The Retreat(49)

I hurried to catch up, wondering why she didn’t stop to wait for me. It was as if she were trying to get away. I glimpsed her red coat through the trees ahead, then she disappeared behind another wall of vegetation. I jogged along the path to the spot where I’d last seen her.

She had vanished.

I walked quickly up the path, which branched off in three directions, checking the ground for footprints, but found nothing. The ground was harder and drier here, beneath the canopy formed by the trees. I chose the middle path and walked for another few minutes. There was no sound except birdsong. And now I was at a dead end formed of impassable blackberry bushes.

I swore out loud.

I’d lost her.





Chapter 25

On my way back to Nyth Bran, I thought more about our visit to Megan’s house, and what Jake had been trying to tell us. I needed to talk to him, and had an idea about how this could be achieved. Remembering the route Julia had taken to his house, I changed direction and followed the road towards the estate where Jake and Megan lived.

I hoped Jake’s mum, Wendy, would be amenable. Julia had told me that after her divorce, Wendy had started using her maiden name, Collins, again. She had a new partner now, and the kids’ dad lived in another part of the country.

‘It was a painful divorce,’ Julia had said. ‘He was a bastard. I think he used to hit her. I heard that Glynn found out and threatened him, told him if he wanted to keep possession of his balls he had better leave town.’

‘Glynn’s a hard man?’

‘Yeah. Plus he knows a lot of people.’

After that first visit to the Collins house, I’d looked Glynn up on Google.

He matched Zara’s description of the man she’d met at the chess club, the one who’d made her – and Malcolm Jones – so uneasy. Of course, there were plenty of men around with bald heads and bad teeth, but I had a strong feeling it was him, and thought it shouldn’t be hard to confirm. I just needed to check if he was a member of the chess club.

There was very little information about him online. There was an article from the local newspaper about how he and a group of handymen had rebuilt a widow’s cottage after it suffered heavy storm damage. Another news story told how he had helped raise money for the local historical society, along with one Malcolm Jones. There had been talk of opening a museum to teach visitors about the disused mine, but nothing had come of it. And there was an old story about how he had coached the local girls’ football team and got them to the final of a regional competition. There he was, in black and white, holding his runner-up medal, surrounded by grinning, muddy girls who would be grown up now.

As Julia had said, Glynn Collins was a pillar of the community. I had only encountered him briefly, but in some ways he reminded me of my dad. A typical bluff Welsh bloke. A man’s man, good with his hands, keen on sport and tradition.

I was hoping he wouldn’t be at his daughter’s house now – but as soon as I turned the corner onto the estate, I saw him. He was standing in the front garden, smoking. I hesitated, wondering if I should come back another time, but it was too late. He had spotted me.

I crossed the road, watching as he discarded his cigarette and folded his arms, doing a good impression of a nightclub bouncer protecting his door.

‘Mr Collins,’ I said. ‘We met yesterday.’

He nodded.

‘I was hoping . . .’ The way he was looking at me, like I was a rat that had strayed onto his property, made me lose the thread of what I was trying to say. ‘I wanted to have a little chat with Jake.’

He took a step towards me. It was a classic intimidating manoeuvre. But I wasn’t scared of him. He was, what, twenty-five years older than me, maybe more?

‘You’re David’s son,’ he said.

I was momentarily taken aback, but it made sense. Glynn knew everybody in Beddmawr, past and present. He must have been asking around about me, which was interesting. Who had he spoken to? Shirley at the Apple Tree B & B?

‘That’s right,’ I said, expecting him to ask after my dad, bracing myself to deliver the news I hated saying.

But instead Glynn said, ‘What do you want with Jake?’

‘I’m writing a book,’ I said, ‘in which some of the characters are teenagers. I need to talk to a couple of teenagers about the language they use, the slang and so on.’

This was the line I’d planned to use on Wendy.

‘Jake’s not an ordinary teenager,’ Glynn said.

‘I know that, but—’

‘The answer’s no.’

‘Mr Collins, please.’

I caught a movement above us and looked up. Jake was at his window again, staring down at his grandad and me with saucer eyes. Glynn saw and flapped a meaty hand at his grandson, telling him to get back. Jake gawped at me one last time, then retreated into the shadows.

‘Like teenage boys, do you?’ Glynn said.

His question was so unexpected that I didn’t know what to say for a few seconds. ‘What? Of course not.’

‘Maybe the papers would like to hear about it, how a famous writer has been harassing a young boy with learning difficulties.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘You just asked me if you could sneak up to his bedroom.’

I stared at him. There was no use arguing. ‘Fine. I’ll find some other teenagers to talk to for my book.’ I turned away.