lips, which he kept licking between sentences.

‘A little girl disappeared around here,’ he said. ‘A long time ago now. Over thirty years. She lived at St Mary’s children’s home, in town.’

Lily could hardly breathe. ‘What was her name?’

‘Carys.’

He kept grinning and Lily realised something. He was one of those grown-ups who enjoyed scaring children. That was why he told Megan stories about the Widow. He got some kind of weird thrill out of it.

That didn’t make what he was saying any less frightening, though.

‘What happened to her?’

‘That’s the thing. Nobody knows. She was never found. And you know what? She wasn’t the first.’

There was a long, long silence, which stretched out until they reached the driveway to Lily’s house. She exhaled with relief and fiddled with the door handle, desperate to get out. Megan’s grandad’s jaw muscles flexed like he was chewing over something, and the way he stared ahead, it was as if he wasn’t seeing the road – he was seeing something inside his head.

‘Here we are, Lily,’ he said as they pulled up outside the house.

‘Thank you.’

‘I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.’

She opened the door and was so keen to get away she almost fell out of the car. Behind her, Mum came out of the house, raising a hand to thank Megan’s grandad. He waved back.

Lily was about to shut the car door when he leaned over and said, in a hushed voice, ‘Lily. Be careful, yes?’

She watched him drive away, trying hard not to throw up.





PART TWO





Chapter 20

Over the next week or so, I settled into a routine, the kind I’d envisioned when I booked a place at the retreat. Each morning I rose at dawn to write, fuelled by coffee, hardly seeing the rain that, day after day, beat against the window. My novel had taken on a momentum of its own, the threads of the story knitting together, and I was able to email my agent and publisher to tell them the book would be a couple of weeks late, but no more.

I didn’t see much of Julia during this quiet period, except at mealtimes or when I popped outside for some air. I didn’t see much of Max or Suzi either. They had both announced they had extended their stays as they were making such good progress on their novels – there was clearly something in the air – but I wasn’t sure if they were still sleeping together. I didn’t really care.

I didn’t hear any singing that week. No mysterious passages appeared in my novel. There may have been events I was unaware of – I was so buried in my work a headless horseman could have ridden through the kitchen downstairs and I wouldn’t have known about it – but, as I recall, the week passed without incident.

Then a new guest arrived. And everything changed.



I skipped dinner because I was deep in a chapter and not particularly hungry, but went downstairs at around eight to get a drink. There was a hubbub coming from the Thomas Room, including a voice I didn’t recognise.

Julia was in the kitchen. When I’d seen her during the past week she’d been withdrawn and businesslike, and I suspected she felt awkward after crying in my presence, exposing her emotions. She had wrapped a cloak of self-preservation around herself again. Now I felt awkward too, and found myself tiptoeing around her. There had been a moment when I thought that we would, at the least, become friends. But that moment appeared to have passed. I’d allowed it to happen. Partly it was because I didn’t know how to help her – now I’d given up on my secret quest to find Lily – but there was something else. Guilt.