The Retreat(73)

Olly’s eyes were wide. ‘You think it might have been him?’

The very thought made me sick. ‘I don’t know. It goes against everything I know about him. Did your mum ever mention Carys and what happened?’ I asked Heledd.

‘No.’ She had picked up the journal and was flicking through it, as if the answer to all of this might be contained in its pages. ‘At least not in any detail . . . She always said this town wasn’t safe for children, that if I ever gave her grandchildren she would worry herself sick about them.’

‘But she never elaborated?’

‘Hmm?’ She was distracted by the journal. ‘No. I mean, she told me about the Widow. Every kid around here knows about her. But that’s it.’

I got up and went over to the window. The sun was struggling to come out from behind the clouds.

‘What are you thinking?’ Olly asked.

‘I’m thinking that thirty-five years after Carys went missing, history repeated itself. A child was taken. A newcomer to the town, a family that weren’t integrated into the community.’

‘You think they did it again? With Lily Marsh?’

I paced around. ‘It can’t be a coincidence. And Glynn Collins is the obvious suspect. Back in 1980 he thought he was protecting Wendy. Or – sorry, Heledd, but I have to say it – Wendy and you.’

She met my eye but didn’t say anything.

I had to ask. ‘Is Glynn your dad?’

She didn’t answer for a few long seconds. ‘I don’t know. Mum never told me.’ She had gone pale and now I felt terrible.

‘Let’s leave it, eh?’ Olly said, putting a protective hand on his girlfriend’s shoulder.

‘Okay. Yes, I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter . . . I mean, it doesn’t make any difference to what we’re talking about. Glynn could have been protecting Wendy. And maybe . . . maybe this time he was trying to protect his granddaughter, Megan.’

Olly gaped at me.

‘Glynn Collins,’ he said. ‘He’s always scared me. Back when I was a kid, I mean.’

Heledd had set the journal aside and was deep in thought, tuned out of the conversation.

‘Glynn met Lily through his granddaughter, Megan,’ I said. ‘She knew him . . . It would have been easy for him to lure her away, maybe tell her she needed to go with him to see something. She would probably have trusted him. Now he’s got it in for me too. He knows I’ve been nosing around.’

The back of my head, where it was still bandaged, was beginning to throb again.

‘But he’s got a rock-solid alibi for the night I was attacked.’

I thought about that. Was somebody helping him? If so, who?

Olly was agitated. ‘You know what I said about keeping all this secret, about protecting our dads’ reputations. I think we’re beyond that now, aren’t we? We should go to the police. Show them the journal.’

‘There’s no point. Last time I talked to them they dismissed me as a writer with an overactive imagination.’

‘Let me do it,’ Heledd said. ‘I’m local and I got on well with the policeman who was there when Mum died.’

‘I bet you did,’ Olly muttered, which made Heledd roll her eyes.

‘I think it’s a good idea,’ I said to Olly. ‘They might listen to her.’

‘I suppose so. Maybe I could come with you?’

She hesitated, and I thought I could tell what she was thinking: that the police would respond better to her solo.

‘Perhaps it’s best if Heledd goes on her own, in the first instance anyway,’ I said.

Olly grunted and we lapsed into silence again. I parted the curtains and peeked out at the street, paranoid that someone was watching us. That Glynn would come here looking for Malcolm’s missing journal. Heledd’s phone rang and she said, ‘Excuse me’ before taking it out of the room.

Olly watched her go then picked up the journal, flicked to the relevant entry and tapped the page. ‘Something just struck me. Albert Patterson . . . You know he lived at Nyth Bran?’

I nodded, even though it hurt to do so.

‘That’s a weird bloody connection, isn’t it? Lily Marsh disappearing after living in that house. If Albert hadn’t died, what, five or six years ago, I’d say he was the prime suspect.’

‘Plus he didn’t have kids, did he? Like your dad said, he had no one to protect from the Widow, so why would he do it? Did you ever meet him?’

I thought about the photo I’d found hidden in the book at the retreat. The tall, skinny man and his stern-faced wife.

‘Yeah. I went to his house a couple of times when I was a kid. He was all right, a nice bloke actually. He loved kids, even though he didn’t have any of his own. Loved playing with us, keeping us entertained while the other adults stood in the kitchen and chatted about boring stuff.’

Heledd came back in. ‘That was the estate agent,’ she said to Olly, who nodded.

The pain in my head was getting worse. I stood up. ‘I should go.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Olly asked, showing me to the door.

‘I don’t know. This headache is making it hard to think straight. But I’ll call you later.’

‘All right.’