The Retreat Page 12

  ‘Who knows? Mum’s always talking about sin and divine retribution. Devils with red-hot pokers. I spent my childhood being warned that if I didn’t clear my plate or tidy my room I’d be punished by God. Or worse.’

  ‘The Devil, you mean?’

  ‘Oh no. Not him.’

  She closed the door.

  Now what? I needed to know if Zara had discovered anything else. Had she met with Malcolm Jones before he died?

  I tried calling Zara’s office number, but there was no answer. I sent an email from my phone, asking her to call me.

  A minute later, my phone pinged.

  It was Zara, replying.

  Hey Lucas. Really sorry, but I decided to head home. I wasn’t getting anywhere and I couldn’t stand being in that B&B a moment longer.

  Don’t worry about my fee. I didn’t get anywhere and don’t think anyone ever will. That girl is long gone. It’s a total waste of time looking for her. Sorry again! Zara

  Damn. So was that it? The end of the investigation? It was hard to accept that it was all over, just like that, even though a voice in my ear whispered that it was a good thing, that I was wasting time on a wild goose chase.

  The voice also reminded me that I needed to get back to the retreat, do some work. I still had over three-quarters of my novel to write, and I was never going to get it done if I didn’t buckle down to it. I’d been ignoring emails from my agent and editor, both asking when I expected to be finished. I needed to do what I’d originally come here for.

  I was desperate to help Julia. But I had no idea what to do next, or who to talk to.

  Chapter 19

  LILY – 2014

  Halfway through tea, Megan’s grandad narrowed his eyes at her and said, ‘Where do I know you from?’

  Lily took a sip of orange squash. She found it hard to reply – it was like there was something stuck in her throat – and she had to take another sip before the words could get through. ‘In the park. You helped me when I fell off my bike.’

  He clapped his hands together. ‘Of course! Well I never.’

  ‘What a coincidence,’ said Megan’s mum, smiling at Lily.

  ‘It is a small town,’ Megan’s grandad said. ‘We all know each other. Although I haven’t met your parents properly yet, Lily. What do they do? For a job, I mean.’

  Megan’s grandad had a crumb stuck to his lower lip which wobbled when he spoke. Lily stared at it, convinced it would drop at any second, but it clung on.

  ‘My mum’s an illustrator and my dad does stuff with computers.’

  His eyebrows arched up towards his shiny head. ‘What would you like to be when you grow up?’

  She shrugged. She hated it when grown-ups asked that. ‘I haven’t figured it out yet.’

  ‘I want to be a pop star,’ Megan said. ‘I’m going to be in a group and I’ll be famous.’ She broke into song and her grandad beamed, his eyes shining with love and pride, until Megan’s mum told her to be quiet and eat her tea.

  This meal was stretching on forever. Lily really wanted to get away from Megan’s grandad. She didn’t know why, but it was as if she were allergic to him in the same way she was allergic to lambswool, which made her skin prickle and break out in a rash. She had seen how Chesney reacted when a dog walked past, his back going up and his tail getting fat. That’s how Megan’s grandad made her feel, even though he’d helped her in the park and he was being nice to her now and Megan clearly thought he was the bee’s knees.

  Megan’s mum’s phone rang. She took it over to the back door to talk to whoever it was. When the call ended, she came back and said, ‘Lily, that was your mum. She’s not going to be able to pick you up.’

  ‘Sleepover!’ yelled Megan.

  Lily ignored her. ‘Why not? Has something happened?’

  Megan’s mum put a hand on Lily’s arm. ‘Relax. It’s nothing bad. There’s something wrong with the car, that’s all. She asked if I can run you home.’

  ‘Sleepover?’ Megan tried again.

  ‘Megan, Lily hasn’t got any of her stuff with her. And we have to go out first thing tomorrow.’ She looked at Jake, whose face was covered in jam and peanut butter, his clothes like the ‘before’ in an advert for washing powder.

  ‘I can take her home,’ Megan’s grandad said.

  No no no!

  ‘Oh, could you? That would be so helpful.’

  ‘It’s no bother.’ He grinned at Lily with his mouthful of crooked teeth. ‘No bother at all.’

  Megan’s grandad had a grey car that was spotless inside, cleaner than her parents’ car had ever been. Lily sat in the front passenger seat on Megan’s booster. It was incredibly annoying that she still had to sit on a booster despite being eight. She wound down the window to say goodbye.

  ‘I really wanted to have a sleepover,’ Megan said.

  ‘Next time,’ said her mum.

  ‘So you live at Nyth Bran?’ Megan’s grandad said once they were on the main road. It was still bright and warm outside, the summer evening stretching on forever. But it was hot and stuffy in the car and Lily felt sick.

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Do you know what Nyth Bran means, Lily?’

  ‘Nest of the crow.’

  ‘That’s right. I’m impressed.’

  ‘My mum told me.’

  He kept looking at her instead of the road. He mainly concentrated on her face, but sometimes his gaze slipped further down to her bare legs. It filled her with a peculiar sensation, like millions of little worms wriggling under her skin.

  ‘Did you have fun today, with Megan? She told me you were playing her new computer game.’

  She nodded.

  ‘I don’t understand the appeal of those things, myself. Give me a game of chess any day. Do you play chess, Lily?’

  ‘Yeah. My dad taught me.’

  ‘That’s marvellous. Maybe you can give me a game sometime, though you have to give me a chance.’

  He hissed with laughter.

  ‘So, how long have you lived here, Lily?’

  He was one of those grown-ups who always said your name, even when you were the only other person around. Like he had to keep saying it or he’d forget what it was.

  ‘Since last September.’

  ‘Oh, not long. That’ll be why I don’t know your family. They keep themselves to themselves, don’t they?’

  She had no idea what to say to that.

  ‘Where did you live before?’

  ‘Manchester.’

  ‘United fan, are you?’ He showed her his crooked teeth again. They were yellow too. He must have a rubbish dentist. Or maybe he never cleaned them. His eyes, which were also a bit yellowy where they ought to be white, roamed down to her legs again.

  ‘City,’ she managed.

  He started going on about how different it must be living here after growing up in a big city. It was such a familiar topic that it calmed her a little. She stopped gripping the seat so tightly, and noticed how her hands had made sweaty marks on the black leather.

  ‘Dangerous places, cities . . .’ Megan’s grandad said.

  They were halfway there now. Five more minutes and she’d be home.

  ‘Still, it can be dangerous around here too,’ he said.

  ‘Because of the witch?’ she whispered.

  His eyes flicked sideways and she could tell he was mulling over what to say. There was no other traffic on the road but they were going slowly, as if he didn’t want to take her home anytime soon. A smile crept over his dry lips, which he kept licking between sentences.

  ‘A little girl disappeared around here,’ he said. ‘A long time ago now. Over thirty years. She lived at St Mary’s children’s home, in town.’

  Lily could hardly breathe. ‘What was her name?’

  ‘Carys.’

  He kept grinning and Lily realised something. He was one of those grown-ups who enjoyed scaring children. That was why he told Megan stories about the Widow. He got some kind of weird thrill out of
it.

  That didn’t make what he was saying any less frightening, though.

  ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘That’s the thing. Nobody knows. She was never found. And you know what? She wasn’t the first.’

  There was a long, long silence, which stretched out until they reached the driveway to Lily’s house. She exhaled with relief and fiddled with the door handle, desperate to get out. Megan’s grandad’s jaw muscles flexed like he was chewing over something, and the way he stared ahead, it was as if he wasn’t seeing the road – he was seeing something inside his head.

  ‘Here we are, Lily,’ he said as they pulled up outside the house.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.’

  She opened the door and was so keen to get away she almost fell out of the car. Behind her, Mum came out of the house, raising a hand to thank Megan’s grandad. He waved back.

  Lily was about to shut the car door when he leaned over and said, in a hushed voice, ‘Lily. Be careful, yes?’

  She watched him drive away, trying hard not to throw up.

  PART TWO

  Chapter 20

  Over the next week or so, I settled into a routine, the kind I’d envisioned when I booked a place at the retreat. Each morning I rose at dawn to write, fuelled by coffee, hardly seeing the rain that, day after day, beat against the window. My novel had taken on a momentum of its own, the threads of the story knitting together, and I was able to email my agent and publisher to tell them the book would be a couple of weeks late, but no more.

  I didn’t see much of Julia during this quiet period, except at mealtimes or when I popped outside for some air. I didn’t see much of Max or Suzi either. They had both announced they had extended their stays as they were making such good progress on their novels – there was clearly something in the air – but I wasn’t sure if they were still sleeping together. I didn’t really care.

  I didn’t hear any singing that week. No mysterious passages appeared in my novel. There may have been events I was unaware of – I was so buried in my work a headless horseman could have ridden through the kitchen downstairs and I wouldn’t have known about it – but, as I recall, the week passed without incident.

  Then a new guest arrived. And everything changed.

  I skipped dinner because I was deep in a chapter and not particularly hungry, but went downstairs at around eight to get a drink. There was a hubbub coming from the Thomas Room, including a voice I didn’t recognise.

  Julia was in the kitchen. When I’d seen her during the past week she’d been withdrawn and businesslike, and I suspected she felt awkward after crying in my presence, exposing her emotions. She had wrapped a cloak of self-preservation around herself again. Now I felt awkward too, and found myself tiptoeing around her. There had been a moment when I thought that we would, at the least, become friends. But that moment appeared to have passed. I’d allowed it to happen. Partly it was because I didn’t know how to help her – now I’d given up on my secret quest to find Lily – but there was something else. Guilt.

  I was pretty sure Priya would have liked Julia. I was less sure she would want me to start any kind of relationship with her. Even thinking Julia was attractive felt like a betrayal. And the whole thing was one-sided anyway, I reminded myself. Julia didn’t like me in that way. I was being ridiculous even thinking about it.

  Julia smiled at me. ‘Lucas. You missed dinner. Do you want anything?’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

  A burst of male laughter came from the Thomas Room.

  ‘A new guest,’ she said. ‘You should go and meet her. She’s quite a character.’ She rolled her eyes and laughed, a slightly giddy laugh. I did a double take. Had she been drinking? Surely not.

  She busied herself stacking the dishwasher.

  ‘Do you want a hand?’ I asked.

  ‘No, go and meet the new guest.’

  A fire burned in the hearth, bathing the room in a warm, flickering light. Max was on the sofa, with Suzi beside him.

  Another woman sat in the armchair opposite. I guessed she was in her fifties. She had a dark Louise Brooks bob and wore several heavy necklaces. She was watching Max with an earnest, slightly perplexed expression.

  As I came into the room, Max said, ‘Ah, the reclusive horror writer. Lucas, this is Ursula.’

  ‘Ursula Clarke,’ she said in a moneyed voice. Her name rang a vague bell, but she clearly expected me to have heard of her.

  They were, I realised, holding wine glasses. A half-empty bottle stood on the coffee table. Had Julia rescinded the alcohol ban? It seemed as if my guess that Julia was tipsy had been correct after all.

  ‘Ursula wrote The Spirit’s Whisper,’ Max said, with a little smirk. When Ursula wasn’t looking, he winked at Suzi, who didn’t respond. She was studying Ursula with interest.

  ‘Oh, I’ve heard of that,’ I said. ‘It was a huge bestseller, wasn’t it?’

  ‘A million copies sold,’ Ursula replied, faux-nonchalantly.

  ‘Ten years ago,’ Max said.

  Ursula’s jaw tightened and I felt a wave of sympathy. She was in the exact situation I dreaded: a flash of success followed by years of obscurity. The curse of the one-hit wonder.

  ‘Remind me what it was about?’ I said. ‘Sorry, I have a terrible memory.’

  ‘It was about my relationship with my spirit guide,’ Ursula said. ‘How she counselled me, told me secrets, helped show me the way towards wealth and happiness.’

  ‘I have an agent for all that,’ laughed Max.

  Ursula wasn’t amused.

  ‘I’m used to mockery,’ she said.

  ‘I think it sounds fascinating.’ I sat down. Of course, I actually thought it was a load of hokum, but I wanted to get one over on Max and, like I said, I felt sorry for Ursula. ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘You might need a drink first,’ said Max, pouring one for me. He handed me the glass and I took a sip. Red wine, thick and delicious.

  ‘What happened to the booze ban?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Max scratched his head. ‘We came down for dinner tonight and there it was. Like a wonderful apparition.’

  Ursula made a little hem-hem noise in her throat. ‘I think you might have me to thank. Julia told me about the dry nature of this place when I called to enquire about booking. I told her how absurd it was. A place for writers with no alcohol? I said if she wanted this to be a viable business she needed to get down to the nearest wine merchant, pronto.’

  Max raised his glass. ‘A toast to Ursula.’

  Suzi raised hers too. I didn’t join in. As pleased as I was to have a glass of wine in my hand, I was the only one who suspected why Julia had an aversion to drink.

  ‘Anyway, Lucas, I was about to tell you about spirit guides.’ Ursula put down her glass and sat back.

  ‘All of us, even Max here, have a spirit guide. Someone who watches over us and helps us on our journey through this life. Tell me, Lucas, do you ever feel as if someone is watching you, looking after you? Perhaps you glimpse a presence sometimes, when you’re dreaming or in moments of high emotion.’

  Her words made my skin prickle. Because sometimes I did feel as if I were being watched, especially since Priya’s death. Especially, in fact, since I’d come here.

  She went on. ‘Some people, such as myself, are unusually sensitive. We are able to communicate directly with our guide. She tells me if someone has plans to harm me, and she tells me who I can trust. She also helps me communicate with the deceased too, so they can pass on their wisdom.’

  ‘Does she have a name?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course. Phoebe.’

  ‘And did Phoebe used to be . . . a flesh-and-blood person?’

  ‘Oh yes. But hundreds of years ago.’ She smiled, although there was a hint of sadness there, as if Ursula were talking about an old friend she hadn’t seen for a long time.

  ‘The good news,’ she said, ‘is that He
aven is real. As soon as I realised that, I no longer feared death – and I truly started to live.’

  She allowed me to top up her wine glass along with my own. At the same time, Julia put her head around the door and said goodnight. As I heard her go up the stairs, it hit me, right in the stomach. I missed her. Missed the connection we’d made.

  Ursula noticed. ‘You like her, don’t you?’

  I winced, but Max and Suzi hadn’t heard, as far as I could tell.

  ‘A lot of men are drawn to women with emotional pain,’ she said.

  I cut her off. I wasn’t that type of man. ‘No. It’s her inner strength that I like.’

  ‘Oh, so you do like her.’

  She grinned, and I couldn’t help but smile too. ‘I like her. But that doesn’t mean I like her.’

  Ursula leaned forward. Her mouth was stained red from the wine. ‘You can’t fool me,’ she said. ‘Remember. I see things.’

  ‘Is that how you know she’s in pain? Because your spirit guide told you?’

  She smiled. ‘Actually, it was a taxi driver.’

  Ursula waited until Julia’s footsteps were no longer audible and said, ‘The cabbie who brought me here from the station told me all about what happened to Julia’s husband and daughter.’

  The others were tuned in now. Max looked as if he were watching a news bulletin announcing that a UFO had landed in Trafalgar Square.

  ‘What did he tell you?’ I asked.

  Ursula repeated pretty much what Olly, the taxi driver, had told me. ‘And they never found her,’ she said in a theatrical whisper.

  ‘Oh, poor Julia,’ said Suzi.

  ‘Hang on,’ said Max to me. ‘You knew about this?’

  ‘The same taxi driver told me.’

  ‘And you didn’t share?’

  ‘Why should I? I don’t think it’s right to gossip about Julia’s pain.’

  Ursula flapped a hand. ‘Nonsense. It’s not gossip. As Max says, it’s sharing. People should be more open with one another. How else are we ever supposed to understand our fellows?’

  ‘Are you quoting from your book?’ I asked.