The Retreat(76)

‘I don’t know.’

‘What about her skin? Was it all wrinkly? Were her lips stained with blood?’

‘I didn’t see.’

Megan made a disgusted noise. ‘You’re useless.’

Anger pulsed at Lily’s temples. She was not useless. ‘I was too busy running to take a proper look.’

‘Yeah. A big scaredy-cat. If it had been me—’

‘Well, it wasn’t you.’ Lily cut her off. It had been a terrible day. The worst day of her whole life. She felt a hot bubble of hatred expand inside her. An urge to lash out.

‘I didn’t see her properly,’ Lily said. ‘But I heard her.’

Megan’s eyes almost popped out of her head. ‘What did she say?’

Lily pointed a finger at her best friend’s face. ‘She said your name. She said Megan.’

Later, remembering Megan’s look of terror, the way she’d flinched, would make Lily feel bad. But in that moment, it was delicious.

‘Lily!’ It was Megan’s grandad. ‘Your dad’s here.’

Lily ran down the stairs and out the front door. Dad was talking to Mr Collins, his hands on his hips. He noticed Lily and turned around.

‘Oh, sweetheart,’ he said, putting his arm around her. ‘What are we going to do with you?’

She didn’t respond. As Dad took her hand and led her to the car, the other man who’d been in the garage came out, wiping his oily hands on a rag. It was Mr Wallace, the man who did work in their garden sometimes.

‘Hi, Rhodri,’ Dad said as he unlocked the car.

Rhodri Wallace waved as they drove away, but he wasn’t smiling. It was weird. If Lily didn’t know better, she’d swear he looked scared.





Chapter 38

It was five thirty. Just two hours of daylight remained. I suggested to Julia that we wait until morning, but she wouldn’t hear of it. I didn’t even bother trying to persuade her that Ursula’s map had to be a con or a fantasy – not after our argument that morning. Julia had to find out for herself. She grabbed a little rucksack and threw in two flashlights, along with a bottle of water and a small pair of shears ‘in case we need to cut our way through any overgrown vegetation’.

Ursula had gone back to her room, saying she was too tired to come along, leaving us with the map. It was crudely drawn, like a child’s sketch of a pirate treasure map. The retreat was situated at the southern tip of this map. Beyond that were the woods where I’d gone walking that first day. Near the top was a large X which, according to Ursula, indicated where we would find ‘the proof’.

Despite my scepticism, it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It was impossible not to get sucked into Ursula’s fantasy; the boy in me could not resist a map where X marked the spot.

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ I asked Julia a final time. ‘It might be more sensible to call the police and let them look.’

‘I’m not waiting any longer, Lucas. I need to see. I need to know.’

‘I’m coming with you. No arguments, okay?’

She shrugged.

Julia took a photo of the map with her phone, so we had a backup copy. Her hand trembled and it took two attempts to stop the photo from blurring. Two years of bouncing between despair and hope. Two years of grieving with no body to say goodbye to. Two years of believing that Lily was still out there, still alive. It was all there on her face, in the tension that vibrated through her bones. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs, and turned to me.

‘Let’s go.’

Walking across the garden, I checked back over my shoulder. Ursula was watching from an upstairs window, her face inscrutable. She caught me looking and let the curtain fall back.



The path was dry, cracks snaking through the mud. Blossom coated the branches of the trees near the perimeter of the woods. Catkins hung above our heads and songbirds called out to one another. If it weren’t for Julia’s brisk pace and the grim determination on her face, this would have felt like a pleasant late-afternoon ramble.

I wanted to talk to Julia, to tell her everything I’d learned from Malcolm’s journal, but I needed all my breath to keep up with her. It could wait. I was certain we weren’t going to find anything. We’d be home in an hour or two and I could talk to her then. I also wanted to talk to Mum, ask her what she knew about the Historical Society. Surely Dad had said something during that time when Carys Driscoll went missing?

An image came to me: Glynn Collins, thirty-seven years younger, carrying a little girl into these woods. Maybe heading along this very path. Was the story about the Widow a smokescreen, a convenient tale for a paedophile to hide behind? What if seeing Lily playing with his granddaughter had stirred a sick desire in Glynn, a desire that had lain buried for a long time? She looked similar to Carys, though Lily was older. It was easy to imagine. He had got away with it last time. He thought he could do so again.

Before leaving the house, I had sent Olly a text explaining what was going on. He’d replied straight away, telling me Heledd was on her way to the police station with the journal. I was keen to hear about their response.

‘What are you thinking about?’ Julia asked, slowing down as we approached the edge of the woods. Watery sunshine flowed through the treetops, and light danced on Julia’s hair. It was inappropriate to think it right now, but she was beautiful. I knew I could never be satisfied with the single night we’d spent together. But, like all the other things I wanted to say to her, it would have to wait.