The Retreat(45)

‘Where are you going?’ I asked.

‘To talk to her. I want to know what she was doing.’ She left the kitchen, then turned back. ‘Come on. Bring your laptop.’



‘Do you feel bad now?’ Julia asked as she drove onto the main road.

‘About accusing Ursula of lying? A bit. I still think she’s dangerous, though.’

She laughed. She seemed a little giddy. ‘You don’t get on with many people, do you?’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Oh, just that I know you don’t like Max. And you’ve taken an instant dislike to Ursula. Also, I read an interview with you online, and you were doing the whole Greta Garbo “I want to be alone” thing.’

‘I don’t think my ironic sense of humour comes across in interviews.’ I paused. ‘Wait, you were reading an interview with me?’

Did I imagine it, or did she go a very pale shade of pink? ‘I . . . um . . . I like to keep up with what my guests are up to.’

‘Right.’

Neither of us could think what to say. Eventually Julia said, ‘You must think I’m losing it. After what happened earlier . . .’

‘Of course I don’t. It’s totally understandable.’

‘It was a bit bonkers, though, wasn’t it? My plan to leave a picnic in the woods?’

We headed west, skirting the edge of the woods. This was close to where I’d found the creepy hut and been picked up by that gossiping taxi driver. We were driving in a loop, so it was a lot further by car than it would be on foot.

‘Here we are.’

Julia pulled into a little housing estate comprising twenty or thirty houses which looked like they’d been built in the last decade or so. Neat square lawns, wide pavements, trampolines in half the gardens. An estate designed for young families. Julia pulled up outside Number 22, which was one of the largest houses, positioned in front of the woods that stretched all the way to the retreat.

Julia rang the doorbell.

‘Hi, Wendy,’ she said to the woman who answered the door. She was in her late thirties, slim and wearing a slogan T-shirt. A black Labrador was trying to get past her. She grabbed its collar and held it back.

‘Julia. This is . . . a surprise.’ She gave me a quizzical look, eyes dropping to the laptop under my arm, then invited us in, saying, ‘Get down, Barney’ to the dog, which leapt about trying to give both Julia and me a hug. Wendy finally shut Barney in the kitchen and invited us into the living room.

‘Is Megan around?’ Julia asked.

‘She’s in her bedroom. Is everything all right?’ She kept glancing at me, clearly trying to figure out who I was.

‘I wanted to ask her something.’

Wendy gave Julia a curious look, then gestured for us to take a seat, though neither of us sat down. Wendy left the room, calling Megan’s name up the stairs. Getting no reply, she went up, her footsteps echoing behind her.

Julia paced the room, chewing her thumbnail, giving off waves of nervous energy. I examined the framed pictures on the mantelpiece. Wendy had two kids, Megan and an older son. Next, I examined the bookcase, something I do whenever I visit someone’s house. I can’t help it. If I enter a house with no books it makes me uneasy. I wonder what’s wrong with the people who live there.

I was drawn past the paperback bestsellers to a book I recognised. Folk Tales and Urban Myths. I’d seen this book recently, but where? I took it down and flicked through it. It was a kids’ book, full of stories about legends like Bloody Mary and the Beast of Bodmin Moor. It went back further, describing how communities would live in terror of witches and werewolves, night demons and weeping women. The illustrations were vivid and creepy.

‘Lily’s got that book,’ Julia said. ‘I have no idea where it came from. She just brought it home one day.’

That was where I’d seen it. Lily’s bedroom.

I replaced the book on the shelf as Wendy came back into the room, followed by the girl from Ursula’s photograph.

‘Hi, Megan,’ Julia said.

‘Hi, Mrs Marsh.’ The girl fidgeted awkwardly, sucking on a strand of hair. She perched on the edge of the sofa, both legs jiggling up and down as if her body couldn’t contain all its energy. She couldn’t make eye contact with Julia.

‘How are you?’

Megan shrugged. ‘Good, thanks.’

‘Were you outside my house earlier?’ Julia asked.

Megan dipped her chin and didn’t answer. She stared at a stain on the carpet as if it might contain the answer to the meaning of life. Finally, after her mum said her name, Megan said, ‘Yeah.’

‘What were you doing there?’

Megan stuck out her bottom lip. ‘Just looking.’

‘At the house?’

She nodded, and then the lip she’d been sticking out trembled. ‘I wasn’t doing anything wrong. It’s just . . . sometimes I miss Lily. I like looking at your house and remembering.’

‘Oh, sweetheart,’ Julia said.

Wendy swooped in and folded her daughter up in her arms. ‘You’re upsetting her,’ she said to Julia.

‘I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I thought . . . It’s stupid, but I had this idea that Megan might know something.’