The Retreat(54)

It looked like a body.

‘Oh . . . fuck.’ I grabbed the phone from my pocket and turned the flashlight on, shining it through the narrow gap. The hallway lit up, light bouncing off the walls.

There, lying on her side beneath a framed painting of Christ, was Shirley. One arm was stretched out above her head, and there was a pool of something dark spreading out across the floorboards. Blood.

I called the police.



Beddmawr was too small – in this era of stringent budgets and cuts to public services – to have its own police station, so they had to come from Wrexham. It took thirty minutes, during which time Oscar grew increasingly desperate to get out. I continued to talk to him through the letterbox. His yapping had drawn a number of neighbours from their houses, including a middle-aged man from next door. He was overweight, with florid cheeks and no neck, and moaned about the dog, saying it was drowning out the TV.

‘Passed out drunk, has she?’ he said. ‘I saw her come home earlier. Drunk as a skunk, she was. That thing she had on her head was falling off and she could hardly walk.’

‘Was she on her own?’ I asked.

‘As far as I could tell.’

A pair of cops arrived, followed by an ambulance. A police officer with ginger hair looked through into the hallway, then broke a window to gain access, asking me and the neighbours to keep back. As soon as he opened the door, Oscar came pelting out, spinning in circles as he entered the street, barking and growling. I grabbed his collar and scooped him up, cradling him like a baby, feeling his heart thudding against my palm. As the police entered the house, I could see a trail of bloody paw prints between Shirley’s prone figure and the doormat. The paramedics went in and shut the door, as a crowd gathered on the pavement.

I waited with them, still holding Oscar, who had calmed down now.

‘Poor little mite,’ a grey-haired woman said, offering to take him until Heledd got home, explaining that she lived across the street. I handed him over.

‘Oh dear,’ said the woman. I followed her gaze. There were smears of blood on the front of my coat, transferred from the dog’s paws.

‘I wonder where Heledd is,’ I said.

‘Probably with that boyfriend of hers.’ There was disapproval in the woman’s voice, as if Olly were a criminal rather than the son of an esteemed librarian.

‘Don’t you like Olly?’ I asked.

She seemed surprised that I’d picked up on her tone. ‘I don’t know much about him, except he was a bit of a tearaway at school. His dad, Malcolm, was very disappointed he didn’t go off to college and ended up driving a taxi. Kids . . .’ She tutted.

It was funny hearing her refer to a forty-something man as a kid.

‘Anyway, I’d better get this dog inside.’ She hurried off across the road.

The other neighbour was telling the policeman who guarded the door about how Shirley had come home inebriated. I heard someone else mutter that ‘she liked a drink’. I knew exactly what was going to happen. Everyone would assume she’d fallen down the stairs, pissed. An unfortunate accident. Because nobody else could see the pattern.

The door opened and the paramedics carried Shirley out, zipped into a body bag. The ginger police officer followed them, and as they reached the pavement somebody rushed past me, shoes clacking on the asphalt.

It was Heledd, hurrying across from where she’d parked her car. She stepped in front of the paramedics, eyes darting between her house and the body bag.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked, her voice cracking. She took a step towards her house, stopped, and turned back towards the zipped-up body.

The police officer tried to calm her down, taking her arm and guiding her away while the paramedics carried Shirley into the ambulance. The policeman said something to Heledd that I couldn’t hear and she went stiff. A second later, she crumpled to the ground and the paramedics returned and knelt beside her. She was only out for a moment, then she sat up, looking bewildered. The rubberneckers, who had been on the verge of dispersing, crowded around them. It was probably the most exciting thing that had happened around here for a long time.

The red-haired police officer was stood a little way from where Heledd lay, scratching his head. I approached him and told him my name.

‘Somebody pushed her down those stairs,’ I said.

He regarded me with weary scepticism. ‘What makes you say that?’

I opened my mouth. Shut it again. ‘It’s complicated.’

‘Hmm. Well, it looks like an accident to me. Tell me what you saw.’

He made notes as I detailed what I’d found. But when it came to explaining why I thought someone had pushed her, I couldn’t do it. I knew how crazy it sounded. I knew how easily my argument could be countered. Malcolm had a heart attack. Zara’s gone off on holiday. Shirley got drunk and had an accident. There was no pattern, just unconnected events. There was nothing sinister here. I would be wasting my breath.

I watched the ambulance go, taking Shirley and Heledd with it. As I headed back to my car, I felt eyes on the back of my neck. I turned.

There was no one there.





Chapter 28

The others were eating dinner when I arrived back at the retreat. Max was next to Suzi, with Ursula opposite. I watched them from the doorway for a minute. They were too absorbed in a verbal game of tennis to notice me: Max and Ursula bashed the conversation back and forth while Suzi watched them. I was desperate to talk to someone, but could I take any of my fellow writers into my confidence? I didn’t trust Max. Ursula would probably try to tell me an evil spirit was responsible. And as for Suzi . . . well, I still wasn’t sure about her relationship with Max.