About the Author

D. E. WHITE started writing fifteen years ago, scribbling ideas on napkins at work on the night shift. After various jobs, including working as cabin crew, in a hospital, a supermarket, and as a 999 call handler for the ambulance service, she began writing full time in 2018.

She is a multi-award winning entrepreneur, and was part of a small business delegation speaking at Number 10, Downing Street in 2015.

Having spent a lot of time travelling the world, she now lives with her husband and two sons on the south coast of the UK, with a growing assortment of animals and several stick insects.

Remember Me is her debut psychological thriller.

Visit D. E. White at daisywhiteauthor.co.uk

Remember Me
D. E. WHITE

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019

Copyright © D. E. White 2019

D. E. White asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © February 2019 ISBN: 9780008322045

Version: 2018-11-28

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Acknowledgements

Dear Reader …

Thank you for reading!

About the Publisher

Dedication

In memory of Brian Crocker

‘Gorffwys mewn heddwch’.

Chapter 1

I’d give everything to be back at the first square on the board, with all still to play for…

In the beginning, I was just another kid, with just another unlucky family. I used that bad luck, as I used my good looks and confidence. Nobody knew I’d already killed once. In the games I play, I have always used the charm I was born with – along with various other, less admirable, skills I have had to acquire along the way.

There are a few golden days, bottled and stored at the back of my mind, that bring a comforting glow of nostalgia when uncorked. I inhale, eyelids drooping, and allow my thoughts to drift back…

The grass of the school playing field was warm and smelled pleasantly of hay. It was scratchy on my bare legs and under my spread palms. I remember that day so clearly that I can summon the laughter, the scent of cut grass, the bumpy feeling of a packet of pills in my pocket. I leaned back until the sun enveloped my face in a wave of burning fire, and I enjoyed the dizziness evoked by blood-red patterns on my closed eyelids. Sprawled lazily in a semicircle facing me, a few of the other kids were idly chucking empty Coke cans at an old oak stump. Someone was passing round an illicit cigarette, and the curling blue smoke teased my senses.

I had already discovered how to play with my pack – how to get them into a ball game, climbing trees at the far end of the field, or even a bit of joyriding when darkness fell. That day I had less innocent activities planned. It was the first true test of my power over my players and I relished that tingle of excitement. It buzzed through my veins like a drug hitting home. I could never have guessed how that day and night would shape my life, or how my need for revenge would become everything – a tearing, ravenous hunger I could never satisfy.

I can see us all now, as though I am soaring above the school, floating like a bird, arms outstretched. It’s where I belong. The boys and the girls, so bright and alive against the scorched summer grass. The laughing, teasing group of friends and enemies, and the drifting smell of sweat and chips. Someone was singing that stupid little song we’d had since primary school:

‘Three little girls, sitting up a tree,

Kissed all the boys,

But no one wants me.’

I knew exactly what was happening in my life, and some might say I could have stopped it at any time – but I didn’t. I watched, and I waited. It turned out better than I could ever have imagined. That’s one of the things about being a gamer – you have to know when to let fate dip a finger into your spit. It doesn’t mean losing control, it just means loosening the reins for a moment.

It has always paid to be smart and, looking back, that was more important than anything. It still is. I know I’m smarter than all of them, and that will be my legacy. Before that day at school, everything in my life was just a blurred rehearsal. My heartbeat thumps deep and strong – a jungle drum to my prey. It’s been a few years since I last played for real, but things have changed.

I can hear music from another room. It’s a lilting, joyous sound, and it brings me back to the present. Time to play again. I pick up a phone, scroll down, type a message and hit the send button.

‘Ydych chi’n cofio fi, Ava Cole?’

‘Do you remember me, Ava Cole?’

Chapter 2

There was no marker on the grave. Not an impressive carved headstone, nor even a crude nailed cross.

Even the swathes of early wildflowers avoided the leafy mound. Ava knelt, ignoring the damp that seeped through her jeans, the icy wisps of April breeze slicing through the quiet woodland. Her comfort was not important. Ellen, in her lonely bed of leaves and soil, could feel nothing now.

The earth was cold and gritty under her palms, and she stirred the faded leaves with the toe of her boot. An overgrown holly branch scraped glossy fingers across the grave, and overhead the larger trees creaked and moaned. The sour smell of winter death and decay fought with the delicate sweetness of the first bluebells.

Fifteen years of self-imposed exile, and she was finally back in Wales, huddled in a thick jacket and oversized boots, crying over her best friend’s grave. Not back home, but just back.

Awkwardly, slowly, she stood, wiping the tears away with her sleeve. It didn’t take long to find the vast, triple-trunked oak, and the gnarled bark still bore the scars. Just their initials and two scrawled words:

‘Cofiwch fi.’

Remember me.

A sudden glimmer of red and gold, lighting the wood with the last rays of a winter sun, softened the path of early darkness. Ava left the grave and headed west, stamping through the twists of dead bramble cables, blowing on her hands to warm them again. As the trees thinned, she found a path winding steeply towards the village.

Ellen’s bungalow had a light in her bedroom window. Her parents would have gone into her room, turned the immaculate bed covers down, laid a flower on her pillow, and turned on her nightlight. Just as they had done every evening since her death, Ava caught herself remembering. Or maybe not. Perhaps they had finally moved on, and all traces of Ellen had been removed. They might even have a lodger in her old bed. Tomorrow, Ava thought grimly, she would have to go and see them. Everything had changed, and she wasn’t back by choice. But since she was here, she needed to make her peace with Ellen and her family. She told herself it was respectful and courteous, but the pain that burned on the inside was conjured from both fear and shame. Trying to make amends, she had always fallen back on cheap promises. If I can just get this grade, solve this case, take out this drug dealer… The list went on and on, and she had only ever done it for two people – her best friend and her son.

She crested the hill, panting slightly from the climb, and then spun around as the noise of someone else stamping through the wood penetrated her thoughts. It was a man, his face in shadow, shoulders hunched under his own bulky jacket. He was moving fast, along the same winding path she had just climbed. As she strained to see, the last of the light disappeared and the raw chill of darkness fell across the woodland.

Common sense told her to call out a greeting, to be adult and begin as she meant to go on. But she was still drifting, jolted out of her usual efficiency, lost in the past – her past and Ellen’s. In her mind, back in the valleys, she was no longer a successful detective working the streets of Los Angeles, but a teenage screw-up returning to the scene of the crime. Returning fifteen years too late. The man was coming swiftly now, his breath twisting smoky clouds into the darkness. As he came close enough for her to make out his face, he looked up, deliberately searching out her gaze. He was smiling.

Ava squared her shoulders, fists clenched and chin up. Still in fighting stance, she walked towards him, determined to gain the upper hand. Two long strides before her boot caught in a tussock of grass. She was down, sprawled like a helpless child, while he laughed. Time spun back, and embarrassment trailed burning tendrils along her spine, flushing her face. Their lives had been hopelessly entwined throughout her childhood. Every new experience, every memory, was filled with his laughter, his energy. Until that last night, when she’d fled towards the bridge, passport and cash stuffed in her jeans pocket, crouched low over the motorbike, praying to every angel in Wales that she would make it to the other side. He belonged to the drug-drenched memories of adolescence, not the gritty reality of her carefully constructed, and very grown-up, world.

‘Hallo, Ava. Remember me?’ Leo Evans was still laughing, still charming. Even in the shadows, he was all carved cheekbones and piercing blue eyes. He ran a gloved hand through his messy crop of dark hair as she climbed slowly to her feet.

‘Don’t be stupid, Leo. I’m not in the mood for games.’ She was not fourteen years old again, and it pissed her off that he was still a good-looking bastard. A successful bastard too, from what she had heard. Embarrassed at her primitive reaction to his appearance, she was snappy and defensive. Her legs were shaky and her stupid heart was pounding far too fast. She licked her dry lips and rubbed a bruised elbow.

‘Well, that’s a welcome. Shame. You used to love them.’ The blue eyes glinted with mischief and two dimples appeared in the stubbly cheeks. The darkness wiped away any signs of ageing, and his face was that of the manipulative, charming boy who shared his sandwiches with her on her first day at school.

‘It really doesn’t bother you, does it?’ Ava indicated the wood below them with a vague wave of her hand. The hand was shaking, a fact which he couldn’t fail to miss, even in the semi-darkness.

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand, ‘Should it? We were stupid kids. It’s over and done with, Ava. I think we’ve all moved on. Who would have thought you’d turn out to be a copper? LAPD no less. I gather you’re Detective Ava Cole, now. And you specialise in narcotics investigations? Narcotics! That is an absolute classic, darling, don’t you think? I also heard you were involved in the John Wayland case last year as well. Triple homicide, wasn’t it? Clever old you.’

So he kept tabs on her. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that, except to take it that he had never outgrown that urge to control everyone, to have power over his friends and enemies alike. Anger bubbled in her chest, but she shrugged with forced nonchalance, ‘Quite. I’m only back because of Stephen, and then I’ll be going home. We don’t have to run into one another, Leo. Paul said you turned your nana’s old place into a holiday home…’

‘Holiday home sounds like a grotty caravan – no offence, darling. I only come back for business, but luckily your visit has coincided with one of my stays in the village.’ He smiled at her, a swift upward look from under his lashes, all charm and sincerity. It was an adult version of his teenage smoulder, and without doubt an important part of his rise to fame.

‘Lucky me.’ God, she really had to stop reverting to pissed-off teenager. She was an adult now. Ava took a deep, steadying breath, and studied her ex-boyfriend as he continued. The strong Welsh accent of his boyhood was now a mere lilt dancing across some of his words, and she knew hers was long gone.

‘I know Paul hasn’t got long, and I know that he might have been a bit brusque when he asked you to come home, but he needs you, Ava. Penny went crazy when they found out he only had a few months to live. I’ve never seen her lose it, but she was crying like he was already gone. She needs you too. I’m sorry you had to come back for this,’ he added gently. To anyone else, he would have been an old friend offering condolences. But to Ava, struggling to knit past and present, the mischief was still there, despite the apparent sincerity of his words.

Ava shrugged. ‘I’m sorry too. But he’s your friend before he’s my ex-husband anyway. Shit happens. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, but the fact that it’s Paul dying of cancer doesn’t make it any worse or any better.’

‘You’ve changed. Not just your accent, and your hair, but something else… you’re a hard woman now, Ava Cole.’

‘I’m impressed you could deduce that after a few minutes, and no, I’m not – I’ve just grown up. I found a way out a long time ago, and now I’m just here to tie up loose ends.’ She could smell his sweat, disturbingly familiar, nudging other memories to the forefront of her mind. Ava deliberately turned her head away and took a gulp of the night air.

He scuffed a boot on the wet grass, staring down as though it was the most interesting thing in the world. ‘Actually, we probably will run into each other. As you say, Paul is still a friend, and I’m filming the new series of my show this month.’ Leo looked up now, a glimmer of a smile tugging at his lips. ‘I’m sure you must know about my show. Unless the weather’s really bad we film up near Cochran Hill. Or at Big Water.’

‘Yeah, I heard about it. Clever old you.’ Big Water was an eerie place – a huge sheet of shining water that concealed a drowned village. The reservoir had flooded the bones of a rural civilisation and in the summer months, it was a magnet for the bored teenagers of Aberdyth and nearby Cadrington.

‘Touché.’ Leo sighed, and took out a packet of cigarettes, seemingly in no hurry to move on.

He didn’t offer one to Ava, and she ignored the tantalising aroma of smoke as it curled into the darkness. She had quit smoking four years ago, and she wasn’t about to start again.

‘Tough Love has the highest ratings of any reality show in the last five years. It is the ultimate blend of sex and survival.’ Leo sounded as if he was reciting a press release or a well-rehearsed publicity line. ‘You really should watch it, Ava. It was inspired by our childhood.’

‘I’m not some investor, or your producer. You don’t have to pitch it to me,’ she snapped. Of course, she had seen Leo’s handsome face on magazine covers, caught him being interviewed on television, and she had even watched an episode of Tough Love, because her friends loved it. But she was damned if she was going to admit that it was a bloody clever concept, and one that had clearly had huge financial rewards for those involved, if the media was to be believed.

Whilst she had been burying her head in studies, graduating second in her class, and then fighting for promotion in the NYPD, Leo had risen to fame on a reality show about Welsh teenagers. His stunning good looks and fiery outbursts had guaranteed his popularity. Unlike many reality stars, though, Leo had built a thriving business empire from simply appearing on TV. ‘Leo, have you been sending me text messages?’

His cigarette end glowed orange in the shadows. ‘I don’t even have your number, Ava. How could I possibly do that?’

‘I just wondered…’ She studied his face for a moment longer. As always, it was impossible to tell when Leo was lying. The whispers that lay below the surface of her mind grew louder for a moment, but she forced them away. ‘I thought Paul might have given it to you. Or Penny?’

‘No. They haven’t really mentioned you in ages – I thought you all communicated strictly by email, and only then when absolutely essential. Just another happy Aberdyth family. Until we knew about Paul, of course.’

The note of sarcasm was so subtle it might have been lost on someone who didn’t know him, but Ava caught it. Happy families. She swung away, abruptly ending their conversation. ‘I need to go.’

He didn’t try to stop her, and she didn’t look around. But she knew he was standing in the shadows, watching her all the way back to the village. It had happened so many times before. Well, this time was different.

The main street was deserted, even so early in the evening, and her boots echoed hollowly on the tarmac. The neat, ugly rows of pebbledash houses were decorated with yellow-lit windows, and the pub doors were flung open despite the cold. The roar of laughter and clink of glasses mingled with luscious scents of fish and chips and roast lamb. Ava’s stomach growled, but she could just imagine the sensation if she marched up to the bar and demanded dinner and a beer. She’d probably get a punch in the face – and she probably deserved one.

Ava pushed on past the lights and the company, turning instead up a dirt track to her left. A few rusty car wrecks decorated the roadside, and she forced her cold, aching legs faster up the hill. She was fit enough, and back home in LA she hiked in the hills, did spin classes and kickboxing. But she’d lost that innate childhood toughness and grit required to tackle the countryside around Aberdyth. That, and the fact she was jetlagged up to her eyeballs, and sick with worry about her imminent first meeting with her now-teenage son.

Despite her good intentions, her mind was flickering back over the events of the past week. Fuck, she couldn’t wait to get back to LA. Here in Wales, the sickly mix of emotions was like a box of dead weights lodged in her heart. Guilt about Ellen, guilt about her son, Stephen. But most of all a nagging fear that by trying to make things right she might tear apart the years of hard work. She would have to tread carefully, but it was far too late to confess to teenage crimes. Too many lives would be irrevocably broken apart, and any precious thread that might remain between her and Stephen would be gone forever. Ava dredged in her pockets and produced her phone. She scrolled down with numb fingers, reaching her folder of photos. Every picture she had managed to scrape from Stephen’s social media sites, every photo she had begged from Paul, was there. Stephen had been told his mother didn’t care about him, and she knew Paul had made her out to be a hard bitch, who cared only for her job.

When she recovered from the trauma of her teenage years, her counsellor had urged her to build bridges with her son. But Paul was having none of it, and resorted to threats that could have ruined her career. Although she never truly believed he would tell the police about Ellen and their drug-addled childhood, it was the final fence he needed to keep her out of Stephen’s life. If someone told you long and hard enough what a crap mother you were, and that you didn’t deserve a child, eventually you believed it. She sighed, flicking back to her emails, looking for the message that had ripped everything apart.

Although she was trudging up the hill in the darkness, instantly she was hundreds of miles away, about to start her night shift in LA.

* * *

‘Dear Ava,

This is a tough thing to write, but Penny feels you need to be told. I’m dying. I expect you are wondering why the hell you should care? Obviously you don’t, but it isn’t all bad news – I will be leaving this earth a bit sooner than I ever thought. The doctors reckon I have two months at the most. Time for you to take on a few responsibilities. Much as I hate to tell you, Penny says our son will need you, and I want her to have some kind of support that doesn’t come from the village, or her uncle. I’m sure you understand that, at least, as you are aware of her situation. Let us know when you will be arriving. I suggest the Birtleys’ for your accommodation.

Paul’

‘Fuck!’ Perching on someone else’s desk, Ava automatically scrolled down to check the rest of her emails, before returning to Paul’s message. He had always written to her in this slightly over-formal, stilted style. It was as though they had never shared a bed, or a life, together. Just like that, her delicately balanced world was being pulled apart.

He was wrong, she did care – about her son and her ex-husband. It was just buried so deep that the love for them had gotten entwined with other memories. Like barbed wire twisted round a baby’s hand.

From the control room she heard the clicking of keyboards, and the repetitive murmur of voices as the emergency dispatchers dealt efficiently with incoming 911 calls, their trained responses smooth and calm. There was a buzz of chatter from the crowd round the coffee machine, and through the open door she could see an elderly cleaner in a blue overall pushing a mop round the reception area.

But even the yells and crashes of the drunks in the cells couldn’t pierce the sudden mist that engulfed her mind. A male voice came from miles away, but the hand on her backside was much too close.

‘Hey, Ava, much as I welcome your cute bum on my desk at any time, I need to get this paperwork, so if you wouldn’t mind, honey…’

Fighting her way back to reality as the cop grinned before snatching up the pile of printed notes and heading back to the conference room, Ava walked over to her own neatly organised desk. She grabbed her now lukewarm coffee and downed it in one gulp. The Los Angeles sun slashed a golden knife blade through the dirty blinds, picking out the empty takeaway cartons, piles of paperwork, blinking computers, and jumbled family photos that cluttered the other desks. Ava had one photograph, framed in white wood, of her with her parents at graduation. No boyfriends or kids watched her as she worked, or distracted her with ‘I love you, please come home’ phone calls. Usually she didn’t mind; this was her and this was the life she had finally chosen. But today, she would have given a lot to get one of those phone calls. Occasionally, in unguarded moments, she would drift off to sleep imagining an email or text from Stephen that began, ‘Dear Mum…’

* * *

The sound of singing snapped her out of her memories. Soft, lilting and slightly disturbing, the voice reached out through the icy air. The track had widened and she was passing the old garage – ‘Mick’s Place’, it had always been called. But now the sign was hanging by one nail, and the petrol pumps were surrounded by a tide of rusty vehicles in various stages of disintegration. The smell of fuel was still strong, and it mingled alarmingly with the smoke from a fire.

Ava paused, straining her eyes in the darkness, peering past the crackling flames. The fire, in an old oil drum, was bright and pure against the sullen winter evening. The warmth reached out to her. The soft chant continued, but whilst she was drawn by the brightness and promise of defrosting her numb hands, she was repelled by the words.

‘From starlight, to flame-bright,

Who will be burning tonight?’

The song floated like smoke dancing on the cold air, and the crunch of boots on gravel stamped out the beat. A few moments later a guitar joined the song, its melancholy thrum adding to the menace of the words.

‘Burning to the death,

Until a last dying breath,

Brings redemption to us all.’

The singer halted abruptly but carried on strumming his guitar. The fire crackled and spattered a handful of glittering sparks onto the dirty concrete of the yard.

‘Oi! You… didn’t you used to be Ava Cole?’

‘I… oh, Christ, it’s Rhodri, isn’t it?’ Close up, his mop of red hair was unmistakable, even if his shadowed, weather-beaten face and slumped shoulders were that of a much older man.

Rhodri stopped playing and set his guitar down. She could see that there were several small animals roasting on a spit over the flames. Or to be more exact they were being burned to charcoal.

‘Your dinner’s burning,’ Ava told him, walking across to his side of the fire. The heat scorched her cheeks, and she stretched icy hands to the blaze.

He spluttered with laughter, ‘That’s not my dinner, love, that’s just a few rabbits from number four. The kids got bored of them.’

‘Right.’ Apparently, Rhodri was a long way from the cheeky, freckle-faced boy she had known at school, or even the wayward flame-haired teenager who would sit playing his guitar next to Big Water. Always on the edge of Leo’s group, he would smile vaguely at them, lost in his music, but good-naturedly taking requests for all the latest hits.

‘They were still alive you know, when I skewered them. I like it when they turn to black, and then tomorrow they’ll be just soft little flakes that blow in the wind.’ His voice was low, husky, and his strongly accented words seemed to hang in the darkness. He could have been an actor on a darkened stage, revelling in the drama, his audience hanging on to every word.

Ava narrowed her eyes, studying his face by the light of the flickering orange flames. Clearly, Rhodri had taken something, and was flying high over the valleys tonight. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time. They had all taken pills back in the day – hell, for a while pills had meant everything – but Rhodri had been more than fond of a smoke. It used to make him mellow, not a murderer of small creatures, though.

‘Don’t try and freak me out, Rhodri, because it never worked. I don’t give a shit if you roast the entire rabbit population of Aberdyth.’

‘I suppose not, but it was always fun trying to play games with you. So why are you back? Because of Paul, I suppose. I heard he asked you to come back, but I never thought you would. Is it strange, being the angel of death riding in to kiss your ex goodbye before he drops down to the fires of hell? Why bother to bring Ava back, when she probably wants to kill you anyway, I told him. Nobody could fight like the two of you, could they?’

‘I’m sure that went down well. I have never wanted to kill Paul, and I certainly haven’t come back to argue with him. Bit of sympathy for a condemned man, Rhodri.’

‘Paul knows I’ve got his back, and I don’t give him all the shit the others do. They carry on with this “I’m sure you’ll pull through” crap. Like Penny, she keeps chirruping on about miracle cancer patients, who just get better and nobody knows why. Well, he won’t. I’ve seen it before and when you’ve got that death sentence you just have to deal with it in any way you can.’

Ava vaguely remembered that Rhodri had a close family member he had lost to cancer when they were at primary school. His aunt, maybe? She didn’t want to probe what was obviously still a painful, bitter memory. He was entitled to his opinions. ‘I’m back because of Stephen, not for Paul. He’s got Penny,’ she corrected.

Rhodri shrugged, reached down and grabbed a bottle of beer from a crate. ‘You never cared about the kid all these years, so why now? You know, you sound like an American. That’s crap, cariad. Your Welsh has all gone. Want a drink, love?’

She barely hesitated, lifting a beer quickly from the crate. ‘Thanks. I always cared about Stephen, I was just screwed up and he was better off without me.’

‘You left him in Aberdyth, love. How is that better? You should’ve taken him with you. Paul was pissed off when you went to America. He thought you’d come back.’

‘I know.’ She was fighting the painful coils of guilt that wormed their way through her chest. Rhodri have never been one to skirt around a subject. Why hadn’t she taken her baby? Because at the time she was blinded by her feelings of inadequacy. At one point she had become sure she would kill her own child, checking him constantly night and day, fussing over formula milk and sterilising bottles over and over again until Paul yelled that she was a crazy cow.

‘You seen Leo yet?’ His glance was sly now.

‘Yes.’

‘You gonna fuck him while you’re here?’ Rhodri screwed up his eyes, peering at her in the firelight, his mouth wet with drink. He dragged a sleeve across his face, waiting for her answer.

Surprised, she lowered the bottle from her own lips. ‘No. Not that it’s any of your business, but Leo and I were over a long time before I married Paul. It’s ancient history.’

He studied her face, eyes knowing, smirking like he knew something she didn’t. ‘Aw don’t get mad, love, I remember the two of you when we were at school. Everyone knew you were Leo’s girl, and he never looked at anyone else. Although Penny and Ellen wouldn’t have said no, would they? Especially Ellen, she was always trying to get with him.’

It was a challenge, and she brushed it neatly aside, sidestepping his words. ‘Is your dad still here?’

‘Died a few years ago.’ Rhodri waved an unsteady hand, allowing himself to be diverted. ‘All this is mine now, love. Mine to burn to a crispy fucking cinder if I want to. You got any pills?’

Clearly Leo was the only one in Aberdyth who kept up with her life. On second thoughts, maybe Rhodri did know about her job, and that was a cutting little reminder of their shared past. ‘I’m not a teenager any more, Rhodri.’ Ava finished her beer and stood up. He started strumming his guitar again. His fingers were gentle and rhythmic on the strings, but he watched her with wild, haunted eyes. His ‘musician look’, she remembered suddenly.

‘See you around.’

‘Nos da, Ava.’

She hesitated at that, drawn into tasting the language again. The moment passed, and she forced herself to ignore it. It was over and done with. Any thread of pleasure at finding an unthreatening, familiar face had vanished, and she was now shivering. The yard, full of the skeletons of dead vehicles, and now this half-recognisable face from her childhood, stirred unwelcome memories. But the darkness of the road, broken only by a few lonely houses, welcomed her like an old friend, and she took a deep breath of the raw, freezing air. How many times had she and Ellen made this journey, giggling hysterically with the after-effects of illicit alcohol, sharing a cigarette, hand in hand? Rhodri’s softly spoken words followed her, whispering on the cold night air.

‘From starlight, to flame-bright,

Who will be burning tonight?’

Chapter 3

She’s back. I can hardly believe it. I’m sure she will appreciate the treat I have in store for her. One last time, Ava Cole.

Of course, I was prepared for her to have changed. I knew she would be harder, stronger and less of the wayward, but malleable, teenager I remembered. She has no idea that I have been watching her for years, skimming neatly below the surface of her social media accounts, her work intranet, and even her personal emails. I have access to her life, and up to a point it has kept me fed and entertained. I know her so well, but I don’t know her in the flesh anymore. I remember her taste, her touch, but the memories are dull, like faded flowers.

I tell myself this makes the rediscovery all the more exciting. I do like a challenge, so I just need to rearrange the board and we can start. Ava has no idea what I have planned. In fact, she doesn’t really know me at all. Not like I know her…

The only thing that always annoyed me is that her conscience pricks her a little too much. She would never join me in the ultimate hell slide to the finish, when you can taste the fear, and feel the hot blood slick on your body. Something in her soul is different to mine and I don’t like that, if I’m totally honest.

I always wanted Ava to admire me, to see me as more than an equal, and for a while it was wonderful. When she went it was terrible. If I was being poetic, I’d say she ripped my heart out. But you know what? I don’t think I have a heart, or I wouldn’t have been able to play my games the way I do.

Even whilst I’m thinking about Ava, I’m carefully tending to the fire. My boots are soaking from walking up the hill and down to East Wood earlier, so I should probably put some newspaper inside to dry them out.

I remember Ava at eight years old, when her parents first moved from Florida to Wales. She had that dumb American accent then, and she seems to have got it back. That’s too bad. She needs to keep her Welsh, or she’s going to struggle out on the game board. I was in the same year as Ava at school. I let her share my desk and helped her with the language. I let her share my pencils too – as soon as I saw that she used to absent-mindedly suck the ends when she was thinking hard.

When she put one down, I would pick it up, as casually as I could, and slide it into my own mouth. I could taste her sweetness, and from then on I made up my mind to own her.

I used to wait at the gate, after I helped my mum get dressed and all that shit. Ava would come running down the hill, in those blue denim shorts and a tight T-shirt, black hair flying out in the breeze. Then she’d smile at me. It was a proper smile, from a proper person – not like one of these fucking losers who just bare their teeth. She was real. And then I lost her.

If I look out of the window, I can see nothing but darkness. But I know if I went out, I could stand peacefully in the icy air, under the moon. The village would be spread before me like a chaotic nightmare, but as I watched, the stars would come out and create perfect order. The dark squares of houses criss-crossed with pale squares of gardens are like squares on a board. I see games everywhere.

There is a box of dice on the side, and instead of making a coffee I select a couple and idly give them a roll. They clatter and click across the surface before coming to rest next to the piano. I peer down. A double six. Of course – it would be. Satisfied, I pack them carefully away, revelling in what is to come.

‘Ava Cole, ydych chi’n dod allan I chwarae heno?’

‘Ava Cole, are you coming out to play tonight?’

Chapter 4

‘Are you going out to see Paul now?’ Mrs Birtley poked a scowling face out of the living room, and for a moment Ava was engulfed in the sickly waft of her perfume. The TV was blaring a comedy theme tune, and she caught a glimpse of Mr Birtley ensconced on the overstuffed pink tweed sofa, sipping his cup of tea.

‘I am. Can I have a key please, so I don’t have to disturb you when I get back in? I think you must have forgotten to give me one earlier when I signed in.’ Ava tried for a sincere smile, forcing her expression into a kind of frozen politeness.

‘I don’t think I can give you a key, Ava. Things have changed in Aberdyth since you left. You weren’t exactly angels as teenagers, but this latest generation are far worse – they’d steal anything if I gave them half a chance.’

‘That isn’t a reason for not giving me a key though, is it? I mean, I’m not one of the village teenagers anymore.’ She kept her smile light, but the prod was intended, and she could see Mrs Birtley’s cheeks redden under her make-up.

‘It’s a matter of principle.’ Her beady black eyes were almost hidden by the pudgy folds of skin that framed her jowly face. She looked like a furious pug dog. Her helmet of short grey hair stopped just below her ears, and a pink hair slide looked bizarrely out of place.

‘Right, I understand. Apologies in advance for waking you up then.’ Ava notched her expression down to frosty politeness, resisting the temptation to say more, and marched up the narrow flight of wooden stairs to grab a thick jumper. Penny and Paul’s farm was a half-mile walk across the hill. She had expected hostility; she’d even thought that the Birtleys might refuse her booking when they realised who she was. Clearly their ‘principles’ allowed them to take her money though. They obviously needed it; she had noticed only one other guest at the little B&B – a nondescript, middle-aged man in hiking gear who was heading out as she arrived.

* * *

It took longer than she reckoned to get to the farm, partly because, despite the torch, she took a wrong turning. Memory failing, she had been mindlessly following the old sheep track, when it suddenly disappeared into a mass of dead weeds. The skeleton of a rusted lambing shelter lay sprawled in her path.

The pale beam of torchlight picked out the disintegrating wood and corrugated iron. She jumped back, the light jerking upwards into the icy blackness at her involuntary reaction. A wave of sickness hit her like a punch in the belly. It wasn’t this one. It couldn’t be this one.

The darkness had been warm then, and the heady scent of early summer clung to the hills as they carried the body along the track. Ellen’s first resting place had not been East Wood, near the old oak, but down a boarded-up hole in a lambing pen. It was Huw’s idea. He had said the strong smell of sheep would keep any official search dogs away.

Not that there would be any trouble with the police because Ava must write a note to Ellen’s parents, Leo had said firmly, backing up his friend. She would write exactly what he said, and nobody would be any wiser. Ellen would be just another teenage runaway leaving the valleys for the diamond-strewn pavements of the city. Everyone left eventually.

Ava bit her lip, tears drenching her cheeks, the knot of guilt and frustration yanking tight in her stomach. Despite herself, the whispering was louder, her mind flooded with unwelcome memories.

* * *

‘She’s dead! She’s not breathing!’

‘Shit. Are you sure? I mean… Ellen!’

The voices came and went, urgent, alarmed and angry. It was a while before Ava, only half-aware that something had happened, pushed herself onto her knees. The high-pitched voices continued, raw with panic. The crown of her head was throbbing and the pain beat insistent waves through her body, suggesting someone had hit her. She used a tree branch to haul herself to her feet, and staggered towards her friends, vision blurred with drugs and night. Ellen was sprawled on her back in the mud and the leaves, her dark hair fanning out across the path. The group around her parted, turning towards Ava, their faces pale blurs, watchful and defensive.

Someone, it was hard to tell who in the darkness, the confusion, but she thought it might have been Rhodri, was pulling Ellen’s top down over her chest. The snapshot of memory stayed with her, niggling away like bugs scratching her stomach from the inside. Rhodri was looking for a heartbeat, trying to see if Ellen was breathing, that must have been what he was doing. The sick realisation that Ellen’s eyes were wide, but she wasn’t seeing, made Ava forget everything else, and scream in horror. She shoved the others away, fumbling for a pulse, allowing only Penny near the body.

The other girl’s face was wet with tears. ‘She’s gone, Ava, I already checked. She’s not breathing.’

‘So we do that mouth-to-mouth thing. For fuck’s sake, Penny, come on!’ Ava bent down and tried to seal her own lips over Ellen’s cold mouth. She was shaking so much it was impossible to tell if any air went in. What else? Oh yes, tilt the head to open the airway. Her mind was unfogging. Penny, sniffing and sobbing, but taking her lead, was pushing her hands ineffectively on Ellen’s chest.

And the boys? What were they doing? So much blackness. They were all a similar height and build, all wearing dark-coloured hoodies and jeans. Accusations were spinning around, and were two of the boys even coming to blows? Huw was shoving Paul, his voice low and threatening. She smelled cigarette smoke and screamed at them to call an ambulance several times. Did anyone move?

Eventually it was obvious that Ellen was not going to breathe again, and Penny collapsed sobbing in Ava’s arms. The girls clung together, but Leo was talking low and hard to the others.

‘What happened? What the fuck happened to her?’ Ava finally gasped out the words, pain and terror ripping through her chest, making it hard to talk. ‘Did you call an ambulance?’

It was Huw who detached himself from the shadowy group and explained. Ava had been ‘out of it’, he said, omitting any mention of a blow to her head, and Ellen had decided to do the zip line dare. She had washed down some pills with a couple of swigs of vodka, and seemed steady enough. But she had fallen from about halfway along and landed awkwardly. When they ran to her she wasn’t moving. There was nothing anyone could do, but now they needed to make sure they didn’t get blamed for her death. The police would say it was their fault, their game, and she was mixing alcohol and drugs! What would their families say? School? The paper would get hold of it too…

If they hid the body, Leo added, nobody would ever know.

* * *

Ava stood doubled over, fighting away the voices that scolded her, breathing slowly and deeply. It was over. She couldn’t take it back, but she supposed, with her career choice, she had been doing her best to atone for her sins, as Mrs Birtley would have said. But if he discovered the truth, Stephen would never forgive her. Not just an appalling mother, but a coward who had helped bury her best friend too. It seemed an age before the sour taste of nausea and regret passed, and she was able to continue her journey. Her world narrowed to a line of yellow torch beam, whilst all around the hills were wrapped in suffocating blackness.

Cursing the extra jumper now, she arrived on the front porch breathing heavily from the last climb. Someone must have been watching out for her, because the door was flung open even as she raised her hand to knock.

The two women stared at one another, a whole world of shared history pulsing between them, before Penny gave a tight-lipped smile. ‘Hallo, Ava.’

‘Penny.’ Ava smiled back, mechanically, awkwardly. This was going to be horrible and there was no way out. She was a coward not to have faced it long before this.

‘Come in and take your boots off then. We’ll go in there in a minute, but I wanted to talk to you first.’ She indicated an oak door leading off the wide, immaculate, stone-flagged hallway, before fixing Ava with a hard, curious stare. ‘I suppose you must have got some sleep this morning. Paul said your flight landed early. Did you manage to hire a car or did you get the bus?’

‘Oh, I hired a car, because the bus didn’t leave until the evening, and it was cheaper than a taxi. I need to drop it off in Cadrington tomorrow sometime. I remembered what the roads were like round here, and it only just made it up the hill to the Birtleys’.’ She was gabbling, words tumbling without meaning or thought, and she forced herself to shut up. The silence hung tense and sharp.

Clumsily, avoiding Penny’s curious gaze, Ava tugged off her boots. She refrained from commenting on her movements of the day, and she certainly wasn’t going to tell this woman how long it had taken her to cross the bridge back into Wales. Jetlag or no, there had been plenty to deal with as soon as she landed into Heathrow. She’d actually had to pull over, before she managed to gather enough courage to cross the bridge. All too easily, the dark panic she associated with crossing in the opposite direction, all those years ago, had come stealing back into her mind. But she’d been prepared for it, and that was the real reason for not taking a taxi from the airport. The last thing she needed was the driver thinking he’d picked up some lunatic.

Penny had always been a pretty, sharp-faced imp of a girl, popular and fun. Despite being in the same year at school, she was almost a whole year younger than the other members of the little Aberdyth gang. Physically, she often couldn’t keep up with Ava and Ellen, but the boys let her hang around because she was cute and amusing. Once Ellen was gone, Penny had become a confidante and close friend. Whilst the boys avoided the subject, Penny and Ava would spend long hours talking about Ellen, about their terror that someone would find her grave, and about how much they missed her.

‘How is he?’ Ava asked hesitantly.

Penny shrugged. ‘As well as you would expect. I think he’s pretending it’s not happening. The pain is bad at times, but we’ve got drugs to control it. When he’s going through a good patch, you wouldn’t even know he was ill, but other times he’s like an old man just going through the motions. It’s horribly cruel, when he’s still so young. How could this happen?’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Ava said softly. She was going to be saying it a lot, but it was heartfelt this time.

‘Before we do go in’ – Penny raised a hand, too close to Ava’s chest, but she didn’t touch her – ‘I’ve always wanted to ask, but it isn’t something I can say by email, or even on the phone. I needed to see you for real. Ava, why did you never tell me you were going? You could have trusted me…’

‘I couldn’t tell you. I’m sorry, Penny. I couldn’t tell anyone in case Paul tried to stop me. You know how he was. Once I got home to the States, it seemed better to make a clean break. Look, I know I fucked up, and I haven’t just come back to try and pick up where I left off.’

The other woman nodded, her pale green eyes softening, ‘Good. I know you wouldn’t expect to anyway. You’re too clever for that…’

Ava smiled properly, and surprisingly Penny leaned in for a clumsy hug.

‘I’m about to lose my husband, so anything else really seems pretty insignificant. I don’t want to fight with you, Ava. I loved you, you know, when we were kids, and I love Stephen like my own.’

Despite the hug, Ava noticed the warning, even as Penny looked up with bright eyes, and flushed cheeks. Her shiny blonde ponytail was draped over one slim shoulder, and she had clearly made an effort tonight, with lots of make-up and delicate silver earrings. Or maybe she was just a lot more glamorous than Ava.

‘Thanks for understanding,’ Ava said, still slightly shocked by the pace of the conversation, and the unexpected show of affection. ‘You know, I can’t think of anyone better to be Stephen’s mum. I was a teenage fuck-up, but you always had everything totally together. I did see the wedding photos, and I was happy for you. My aunt sent them over. She sent photos of Stephen, too, but Paul said he didn’t want to know me, so it seemed better to stay right out of your lives.’ It was something she had repeated to herself over and over, covering the pain with a plaster of flabby lies. Later, she might tell Penny of Paul’s threats, but this was not the time to slag off her husband. Perhaps Penny even knew, and had been happy to keep Ava away from her stepson? It was something Ava had agonised over for years, opting for the cowardly route of not untangling her former life, even if it meant she couldn’t see her own son until he had grown up.

Penny was glowing, her icy manner softening slightly, and her expression animated. ‘Stephen has been very happy with us. Paul said you felt he was better off in Aberdyth with a stable family, and you have your career of course…’ An edge to her voice, that was quickly covered by a change of subject. ‘Your aunt was always lovely to me, and I was sad when she moved away. Perhaps when you’ve rested, we can get together tomorrow? It would be just like old times.’ The words, despite their warmth, were almost mechanical.

It was the last thing Ava wanted, but if an olive branch was being offered, she should take it. She forced herself to accept Penny’s invitation. ‘I’d really like that. I need to hear about your bakery business too. I missed you Pen, I really did.’

‘Do you remember when we bunked off school and hitched to Cardiff that time?’

She did, and it was a rare untainted memory, so she seized it. ‘You had that pink Lycra body suit, and plastic cowboy boots.’

‘And you had sequins and stars on your face, and denim hot pants. Christ, we were lucky nobody took us for a pair of prossies!’

Ava smiled, but a little twist of sadness for that lost innocence caught in her chest. Pen, despite her sweetness, had always had a sense of fun, and had always been the one to suggest the wildest childhood adventures.

‘Penny? Is she here then?’ Paul was calling from behind the closed door, and the laughter died abruptly. His sentence ended in a cough, but she caught the name Stephen.

He was here too? Ava dug her nails into the palms of her hands, swallowed the lump that had suddenly risen in her throat, and Penny nodded encouragingly. ‘God, please don’t let him hate me…’ Her ex-husband’s bitterness she could cope with, but her son’s… She squared her shoulders. Whatever he felt, or said, she deserved it. She had been a shit mum and a worse wife. Now it had come back to bite her.

The room was quiet and smelled of smoky log fires and furniture polish. She might never have been away. Paul was sitting at the wooden desk, behind a neat stack of paperwork. When she was a child, visiting for tea, his dad would be sitting in that exact same place, in that exact same position.

He didn’t look like someone who had a death sentence hanging over him. The dark hair was as thick and curly as ever, despite whatever treatments he must have had. His brown eyes roved across her face. In jeans and a well-ironed check shirt, he looked the cliché of a gentleman farmer. A glass jug of water and a half-full glass stood within reach on a little iron table. Three collies were sprawled at his feet, and the Welsh weather had burned lines and hardness into his slightly round face. Just like his dad.

In fact, he was still very attractive, and a good match for slight, blonde Penny. But Ava was casting quick looks around the room, her stomach churning. There was someone missing from this unhappy family reunion.

‘Where’s Stephen?’

‘Gone out with his girlfriend. Sorry, Ava, you know what teenagers are like… well, you don’t actually, but he’s old enough to make his own decisions now.’ Paul didn’t look sorry – he looked amused but his hand shook as he poured, then gulped another glass of water.

‘Doesn’t he want to see me?’ It came out as a plea, and she cursed herself for showing weakness. Her brain was stupid and numb, which was a blessed relief, because she could tell the pain would come roaring back later. After the smooth way Penny seemed to have welcomed her back, she couldn’t expect it all to be easy. After all, she hadn’t been married to Pen.

‘He does want to see you. He just needs to get used to the idea,’ Penny said hastily from the corner of the room. ‘Remember we always told him he could contact you when he was eighteen, if he wanted to, and I know he’ll have been thinking about it.’

Ava looked round gratefully. The other woman was quickly folding clean washing from a plastic basket. A lock of gleaming blonde hair fell across her forehead, and she glanced up, and smiled when she caught Ava’s eye on her. She still looked more like the girl who hitched to Cardiff for a night in the clubs, than someone who had been a farmer’s wife for over ten years.

‘You can sit down, Ava,’ Paul said blandly, indicating a brown leather sofa next to the fire. ‘What Penny means, of course, is that Stephen doesn’t want any contact from you. He’s happy here, and if this bloody cancer had never happened, we would never have dragged you over to cause trouble.’

Ava met his eyes, stormy and dark with anger now. It was as though she had never been away. Soon he would probably start telling her how everyone else managed to have a baby and look after it, so why did she have to be so weak? The dogs opened sleepy eyes, scenting conflict, but a word from Paul kept them under the desk.

‘I don’t mind them. I like dogs,’ Ava said with an effort. She was stronger now, and this man would not bully her as he used to. The shouting and the cowering were in the past.

‘I remember.’

‘What are they called?’

‘Amber, Rex and Tin.’

She further sank into the brown leather sofa, but forced herself to sit upright, knees together, shoulders squared. Silence, as the fire spat and hissed, one of the dogs snored, Penny sorted her washing and Paul stared at her, daring her to start an argument. He would always wait for her to make the first move, she remembered, and then leap on her with the solid fury of a fighting bull. Ava focused hard on the details of the familiar room. The good, solid oak furniture shone with polish, the floor tiles were clean and swept, and she noticed a dozen new horse brasses had been added to the gleaming collection over the fireplace. The place looked far better than when she had lived here. Housework had never been her thing, but then if Pen’s business was going well, she supposed they might have a cleaner.

‘I read about your baking – my aunt sent me a link to the Guardian piece. It named you as one of the top Welsh entrepreneurs. You’ve done so well.’

Penny smiled. ‘It was hard for a few years, but then it just took off for some reason. I suppose everyone likes Welsh cakes.’

Paul cleared his throat. ‘The farm’s doing well out of it too. We added another hundred ewes last year, and Pen wants to get some rare breeds for her meat sales.’ His pride in his wife was evident, and Ava blinked back a few tears. Whatever she had triggered in Paul, she could detect no hint of discord between these two. How cruel that all this was about to be ripped apart. She was never normally this emotional about things – she needed to get a grip.

A few framed photographs showed the happy family over the years, and a larger picture in a silver frame was Paul and Penny on their wedding day. Ava squinted at the other pictures, recognising some she had been sent when her son was younger.

The silence was back, and Paul clearly felt enough had been said. He stroked the dogs, and watched her, anger back in check. She searched for another subject, but everything she thought of had the potential to inflame the situation or hark back to their shared but unwelcome past. Ava coughed and complimented them on the new slate in the hallway.

Paul said nothing, and Penny just smiled again, still folding the washing quickly and neatly. Just as Ava felt she might scream at the awkwardness of the situation, someone hammered on the front door.

‘Are you expecting company tonight?’ Penny raised her eyebrows at her husband.

He shook his head, without moving his eyes from Ava’s face. ‘Unless Stephen’s lost his key again.’

Oh shit. Ava’s heart started pounding, and she rubbed sweaty palms together. Her neck prickled and she felt light-headed. Suddenly the cosy, tidy room seemed far too hot. She heard Penny greeting someone, and then the outside door banged shut and the room was full of people.

‘Hallo, mate, evening, Penny darling, you look gorgeous. Why are you all dressed up? Look who I found down the pub! I know you mentioned Ava was coming tonight, so I’d thought we’d all pop back and say hallo.’ Leo was grinning at his friend. ‘Ava. Nice to see you again.’

But Ava wasn’t looking at either her ex-husband or her ex-boyfriend. She was staring at her son.

He was scowling, the blue eyes very like her own, but his features, and the dark messy hair were all his father’s. Of course she knew what he looked like, but to have him in front of her after all these years in the flesh… she could hardly keep herself from crying out. All the emotions she had locked away were bubbling and boiling in her chest, and despite her good intentions she felt a tear trickle down one cheek.

‘You look… well,’ she managed, made stupid by the occasion. She cleared her throat, forcing herself to meet that scornful gaze.

‘No thanks to you.’ His voice was flat and sullen.

‘You’re actually his mum?’

Ava had hardly registered that Stephen had a girl with him, but now she turned to face her. Thin, black-haired, with unusual grey-green eyes and high cheekbones, she was also staring at Ava.

‘She’s not my mum, Bethan, I told you.’

The girl frowned at him, pursing her rosebud lips. She really was very pretty. Next to them both, Leo smiled, his face alight with mischief. The bastard.

Penny came back in with a tray of tea and a couple of bottles of beer. ‘Help yourselves to drinks. Stephen, do you want to talk to Ava in the kitchen where it’s a bit quieter?’

‘I suppose.’

‘Paul and I will have a catch-up in here. See you in a bit, Ava,’ Leo said, winking at his friend.

Ava noted Paul’s sudden malicious grin, and even in her confusion, equated it to the kind of look the boys used to exchange before they got up to some mischief at school. She pushed it aside and concentrated on her son, following him across the hall, noting his slender height, the square set of his shoulders. No longer a child, but a teenager who had finished school. He was taller than she was.

The kitchen was a warm cavern, with the same stone flags as the rest of the house, and arching oak beams meeting high in the roof. Ava stood, one hand braced on the table, waiting until Stephen stood facing her. His girlfriend (Bethan, was it?) sat carefully on a chair, her feet tucked up under her, long dark hair grazing the table top. She looked vaguely familiar, but Ava couldn’t think why. It was the unusual eyes, and the mannerisms…

‘All I ever wanted to ask you, was how you could just fuck off and leave me?’ Stephen spat at her suddenly, his eyes blazing. ‘I mean, I know it seems a bit sad, but it’s all I want to know. When you’ve told me, you can piss off back to Los bloody Angeles.’

‘Stephen!’ Bethan said, reaching slender white fingers to touch his arm, but he waved her quiet protest away with a shaking hand.

Ava found she had to take a long breath before she could speak. ‘I can’t explain how it was, and I’m not making excuses, but I wasn’t much older than you are now. Suddenly I had a baby, and I was married, and all I could think of was that I couldn’t do any of it. I was failing at the most basic level. It became obvious that I needed to get out or I was going to have some kind of breakdown. I thought… I thought if that happened they would take you away and say I wasn’t fit to have a child. That’s how confused I was.’

‘Your best friend ran away, didn’t she?’ Bethan put in, chewing a thumbnail thoughtfully. ‘My dad told me about it. That must have been horrible. I said to Stephen it was no wonder you lost it a bit later. Anyone would, if something like that happened, and then they had a baby to look after as well.’

Ouch. Ava met her wide, innocent gaze, blocking any attempts to go down that beaten track. ‘She did go, yes. I missed her terribly, and still do. But that was before I was married, and I’m not giving you any excuses for what I did. I’m not saying anything I did was right, and I do know it is useless to say sorry now. I’m just trying to explain why I did it.’

Stephen’s expression was still stony, and his hands were now clenched on the edge of the table, knuckles whitening. ‘You never got back in touch. All these years. You know, I used to pretend Penny was my mum, until some bloody kid at school told everyone I’d been left by my real mum. How do you think that felt?’

Struggling to control her hammering heart, taking comfort in the fact that at least he was listening to her, Ava chose her words carefully. ‘When I reached the States, I went back to my parents and at that point I did have a breakdown. Bethan is right, but I’ll say again, I’m not here to make excuses, just give you facts. The breakdown was attributed in part to the trauma of Ellen’s running away, but also to having PND. That’s—’

‘I know what that fucking is. Dad told me that was what was wrong with you. He’s been good to you. He never slagged you off in front of me. Penny didn’t either. The way they went on about you, it’s like you never did anything wrong. Even Uncle Leo went on about you being this detective in Los Angeles and working on big cases.’

Uncle Leo. ‘Stephen, your dad and I decided it was best that you made your own choice whether to see me, when you reached adulthood. I understand that you haven’t wanted to get in contact, I really do, but please believe me when I say that I always wanted to be part of your life when I recovered.’ She wanted to scream that Paul had given her no choice, but she forced the pain away. It would do no good to tell him the whole truth now, not when his eyes were dark with anger, and Paul was sitting in the next room.

‘You left me as a baby. What sort of mum does that to her kid?’

Ava met his gaze, willing herself to keep her voice calm and steady. Now was probably not the best time to tell him about the money she had saved for him. Everything she had earned, since she worked the bar at college, she had taken a piece out for her son. Over the years it had built into a very nice sum of money, that could be used for university, for travel, for setting up his own business… but now the time had come, and she was suddenly terribly afraid he would see it as blood money, a substitute for love and all that she was capable of.

‘My dad always said you tried your best, you know, being pregnant so young.’ Bethan broke the silence, sliding her hand across and stroking Stephen’s arm again. She had very long, slender fingers, and dark red glossy nails.

With an effort, Ava dragged her gaze away from her son, and back to the girl. ‘Sorry, Bethan, but do I know your dad?’

Stephen rolled his eyes, dragged a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, lit one and passed another to his girlfriend.

Bethan smiled. ‘You were at school with my dad. His name is Huw Davis. We live down the road. Do you remember him?’

Huw’s girlfriend had been pregnant the same time as Ava, but she had lived in Cadrington with her family, so they had limited contact. She remembered Huw boasting about his daughter, showing pictures on his phone of a tiny scrap, topped with a mop of black hair. Ava’s mouth was dry, and a headache throbbing behind her eyes. ‘I do… yes. Does he still live in Aberdyth then? I thought he went to live in Cadrington with your mother. I assumed everyone else had left too.’ Christ, this was getting worse by the minute. Nobody stayed in the valleys if they could help it, but it seemed that everyone she really didn’t want to ever see again was back here, waiting for her return. Ava remembered Paul comparing her with Catrin, Bethan’s mother, asking why Ava couldn’t cope as well as Huw’s girlfriend…

‘Yeah, I know.’ Bethan lit her own cigarette and blew smoke across the table, her beautiful eyes narrowing. ‘My mum left us, but he got a new girlfriend so he’s happy enough. My brother’s at uni in Glamorgan, well, he’s really my half-brother, and I’ve got twin sisters who are six months old. Well, I suppose they’re like half-sisters too, but Dad says he’ll never marry Isabell.’ Her chatter was strangely engaging, and she smiled at Ava, pleased at her reaction.

All these people, all these names that spun into a tangled web behind her eyes. It seemed ridiculous that she hadn’t imagined the children would meet. But Huw’s daughter, and her son… Ava pressed a hand to her forehead, just for a moment.

‘Everything all right? Ava, did you want a beer?’ Penny appeared at the doorway.

‘No, I’m fine thanks,’ Ava told her, swallowing hard. She really hoped she wasn’t going to vomit right here in Penny’s sparkling kitchen.

‘We’re going out,’ Stephen said suddenly. ‘Kai’s having a party at his place.’

Penny was frowning at the cigarettes, and Ava sensed that had she not been there, her son and his girlfriend would have got a bollocking.

The teenagers slammed out of the house – Bethan smiling slightly apologetically, drifting along behind her boyfriend, and Stephen ignoring everyone. Ava made her own excuses.

‘Sorry, Penny, I should probably go too. I hope I haven’t made things worse, but at least he’s heard it from me now,’ she said carefully. A proper talk would have to come later, when there weren’t so many people around. How was she going to give him the money? It had seemed like such a good idea, but now, faced with his anger… Certainly she could never tell her son about Paul’s threats to expose Ellen’s death because she would have to tell him the whole story. What a fucking mess, and how was she, the icy, rigidly controlled workaholic, getting into such an emotional flap?

‘You’re going so soon? Don’t you want to have a proper chat with the boys?’ Penny asked, her face unreadable.

The boys. ‘No, I really must go. Jetlag catching up with me, I think.’

‘Well, all right. Why don’t you give me your phone number and we can arrange that catch-up? I never… well, Paul always said it was best we didn’t contact you, so he never would give me your number, otherwise I might have tried to get back in contact sooner. But you knew where I was, didn’t you? I suppose if you had wanted to speak to me, you would have called. But that’s in the past, I’ve got so much to tell you now.’ Penny’s glass-green eyes were hopeful, but the smile was back to being a little sharp, her fingers nervously twisting her ponytail into little curls.

‘Yes. Great idea, and thank you for… you know,’ Ava snatched her phone out of her pocket, swapped details with Penny, and headed for the door. Again, could she tell Penny that part of her deal with Paul was never to contact Penny either? She could still remember his exact words. ‘You fucked up, so make your own life and stay away from all of us. I’ll give Stephen the choice when he’s old enough, but don’t expect miracles. That part of your life is over now, so piss off and waste someone else’s time.’

Paul was calling for his wife now, asking for another drink, and she smiled apologetically at Ava before answering him, and disappearing into the living room.

Alone in the hall, Ava wanted to make a quick getaway. As she grabbed her coat the door swung open and Leo smiled out at her. His eyes had that familiar glitter of annoyance, and his mouth was stiff. ‘Aren’t you coming in to talk to us now, Ava? Paul’s just having some more painkillers. He’ll be fine after a few minutes. We need to catch up, and fifteen years is a long time. I suppose we could always play a quick game of “Spin the Bottle” to make you feel right at home.’

‘Funny, aren’t you?’ Darting a quick glance towards the kitchen, she lowered her voice. ‘Why would I want to come and have a little chat? Oh, yes, so you and Paul can take it in turns to try and wind me up. I don’t think so, Leo. Grow up, the both of you.’

His expression changed and the naughtiness was back. ‘That’s a bit harsh. I thought we might talk about old times. I’m proud of how you turned your life around, but out of everyone, only you and me managed to get away. It proves something, doesn’t it?’

‘It doesn’t prove anything. Fuck off, Leo.’

Ignoring her warning, he was coming closer. So close that she took a step back and came up hard against the wall. His breath was warm on her cheek, and she could smell the sourness of alcohol. One hand slid around her waist. ‘I missed you, Ava.’

Horrified, Ava shoved him away and hissed back, ‘And I think you must have turned stupid in your old age. Either that, or you really are still a sick bastard. Just fuck off and keep away from me, Leo!’

Leo shrugged, accepting her words, still amused, still smiling and swaying slightly from the drink. It was always like that. She argued, threw insults, and he stayed serene and got what he wanted. Well, not this time. Ava pulled on her coat, shouted goodbye and swung the iron latch on the front door. The icy air blasted in, and the darkness hid everything but her first few steps. She strode carelessly down the slippery path, sure-footed from instinct as fury drove her back out onto the hills.

Before she was quite out of earshot, his words floated after her. ‘Be careful on the hill tonight, Ava, and remember to go left at the lambing pen…’

Chapter 5

Don’t get me wrong, I like the kid. He’s got guts, and that stubborn streak I admire. Of course, he’s also got a look of Ava, which helps. He does his thing, and I do mine. Outwardly it seems like I’m doing a whole lot more, but I think I’ve mentioned that I’m pretty clever. I know how people tick, what they admire, and how nobody really looks that deep if they have something else to focus on.

He’s just another piece on the game board. It wouldn’t bother me if he had to be sacrificed at the roll of a dice. Honestly, it wouldn’t.

Tonight I was up late, planning my moves, irritated to see the clock ticking onwards, killing my peace. I like the blackness of night. It excites me. Often I wonder if it is light or dark that you see when your time comes.

There are photographs up on my computer screen. This particular girl looks beautiful, and I’m sure she’ll remember that night for the rest of her life. She has no idea the magic I worked later on, and the horrors I added. I imagine she’ll never see the finished product, which in a way is a shame. I’ve turned something sick and twisted into an art form, simply by being cleverer than them all. Hollywood would welcome me with open arms if I let people know what I could do. But those people will never see that side of me.

A notification pops up on the screen, and I click to see more Instagram followers. My social media is perfection, so glossy and sexy, and fake. It’s a distracting game to play, and out here in the harsh daylight people are easy to fool. Or perhaps not? Is it all a double bluff? The thought makes me sigh with pleasure.

How have I waited so long for Ava? I’ve been planning. It keeps me sane, and I did have one little leap across the board. I was right about Fate, and he stepped in, in a totally unexpected but totally deserving way. I landed right on the edge of a black square. The memory of his useless screams comfort me during the long hours of daylight. I watched him frantically trying to regain control, using everything he had to survive. But it was impossible, the odds were stacked against him, and when it was over I went to check, inhaling the luscious smells of blood and terror. I could almost taste it, but I couldn’t linger long.

The road was lonely, but fuel spilling from his bike into the dry summer grass might cause a fire. Not that it mattered because he was gone, but I needed to be at home, waiting to hear the news. It was an accident, the diesel in the road that caused the bike to skid could have come from any tractor, any delivery lorry… or from a can in the back of my Land Rover.

I didn’t enjoy that move, but when fate presents an opportunity I’d be a fool to turn it down. Still, it was never part of the game plan. My first ever kill was the same. It was rushed, and although better planned, I made mistakes. Naturally, at thirteen years old, I was a beginner, but everyone has to start somewhere. With the darkness still complete, my mind wanders back to that day…

I knew that morning before school that she had to die. It just came to me in a rush as I helped her wash and dress, chucked her shitty knickers in the bin, and made us both some breakfast. She mumbled something incoherent, and when the doctor telephoned to check on us, I was careful to say she seemed a bit better and had taken her tablets. I mentioned that I was going out with a friend after school so I wouldn’t be back until about four. There was nobody else in the house that day.

Before I left the house, she had heaved herself onto the sofa, and was shouting for me to bring her cigarettes and a cup of tea. I knew she had a couple of bottles stashed under the sofa, but instead of emptying them as usual, I left everything as it was. Only the thought of freedom kept me going. I don’t relish the memories of this kill. As she bled out, it was more a rush of relief so intense I nearly threw up, than any actual enjoyment. I was careful to leave the knife in her hand, and the note propped on the Welsh oak dresser.

When it was all over, I lingered in the kitchen for a full five minutes, savouring the peace I had created. Then I got to work.

Back in the present I close my game board with a sigh and walk carefully to the spotless bathroom. My footsteps are stealthy in the darkness, and the shadows leer and dance in doorways and on window ledges.

In some ways my whole life is just spent waiting for the next game, the next high. Killing is great, but the rush of playing the game is better than anything. No artificial high, no orgasm ever beats that feeling of my players moving to an unseen order, inching closer to their fates.

I flush the toilet, and head across to wash my hands. It has always been important to be very clean, I suppose a therapist might track the compulsion back to earlier childhood. I count the number of times I apply soap and lather up. After the sixth rinse, I am sated. The water gurgles away with a satisfying gasp, but there’s a smear across the tap in the bathroom. Red. Is it blood? A tiny paper cut on my thumb trickles a rebellious streak of scarlet. My mind races again, scrabbling with the image, skittering back to my childhood and the day of that first kill…

As I stood in the kitchen after it was all over, staring out the window, I noticed a smear of blood on an apple – spoiling the ripe, juicy perfection of the pile. There were green pears, and orange apricots too, carefully arranged in a white dish on the sunlit windowsill. The arrangement was a gift from a well-meaning, but deluded neighbour. The fruit seemed almost too bright, the colours too perfect, given what they had witnessed.

It was annoying, that smear, spoiling my view, spoiling my happiness. But whoever knew that blood could gush and spurt so far? I licked my finger thoughtfully and leant across the sink to remove the offending stain, inhaling a lungful of bleach as I did so. Cleaning had been easy – I was used to it, and had got stuck in. I’d given myself twenty minutes to finish, and the tick-tock of the yellow alarm clock had driven me on. When I was done, the house was looking like a normal home, as opposed to somewhere social services would have been called to in an instant. That’s what I mean about taking time with appearances. People see what they want to see, and if you can help them along…

By the time the uniformed police officers arrived, I was sitting on the bottom step, teary-eyed and snotty. They fell for it, of course. It was the easiest thing to do. The alternative was to believe a thirteen-year-old was capable of murder. She always said I looked like butter wouldn’t melt, with my charm and wide-eyed stare – well, in this case blood didn’t stick either.

‘Oeddet ti’n gwybod, Ava Cole?’

‘Did you know, Ava Cole?’

Chapter 6

‘Did it go well last night? I expect that boy of yours was pleased to see you?’ Mrs Birtley was sitting at her little mahogany reception desk in the pink hallway as Ava passed.

Ignoring her questions, Ava zipped up her jacket, smiled and pointed to her earbuds. Luckily, like several women of her generation in the village, Mrs Birtley was not familiar with the latest technology, and clearly assumed Ava couldn’t hear her. Ava was able to escape unscathed and un-interrogated into the icy air. Her friends all laughed at her fondness for country music, but alone on a run she could indulge unhindered. Thomas Rhett and Miranda Lambert filled her head as she warmed up.

The crisp beauty of the frosty hillside and the pain in her leg muscles as she ran up the steep, muddy inclines quickly drove everything else from her mind. Her lungs burned and her breath came in gasps. Despite the cold of the morning, she was soon wiping sweat from her face. The sky was spread above like a baby-blue sheet straight out of the wash, and even East Wood, down to her right, was cloaked in glittering, mystical beauty. The ugly, pebbledash houses of Aberdyth were given a sparkling makeover that turned the place into a fantasy wonderland. Forcing herself not to consider what lay beneath the frosty charade, Ava paused at the top of the hill, glancing at her watch. Twenty minutes for a 5km. Not bad, despite the jet lag and the hills.

Her phone vibrated, and she checked it out of habit. But it wasn’t her friends back home, her mom, or even her on-off boyfriend who she hadn’t checked in with yet.

‘Cofiwch fi’

‘Remember me’

‘Oh fuck off, Leo!’ she said out loud. She didn’t doubt it was him. When the messages had first started coming she had been shocked, even scared, thinking that the horrors of her past had finally caught up with her. There had been no question the messages were related to Ellen. Only seven people knew about the carved letters on the oak trunk. Only seven people in the entire world knew exactly how much it would rattle her to get a message like that. It was more than a shadow across the sunny beach – the darkness she kept locked away had started to seep into her carefully constructed life.

Safe on her icy hilltop she allowed her mind to drift back to the first message. That had been a hell of a night shift, starting with Paul’s email of course. Her regular partner, Pete, had noticed her lack of attention on their first shout.

* * *

Pete slammed the car door. ‘Coffee and doughnuts?’

‘Please. I’m going to stay out here for a bit. I just need some fresh air.’

‘Fresh air down here? You sick? If you aren’t feeling well, go home and sleep it off. You do realise you just ran a red light back there?’

‘I’m fine. Three doughnuts and black with two sugars please!’

She could tell he wasn’t fooled for an instant – with all the smog, fresh air in LA was a joke unless you were hiking in the hills. For a moment she was tempted to bail out and go home to an empty apartment. Darkness was sneaking in from the sea, the long black fingers of shadow triggering the familiar slash of neon lights slicing along the streets. Shouts and music mingled with the smell of fries and vomit and the hot air curled around her like a snake, oppressive and threatening.

As Pete shrugged and shambled off in search of food, Ava’s phone pinged again. She dragged it out, stared at the screen, and instinctively found her hand on her gun holster.

No name in the sender box, and just two words:

Cofiwch fi?

Remember me?

* * *

Coming back from the farm last night, she’d taken a long time to get to sleep. In the end, she’d downed a couple of glasses of duty-free whisky. There was no ice at the B&B unless you counted the frozen trough outside the front door, so she drank it straight, with a dash of water from the tap. The comforting smoothness of the alcohol had knocked her out for a good eight hours. So now what? She had three weeks’ leave to hang around Aberdyth, to get to know her son, and she supposed, to say goodbye to her ex-husband. To talk to Ellen’s parents… and what could she really do but offer comfort again? She could never tell the truth about Ellen’s death, but now she was an adult, it would be good to offer something more. Perhaps elaborate on Ellen’s reasons for going, and make it sound like she was definitely heading off on a big adventure. That would give them hope that their daughter was somewhere, living her best life. But it would also be cruel to give them false hope. How did you make something right, when it was all wrong?

From this height she could see all the way to Big Water. Her gaze sharpened as she spotted figures scurrying like ants at the water’s edge. The early sunlight caught flashes of metal or mirrors, and a few more trucks were pulling up next to a copse. Of course, that must be Leo’s film crew. He’d mentioned they were filming for Tough Love up there.

After a few more calf stretches, she jogged slowly back down to the Birtleys’, dodging a couple of flocks of sheep, seeing nobody else but a pair of hikers in the distance. She already missed the beach and her surfboard, the sweaty little gym where she did kickboxing a couple of times a week, and even her job. It was hell having to leave an open case, but her boss had been very understanding, and promised to keep her updated. Exercise always helped in times of stress. So here, with no gym, no sparring partners, and no icy waves, she would need to run off her emotions.

She had just jumped in the shower back at the B&B when her phone rang. Swearing, she leant out, across to the pink bath top and grabbed her mobile.

‘Hallo, Ava. I hope you slept well. It’s Penny… I just wondered if you’d like to come down to the pub later for some dinner?’ Her voice was eager and girlish, but that hint of sharpness still played at the edges of her lilt.

Shit. It was not what she wanted to do but – ‘Yes, Penny, that would be great. I… is Stephen around today?’

‘Okay. If you get there for about five, we can have a few glasses of wine, and a good chat before the boys arrive. Stephen and Bethan are staying at Kai’s house tonight, but they have promised to join us for a meal.’

‘Kai?’ queried Ava, trying unsuccessfully to reach the pink fluffy towel on the wash basin, whilst continuing her conversation.

‘Oh, I forgot you probably wouldn’t remember. He’s Jesse’s son. Of course, Jesse went off to stay with relations in Yorkshire after we left school, didn’t he, and stayed up there when his girlfriend got pregnant, so you probably never met Kelly. They came back here eventually though – after you’d left. Did you hear Jesse was killed in a motorbike accident a few years ago? So it’s just Kelly and the boy now. Kai is a nice lad, and he works bloody hard. I think he wants to go to university, or take a year out travelling in Asia. Sounds great, I wish I’d gone travelling at his age, and got out of Aberdyth.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry about Jesse… I didn’t know,’ Ava wondered if Penny was aware of the coolness of her words. Just another baby, just another friend gone. There were other ways out of Aberdyth. And Jesse was dead. Why had her aunt not told her? Why had Paul never mentioned it? ‘When exactly did Jesse die, Pen?’

‘I told you, about two years ago. It was in June, I think,’ Penny chattered on, and Ava could hear sounds of washing up in the background. ‘We did think of telling you, but Paul said you wouldn’t want to be bothered with things from your old life, you know? Your aunt had moved away by then, and we hadn’t heard from you in ages. Jesse, well, he always did ride crazy fast, didn’t he? They said he lost control on the bend. You know that sharp corner before the speed limit sign – right before you come to the Aberdyth bridge?’

‘Yes… yes, I remember it. Poor Jesse.’

‘Yes, it was terrible for his parents. I’ve got some really exciting news about Stephen and Bethan though! We’ve known for a while now, but we wanted you to get settled in a bit before we told you.’

‘Tell me she isn’t pregnant,’ Ava said warily.

There was a pause before Penny giggled. ‘Of course not you dafty, something far better.’

‘Are you going to tell me, then?’

‘No, this is one I’m saving for when we’re all together. See you later.’

‘Okay, Pen, I’ll see you later,’ Ava said. Penny had always loved to be ahead on the gossip, and surely this must be something good, or she would have sounded worried. Maybe a surprise party or something, or one of the kids getting a new job. With a jolt she realised that very soon her son would be moving on, and she had no idea where he would be going. All her stalking on social media told her simply that he had a talent for photography, and a lot of friends. He would have dreams that she hadn’t shared in, hopes and worries that she wasn’t part of.

‘You still there, Ava? See you in the pub, lovely.’

Ending her call, she finished her shower, ignored a load of messages from her friends in LA, and sat on her bed, wrapped in a towel. Fair-haired Jesse, with his rosy cheeks and snub nose, had been part of Leo’s band of friends. Like Rhodri, he’d been a bit of an outsider. Also like Rhodri, he’d been part of the gang who were in East Wood the night her best friend died.

Forcing herself to breathe deeply, Ava knew what she had to do next. Ellen’s house. It was still hers, even though she lay in the cold woodland down the hill.

The mirror on her wall caught her as she turned to chuck the phone back onto the table. The pink towel slid downwards, exposing the intricate ink work across her lower back. Although the flowers and sun (so innocent and pretty), stretched down to the curves at the top of her butt, she knew that underneath were two words. Leo had done it himself, and when she screamed with pain, he’d given her more pills. She remembered frantically shaking, scrabbling with sweaty fingers for the drugs he held out. The words on her back weren’t inked either – they were twisted white scars etched into her skin with a sharp knife. At the time she had wanted the pain, wanted to be indelibly marked, scarred in a way she would never forget. It felt like the least she could do for Ellen. Leo had offered to do the job, and the others had watched.

It was a miracle she had managed to get out of Aberdyth at all. Horrified by her pregnancy and impending hasty marriage, her parents had moved back to Florida before Stephen was even born. Their bleak hilltop caravan park had finally gone bust, and they offered to take Ava with them. There was no need for her to marry Paul, they said, when she could return to America and have their help in raising the baby. When she refused, to her surprise, they went anyway. It left her with no ties, apart from those she subsequently created for herself. Ava often wondered what life would have been like if she had gone then, but she had been carried away by the idea of marrying Paul, raising her child, trying to prove she was an independent adult. To an outsider, it was laughable, the mistakes she had made. Except it wasn’t funny at all. She had made so many wrong turns, and that, perhaps, was one of the reasons she was so good at dealing with the victims and perpetrators at work. Often the dealers were just kids who’d made bad choices, who were desperate to escape poverty, and who had been promised wealth and freedom. The real evil players were those who traded on those dreams.

Ava reached for her iPad, quickly checking emails, grasping for the return of her cool efficiency. Work always did this to her. She was like a machine, her boss often said. There was nothing new on the handful of cases she was personally connected with, and no progress on her current job. There was a suggestion from Pete, her partner, that she might have to send someone in undercover to crack that particular drugs ring.

Her own drug-taking had stopped when she discovered she was pregnant, so teenage-Ava couldn’t have been all bad, she told herself. But those years had taken a vicious toll on her mental health, and being a young mum pushed her nearer the edge, until finally, she saw that the only thing to do was to run. When Stephen was nearly two years old, she had kissed him goodnight for last time, scrabbling to drag her backpack from the wardrobe. The devils that whispered in her ears told her to go, to go now or she might hurt her son. She had failed as a wife and mother, and they would be better off without her. Her son cried, and she soothed him back to sleep, driven by a teeth-chattering panic. Before Paul came back off the hills, she was gone, leaving nothing but a brief note. Paul’s dad was in his study, and she sometimes wondered afterwards if he heard her go. Good riddance would have been his attitude, she knew.

If the drugs hadn’t been so easily available throughout their early teens, she doubted any of them would have bothered. Aberdyth was a desolate village between two hills, and the nearest town was a bus ride away. Even then it was another ex-mining community, dragged down by lack of jobs, and lack of money.

Maybe she and her friends might have dabbled a little on rare nights out in the city, certainly they would have smoked and drunk. But to have pills handed out like bags of sweeties…

It was a joke really, she always thought, that so many of her current friends claimed to be in therapy for this and that, but her own monthly sessions really did keep her sane. Hell, after everything that had happened, she was allowed a little craziness, and in LA she fit right in.

She chucked her iPad back down on the bed. Combing out her long, wet hair, Ava blasted it with a dryer, and plaited it neatly out of her face. Her dark, shiny fringe was cut just above the arctic blue eyes and framed the determined face in the mirror. Her dad always said there was Native American blood in the family, and her darker skin colour, high cheekbones and full lips made her a dead ringer for her paternal grandmother. Maturity had added stubbornness to her square chin, and the year-round tan added warmth to her smile, but some darkness in her expression kept most people away – men included. Detective Ava Cole was tough, independent and athletic, and that was just how she liked it.

She yanked on her jeans and hill boots. The Birtleys were out and the house was quiet as she slipped out of the front door. A few battered trucks and a mud-plastered Land Rover decorated the track downhill. She turned the corner and marched briskly past the pub, ready to ignore anyone who challenged her. There was only a dog to watch her progress. It was a shabby, red-coated mongrel, and its half-hearted bark didn’t bring anyone running.

Breathing fast, eyes down, Ava reached the garden gate, and stopped. Her throat was tight and her eyes stung. She needed to get a grip.

Ellen’s place was the same as it always had been, up on the end of the row of houses, just above the wood. The garden, even in early spring, was well tended and neat. She smiled as she recognised the greenhouse, the garden gnome, and then pushed down the acidic swell of nausea as she also recognised the little wooden gate at the end of the vegetable patch. Ellen’s shortcut to the woods. Jackie and Peter had always been stricter than the other village parents about curfew, and to their knowledge Ellen had always been home and in bed by a certain time. Unfortunately for them, but fortunately enough for her friends when they had to cover up her death, Ellen would often wait until her bedroom door was closed, slip out of the window, and run down behind the trees into the East Wood.

The front door opened, and Ava clenched her hands in her woollen gloves, willing herself to walk up the path, pinning a smile on her face.

‘I knew you’d come. As soon as I heard that you were coming back, I knew you’d come down and see us.’ Jackie Smith reached out her arms. Ellen’s mum.

Her face was older than her fifty odd years, and her hair had gone white. But despite, or maybe because of, her lines and wrinkles, and her kind of grief-stricken serenity, Ava thought she was beautiful.

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t stay in touch,’ she almost whispered, submitting to the warm, scented embrace.

‘Cariad, we never expected you to. We knew why you went in the end. It wasn’t having a baby that messed you up, it was Ellen’s going, wasn’t it?’

Ava studied Ellen’s dad, Peter, carefully. He was bald now, which gave his dark eyes and beaky nose the look of a ferocious bird of prey. As always, she had been handed a cup of tea and some bara brith and settled down on the sofa. She could tell, just by looking around, that there would be no lodger, and the lights in Ellen’s room were still for her.

After a bit of chat Ava carefully sidled around the subject. ‘Do you think you’ll stay here? I mean, my mum and dad keep on about you moving out to live on the Keys with them… I wasn’t sure if that was just my dad being bossy as usual.’

Jackie and her husband exchanged glances, and she was the one who spoke. ‘Actually, we are moving. Not to Florida, but to England. I must tell you, cariad, we decided this when we heard you were coming back. The thing that keeps us – it sounds so stupid when I say it aloud – but we never believed that Ellen ran away. To have kept silent all these years. She just wouldn’t. Your parents agree that she would at least have contacted you, Ava. The two of you were like sisters. But the police never bothered to look too hard, did they, and we hoped for so many years she would just come back. Then, Jesse – you know he was killed in a motorbike accident?’

Ava nodded, heart pounding, and a trickle of sweat edging down her backbone and along her hairline.

‘Jesse was a nice boy, and he always liked Ellen, didn’t he?’ Peter looked at Ava with Ellen’s eyes. The almond shape, with long lashes, were almost too pretty for a man, but luckily the rest of his face was masculine enough. The eagle image persisted.

‘Yes… What… what did Jesse say?’

‘We were having a drink one night, and he brought the subject up himself. Actually, I tell you how it happened. He had been doing some course online, graphic design I think it was – wasn’t it, Peter?’

Her husband nodded, and carried on carefully sipping his tea, quietly observing both Ava and his wife.

‘Anyway, he had been offered a job in Glasgow, and we talked about leaving Aberdyth. I think I mentioned that we couldn’t leave until we found out what had happened to Ellen, and he took it very badly. Said he had the same trouble, but he was going to put it right, and then we could all leave.’

Peter turned to his wife. ‘And those were his exact words, weren’t they, Jackie? We didn’t know quite what to say to him after that, but of course we tried to question him when he had calmed down a little.’

She nodded, lips trembling a little. ‘He said that… he said that he had proof of where Ellen was, but he needed to check something…’

‘Wasn’t it he needed to check with someone? I’m sure that’s what he said,’ Peter put in suddenly, his voice sharp.

His wife waved his comment away. ‘Do you think so? Doesn’t matter, anyway, because it never happened. Of course, after he said it we questioned him a bit more, but he left straight away, practically ran right out into the darkness. Peter went after him, but he headed down to East Wood, and disappeared. Perhaps he had been drinking before he came to see us, because he seemed very unsteady on his feet. All I can remember clearly is him rushing out, shouting that he needed to do something, or check with someone, but he would tell us tomorrow.’

‘Did you speak to him later at all, or try his house?’ Ava asked, annoyed that her voice came out husky. She cleared her throat and reached for her cup of tea, trying to calm her pounding heart. ‘Did he mention what his “proof” was? Did he give any hint of where she was?’

‘We weren’t sure. There have been a lot of people trying to tell us things about Ellen over the years, but Jesse… We wondered if he really had found something, so naturally, yes, we telephoned him that night, and Peter even went over to his house. As soon as it was morning, we phoned again, but there was no answer. He was living with his cousins and his girlfriend, and they said he took his bike out as soon as it was light. I telephoned the police as well, after what Jesse said, but it is such an old case, and I had nothing to tell them other than a drunken boy’s claim to know something. I can’t blame them for not following up on it.’

Ava could hardly breathe, and her fingers were clenched so tightly around the china cup that her knuckles shone white. ‘Then what happened?’

Jackie was shaking her head, eyes bright. ‘Well, they didn’t find him until the afternoon, but by then of course, it was too late. It’s such a lonely road, and apparently there had been a diesel leak from another vehicle that made him skid. He was dead. It was a couple of years ago now. I went up to Glasgow, to speak to the people who offered him the job, and he’d already rented a flat…’

‘You wondered if Ellen was in Glasgow, and that Jesse had found a trace of her?’

‘Yes. But it was a dead end. Just like all the others. The only copper who took a bit of notice was one of the team who dealt with Ellen’s disappearance. Sophie Miles. She’s a Detective Inspector working with the Major Crime Team down at Cadrington now, and she was very interested, but eventually admitted there was nothing to pursue.’

‘When we heard that you were coming home, we knew that it was our last chance. You saw her before she left, and she gave you that letter. It sounded so simple, that she was going to live a little, travel and meet new people, and we needn’t worry, but the police were never convinced, and neither were we. There was no catalyst for it, was there, cariad?’ Peter smiled benevolently at Ava, but his voice seemed to be echoing down a tunnel as she fought to get a grip on her emotions. This was far worse than she had imagined, far worse even, than the questions at the time. He continued, ‘But I’m sure even you must have wondered if she really went, or if something else happened. Because she’s never been in touch with you either, has she?’

‘No,’ Ava whispered. ‘No, she hasn’t been in touch.’

‘We knew you would have told us if she had. Ellen loved you, so if she was in trouble, even if she couldn’t tell us, it would have been you she turned to. So anyway, we have hired a private investigator. He’s coming down from Cardiff to stay here for a while, and I hope you won’t mind if he interviews you?’

Chapter 7

People have always judged me on my appearance. I don’t blame them. I mean, we are all a bit fickle like that, aren’t we? We say, ‘She’s all right, but what’s she doing with that ugly fucker?’ or we assume that if you are one of the beautiful people you can’t have a brain, or maybe that you can’t have beauty and brains. Luckily I am one of the beautiful people. Even at school the other kids would like to be around me, share bags of sweets with me, and tell me their secrets… Stupid, stupid, because with secrets comes the power to fuck people over.

My days are filled with activity, and whilst I go about my meaningless tasks, I consider my players. They are ready to go now, lined up neatly in their start positions. All I need to do is roll the dice.

There’s no keeping secrets in this village, which is pretty funny when you consider what I do. Nobody looks beneath the surface, do they? By midday I’m sure everyone knows what Jackie and Peter have done. I make it my business to find things out. I was a bit shocked when I first heard, and then I wanted to laugh out loud. The presence of this pathetic private investigator merely adds another thrill to the mix. He arrives tomorrow and I really can’t wait to meet him. He’ll be staying at the Birtleys’ with Ava. The irony of this makes me smile to myself.

My phone pings with a message, and without thinking I tap out a genial reply. I also take another phone out of a drawer, and quickly, while I think of it, send a message to someone else.

Cofiwch fi

Remember me

I wish I’d thought of this years ago, but in retrospect maybe now is when it all comes together. This was meant to happen, and I am in total control of the blood rush that will inevitably follow. I chuck the phone back with a dozen more I bought especially for this purpose.

I check my emails, logging quickly into my secret accounts, adding a few pictures to my regular forums. Of course, I always hide my true identity, using the latest software to cloak and mask my addresses, my names. In most cases, depending on the customer, I am neither male nor female – a nameless, faceless entity, but a powerful one. People rely on me to deliver what they crave. I have rich customers, young, old and male and female. They all share that same dangerous taste, and they all know I deliver for their delectation.

I knew it would be a while before I got some new pictures, so I’ve been stringing these out. She has long dark hair, and a full, curvy body. I went into town, hunting, with the venue and guests all arranged. Behind the screen I can do anything, as can my guests. The questions and requests all come at an alarming speed during my parties, and I enjoy the challenge of fulfilling them. This time, as we talked, I felt that throb of excitement. She was the one. My own body fizzed with energy, and suddenly I was back in a world of bright colours and endless possibilities. She would never have considered me a threat, because that would be laughable, so we chatted for long enough for me to know what I would do with her. It’s important to know what they enjoy, and what will bring them to the edge of that hellslide. It is always a risk, but luckily, occasionally, there are others who are willing to take risks for me. They also have to hide their predilections from the world. I am lucky to have cultivated such contacts. I do it for the money and the thrill, they do it because they have to. It is their obsession, their sickening guilty pleasure, and I have them all hooked. When I play a game like that, every sticker-fingered invite is treasured, and every payment is made promptly.

I fed them fit to bursting with the pictures of her dusty bare legs, and pink painted toenails. It was business of course, but still worth it for the fun and the money. She was sprawled across the floor, brown eyes dull and glazed with defeat. The dark, glossy hair, that attracted me earlier that evening, was now greasy with sweat. I watched the blood pool, and dipped a fingertip into the gooey redness. It was pleasant on my tongue, but missing that special sweetness that comes with reality.

My clients believe what they see, because they want to, but for the two of us, in our little hotel room, it is all mirrors and smoke. I paid her well, but for me, she wasn’t special. She asked for my number, and I gave her a fake card.

I would never contact her.

We both knew it.

I drift back to a type of reality, and open a drawer, considering the line of keys inside, neatly labelled. Nearly time to make my next move.

Mrs Birtley has always been too polite to say what she really thinks of me, so she was happy to let me in for a chat. She’s a boring, jumped-up bitch, but as she scurried off to get the cake, it was simple to snag the spare keys off her rack. I copied them, and slipped them back the next day when I delivered that history book she wanted. I always try to plan ahead for the big games.

Now Ava occupies one of the rooms and the private investigator hired by the poor, deluded Smiths will soon be snug in the same building. It’s time to start playing. I should feel a little sadness that this is the last time, but instead I am overwhelmed with excitement. I need to keep up appearances, so I give my face a quick wash to get rid of that sheen of sweat, drying it with a soft towel. See what this does to me?

There are voices outside, so before anyone else can disturb me, I lean down to the cupboard, and take out the board. Drawing a long breath, I shake the two dice in my right fist, pause to kiss my bunched fingers, and release the dotted cubes.

They fall with a clatter, soothing my thundering heart, as they have so many times before. A double six. Of course, it would be. I pick up Ava’s piece, caressing the wooden curves as though it was her flesh, and move her out onto the board.

‘Wyt ti’n barod, Ava Cole?’

‘Are you ready, Ava Cole?’

Chapter 8

When Ava walked into the pub later that evening, she stopped conversations and drew stares. The chatter resumed almost immediately, but she could feel many eyes upon her. It was like being the new kid at school, but far worse. Ellen was everywhere – laughing at the bar, downing shots at that corner table, sneaking out to the toilets with a bag of pills… Everything and nothing had changed. She was an hour late, missing out on Penny’s invitation to chat before the others arrived.

‘What are you drinking, love?’ Rhodri was beaming from a large table set for eight. He was sitting next to her ex-husband, who stared down into his pint, ignoring her. His square face was set and sullen, a good-looking playground bully who had never grown up. Penny, her blonde hair a shimmer of silk tonight, was on his right, and Leo was draped casually over the bench seat on the other side of the table, glass in hand.

‘Hi, Ava. You’re really late. Is everything okay?’ Penny seemed genuinely concerned, but Leo had that annoying smirk that said he was up to mischief.

‘I said to Pen just now, that you’d probably be late. Some things never change, do they?’

Rhodri laughed, and even Paul cracked a smile. They watched her like a pack of wolves, bound by their secrets, scenting that she might cause trouble. She was back to being the outsider from America, a face that didn’t fit.

‘I’m fine, thanks. Just had to answer a few emails from home. I share an apartment with some friends, and they wanted to catch up.’ She spoke without thinking, but noticed something change in their faces. Was it relief? Hell, what were they expecting her to do?

‘Must be hard not having your own place,’ Leo said. ‘Sounds a bit like student accommodation. I hated sharing when I was at uni.’

Fuck, it really was like a school reunion. Bubbles of hysteria rose in her throat, and she took a quick breath, trying to control the slamming of her heart. ‘I’ll get a round. What does everyone want?’ Ava said, crossing the sticky carpet, and slamming her money on the bar with unnecessary force. Could it get any worse? She decided it probably could. After all, Stephen was missing, and if they were going for a full reunion, Huw and Jesse should have been present too. Except Jesse was out of it now – released from whatever torment he had been going through. And surely he must have struggled, as she had, with the memories.

She ordered the drinks and waited whilst the sour-faced bloke behind the bar made a big show of loading up the tray. Jesse had been a nice kid, obsessed with his football and his movies. Why would he rock the boat? He’d been right there at the scene of the crime, hunkered down there in the woods, black hood pulled down over his thin face. Rhodri had been right next to him when they started the game, the firelight making ghostly patterns on the ground as he offered round the grubby cloth bag. He had been as obsessed as anyone with their game. ‘True Lies’ was an extension of the old favourite, ‘Spin the Bottle’, and they had pushed it to the limit. That night, it had been Ellen’s name picked out of the scrunched pile of paper slips in the bag.

Then Leo’s as ‘The Liar’, and finally Ava, who had to discern the truth to save her friend from paying a forfeit. It had been her fault. Whatever she told herself, it had been her choice, her answer that made Ellen do that dare. She could still hear Leo’s mocking voice, even after all these years…

* * *

‘You’re wrong, Ava. Now you know what has to happen.’

She felt his breath hot on her cheek, fingers on her chin, turning her face towards him, and his lips on hers for a brief, hard kiss. Just for a second she tried to pull away, but the grip tightened painfully.

‘Leo, I don’t want any more tonight.’

A girl’s voice floated down through the oak wood, calling her name, and Ava struggled again.

‘She’s coming now, Ava, and just remember, this is your fault. “True Lies” is for real.’ Huw was leaning over her too, his face livid and twisted in the flames, voice thickening with excitement.

‘Ellen, down here! We’re by the picnic tables… Ellen…’ Ava’s own voice was shaky, and someone pinched her arm hard. Her brain was fuddled by the drugs, and she knew something bad was going to happen. The blackness was coming in waves now. It was a familiar feeling. Desperately, she dragged at Leo’s arm, but he pushed her down onto the mud and the leaves. He was gentle now, hands lingering on her body. Her eyes were still open, and she strained to see, to speak again…

Ellen appeared now, picking her way carefully along the grassy path. She raised one arm, grabbing a low branch to help her up the slope. Her long hair was caught up in a high ponytail, and one wrist was covered with multi-coloured layers of plaited friendship bracelets, ‘Sorry I’m late… Oh, did you start without me? Shit, that’s half the vodka gone already, you greedy pigs.’

Ava raised herself on one elbow. ‘Ellen, I’m sorry—’

Before she could say anything else, the chemicals pumping around her bloodstream overwhelmed her, Ava closed her eyes, rolling heavily onto the leaf-strewn ground.

* * *

Ava slid onto the bench seat, trying to stay in the present, smiling at Penny, carefully avoiding Leo’s arrogant blue stare.

‘Isn’t it lovely to have Ava back for a while?’ Penny raised her glass in a determined toast. ‘It’s going to be so lovely catching up on all your news, Ava.’

Rhodri was already merry, and he lifted his own glass, his hand shaking slightly. ‘Iechyd da!’ There was sheen of sweat on his pale face, and his eyes glittered.

It was farcical, but nobody argued with Penny, who chattered on, beaming at them all, turning the whole evening into a charming social gathering. She had always had cheerleader tendencies, Ava remembered. Blonde ponytail swinging, she was the first to stick her hand up in class. She even turned up every Saturday to cheer on the local football team.

Her Uncle Alf was the coach, so at least she got to sit in the car when the weather was bad. Ava and Ellen had waged a term-long campaign until the coach grudgingly accepted the two girls could actually play better than some of the boys, and let them come to matches as part of his ‘B’ team.

Leo was still watching Ava, studying her face with an intensity that made her shiver. Whatever they had done, whatever they had meant to each other, it was dead and finished. She would make sure it stayed that way. Her finger flicked across her phone screen, and she glanced down, quickly tapping out a reply to her on-off boyfriend, Joe, reassuring him she was fine. Joe, like the others before him, was fun, and their relationship was only picked up when they both had time. They surfed, drank and had great sex but that was it. There was no deeper connection. He was an out-of-work actor from Chicago, hoping for his big break, attending auditions with thousands of other hopefuls, and coming away each time a little more broken, but very little wiser. Everyone had a dream, but when were you supposed to stop chasing rainbows? In LA you could be searching for your whole life, and still wind up under the pier in Santa Monica.

‘So your boss didn’t mind you taking time off work then, Ava?’ Paul eventually entered the conversation, grudgingly, and heavily prompted by his wife.

Ava saw how his big, scrubbed hand was marked with the scars of cannulas, veins raised like worms, as he put his pint glass back down on the table, and how his rugged, handsome face was set, jaw rigid. He had never hit her, but abuse wasn’t always physical – she knew that to her cost. She felt something then, a sudden rush of pity that she knew he wouldn’t want. ‘No. He’s a good boss.’ All the questions she wanted to ask about Paul’s treatment, his death, would have to wait. A crowded pub was not the place to discuss something so personal.

‘Are you working on any big cases at the moment?’ Rhodri asked.

Ava shook her head and took a long drink. ‘Just tying up a few bits and pieces. I couldn’t tell you anything even if I was, unfortunately.’

‘Shame. I love those true crime documentaries on TV. I’m pretty good at guessing who’s guilty.’ Rhodri was smiling at her now, scratching his red curls thoughtfully.

‘Really? Actually I like baking programmes. I’ve seen Penny’s website. It looks amazing!’ Ava injected just the right amount of enthusiasm into her voice, neatly swinging the subject back to them. She was genuinely impressed with her old friend’s business acumen, so it wasn’t hard. The pub doors banged and Ava jumped nervously, looking quickly over her shoulder for her son.

‘She has done well. She’s even won some awards!’ Paul was smiling fondly at his wife, and Ava was pleased to see the genuine affection between them. ‘Although she won’t mind me sharing that it was me that taught her how to use her computer properly. I even built her website for her.’

Penny was laughing, sat right in the middle of the boys, her cheeks flushed pink with all the praise. ‘It isn’t just Welsh cakes, it’s Welsh honey, and vegetable boxes, and the meat. Not to mention the craft items. Online is the way to go nowadays. Mrs Birtley still keeps asking when I’m going to stop messing around on my computer and open a proper shop in the village. It’s weird, because I’ve got Miss Addley from number seventeen as a supplier for those gorgeous hand-knitted quilts, and she’s been selling them on Etsy for ages, yet Mrs B, who must be ten years younger, can’t even switch a computer on!’

There was laughter, real laughter, for the first time. The tension dropped a notch, and the smiles were more than just bared teeth and stiff lips.

‘Stephen should be over soon,’ Penny said, glancing at her watch, and then quickly at Leo and Paul. ‘He and Bethan were just finishing their packing.’

‘Packing?’ Ava queried.

‘Shall we tell her now?’ Leo asked, without moving his gaze from Ava’s face.

‘Yes, come on. Penny wouldn’t tell me the big news earlier, and I’ve been waiting in anticipation ever since.’ Fuck, that sounded sarcastic, and she caught Paul’s glare. She fidgeted with her phone again, trying to push down the instinctive reaction at the mention of her son’s name – the unwelcome burst of agitation that set fiery bugs crawling in her stomach, and made her throat tight. It couldn’t be worse than last night.

Rhodri leaned forward now. He smelled of beer and stale sweat, his red hair was matted, and his eyes were still too bright. ‘Stephen and Bethan are taking part in Leo’s show.’

‘In Tough Love?’ She wasn’t sure what to think. It certainly wasn’t the dramatic reveal she had been expecting. ‘Why would they want to do that?’

Leo was grinning lazily at her. ‘I think Bethan wants to be famous, and Stephen likes a challenge.’

‘Don’t you think it’s exciting?’ Penny asked, leaning forward eagerly. ‘It’s such an opportunity for both of them. After all, Leo started out as a reality show contestant, didn’t you, lovely?’

‘True. Made in Wales. It makes me cringe now. All I had to do was play to the game and pull the girls. It wasn’t hard.’ He grinned as his friends booed. ‘Seriously, it is a great chance to make things happen, and they’re both smart kids. Good-looking too. We only ever have good-looking people on the show.’

‘You don’t. That girl, Frannie, in your last series was an ugly cow!’ Paul told him, smiling.

‘Okay, we mostly have good-looking people. She worked well because she argued with everyone on the whole show. But generally beautiful people work best on camera! But if you work it the right way, it can be a stepping stone to other things. I reckon Stephen and Bethan are smart enough to have worked that out. They won’t get on with the fame-hungry mob I’ve got lined up, but it will make great TV.’ Leo slid his phone out of his pocket. ‘Sorry, got to take this call.’

As Leo headed off outside, Ava sipped her drink, and tried to absorb the new information. Did it really matter? Not really. It just meant that her childhood friends were all still bound together, all doing each other favours, tied by their past, but seemingly unaffected by what had happened. Rhodri, of course seemed set on the most destructive path, but he might have done that anyway. And Jesse?

‘Come on, we need to eat. Ava, what are you having?’ Penny pushed the menu over, and pointed out a few dishes. ‘The curry is great… or the lamb, or fish and chips?’

The drink was blurring the edges of her anxiety. ‘Yeah. Curry would be fine, thanks. Shall I get some more drinks in?’

They nodded, and Leo grinned over his pint glass, ‘You can still pack them away, Ava. We’ll all have hangovers tomorrow morning at this rate.’

She smiled sweetly at him. ‘Shall I get you a Coke instead? With a stripy straw in?’ It slipped out before she could stop herself. An old shared joke, from a time when she loved to tease him. She bit her lip, furious at her mistake.

‘Of course.’ Amusement made his eyes gleam, and the white teeth showed under the curve of his full upper lip. Yes, still a good-looking bastard. And she wasn’t going to let him get to her.

Coming back with another full tray, she found Stephen and Bethan wedged uncomfortably at her end of the table. Her son scowled at her when she congratulated them on their selection for Tough Love, but Bethan beamed. She was wearing a tight black wool top, and ripped jeans. Her hair cascaded wildly across her pale little face.

‘I’m so excited. I can’t wait to start. Dad is more excited than I am. He keeps trying to give me advice on how to get across the hills faster, and where to land after the zip line. I mean, there is only one place to land isn’t there? Right in Big Water!’

‘Is Huw happy you’re doing the show then?’ Ava was surprised. She had no say as a parent of course, but surely Huw must have some reservations about his daughter going on such an outrageous show. Although it was billed as a test of survival, a love story set in the Welsh hills, and various other tenuous claims, contestants were always fame hungry, and happy to get viewers’ votes in any way they could.

‘Oh yes! He’s always been really supportive of my career. He drives me to modelling auditions and all that. He wants me to be famous like Leo. I will do it too…’ Her face was bright with promise, and watching her, even Stephen’s expression had lightened as she spoke.

Ava couldn’t think of anything to say to this – being famous sounded like hell to her. She smiled tightly and took another slug of her drink. Who would want strangers watching every move you took, obsessing about what you ate, and who you were sleeping with? Plus, when you screwed up, it was front page news. The spirits burned her throat on the way down and she choked a bit. Rhodri reached over and thumped her back. ‘Cough it up, love, and then have some more.’

Ava turned awkwardly to her son. ‘What are you thinking of doing after the show? Are you thinking of uni?’ It was so hard to be natural and unemotional around him, when all she wanted to do was stare, to drink him in, to know every last thing about his life. She fought to keep her expression neutral, her voice cool.

Stephen met her eyes with an indifference that matched his mother’s and gave a barely civil shrug, ‘Maybe. I haven’t decided. Kai’s going travelling. I might go too…’

‘You said you wanted to do media studies at Cardiff, didn’t you?’ Bethan said, grey-green eyes wide, her little mouth pursed.

He glared at her, and Ava searched for another subject. Her son was sitting so close she could have reached out and touched him. All the things she had wanted to say had skittered away, leaving her mind as empty and blank as a fresh sheet of paper.

‘Isn’t it fantastic? Let’s have a toast to Stephen and Bethan’s success in Tough Love.’ Penny raised her glass again, and the others muttered and raised their own.

‘I’m really sorry about Jesse,’ Ava said to the group as the food arrived, steaming hot on rough white dishes. ‘When Pen told me earlier, I was so shocked. I had no idea.’ It was a tester, or some stray thread of instinct that made her speak, and the reaction was… interesting, Ava thought, forking up the tiniest bit of fragrant curry. There was enough on her plate to feed the whole table.

The pause in clattering cutlery and clinking glasses was sharp and shocked.

‘It was such a horrible thing to happen, but he always did go too fast,’ Penny sighed sadly. ‘Kai and Kelly have made the best of it, though, and they’ve still got the house at least. The council tried to throw them out, the bastards, but they won the appeal. The local papers got involved and everything.’ She was neatly unwrapping her paper napkin, and smiling at the young lad who dumped her plate of food on the table.

‘I don’t think you saw Kai as a baby did you, Ava? I forget what happened before you left and what was afterwards sometimes. It was so long ago,’ Paul muttered without making eye contact.

There was a moment of silence as everyone around the table registered the barb. Stephen was watching his mother with narrowed eyes, waiting for her response. Ava opened her mouth but was saved by an apparently oblivious Leo.

‘He was a good rider, and he knew that road like his own garden. The police reckoned it was his error at first, and they said that maybe some animal ran across the road and he swerved to avoid it. Later, they said it was a diesel spill that made him lose control.’ Leo was digging into a vast forkful of flaky fish and mushy peas.

‘No room for error on that corner,’ Rhodri added, watching Ava as she picked at her chicken madras. ‘Not hungry, love?’

‘No, I mean, I am. I was just thinking about Jesse.’

‘Well, don’t,’ Penny told her. ‘It was a while ago now, and accidents do happen, don’t they?’

The atmosphere was electric suddenly, and even Bethan narrowed her eyes at the adults, clearly picking up the tensions.

‘Yes,’ Ava agreed. ‘They do. Excuse me for a moment. Are the toilets still in the same place?’

‘Straight past the bar and down to your right. There’s a new block too. Pub’s gone up in the world,’ Leo told her with a grin.

She locked herself in a cubicle and pressed her hot forehead to the coldness of the stone wall. After a long while the nausea and dizziness passed, and she was able to breathe properly again. The toilet block smelled of piss and disinfectant, and the floor was wet and sticky beneath her boots. But it was preferable to sitting with her old friends, her ex-husband, her son…

It was like being locked in a tiny box with her worst nightmares. How could they all be so blasé about Ellen? Talk about the cliché of the elephant in the room – Ellen’s presence was more like a fucking great mammoth. Her name wasn’t mentioned, of course, but even Penny crassly saying how nice it was to get everyone back together, just showed how far they seemed to have come. Of course, it was such a long time ago they probably thought they were safe.

Word would have got around that Ellen’s parents were going to move, and what about the PI? Nobody had mentioned him yet, but she was certain they knew, were waiting for her to bring it up in conversation. Waiting, Ava thought bitterly, to see what she was going to do. They were a pack, and she was an outsider. Their faces were just too set, eyes too bright and the laughter forced and loud. In some ways they were right, everyone had to move on. But she couldn’t shake her own feeling of needing to clear her conscience.

She took a deep breath, controlling the dizziness with an effort. Once the room had steadied she headed back out past the bar, pausing for a moment to observe the group. They were deep in conversation. Stephen was pointing his fork at his dad, laughing. He was a good-looking boy, and when he smiled, she could see a trace of her own features. Or was it just wishful thinking?

Ava shrugged the thought away and sat down.

‘Here you go, Paul just got you another drink.’ Penny pushed a glass towards Ava, and topped up her own from a bottle of wine that now stood on the table.

Still picking at her food, mindful of Leo’s body wedged close to hers on the bench seat, and her son glaring at her from across the table, Ava carried on drinking.

Chapter 9

I saw her naked last night. It was delicious and disturbing. It’s such a long time since I have touched her bare skin. I’m surprised how easy it was to slip the drug into her drink, but I suppose the awkwardness of the situation put her off guard. I’ve done this so many times before. Usually I’m there when they wake up, and to be honest, I prefer them to know what’s happening. It’s more exciting. This was a bit different, and just a tiny taster of what I have planned.

Now, I’m alone in my room, reliving the thrill of last night, hugging my arms around me, and almost shivering with excitement. Will she know something happened to her, after she crept into her hard bed, or will she just dismiss it as a hangover? Will she sense where my fingers trailed across her body? My invisible prints would cover every inch of her skin. I noted a couple of new scars, the way her hips have thickened slightly with age, but she’s in great physical shape, with long lean muscles, and high, firm breasts. She is still my Ava.

I could have done more, God knows, I could have done a lot more, but the last game must be played slowly and carefully, so I can savour each new move.

My visit was timed to the second, and whilst I played, I made myself constantly aware of the tick-tock of the clock on her bedside table. It took a while to get what I needed, but I am a bit of an expert at my craft, and whilst I hate to give credit, I did learn from a master.

The knife is new each time, and of course it had to be pristine and unsullied for Ava – anything else would be sacrilege. I cut very slowly, relishing the dots of scarlet springing up as the blade slid across her pale skin. I may have even panted a little as the blood became a red thread, its presence startling and out of place against the homely setting of the Birtleys’ best bedroom.

Before I could stop myself, I knelt by the side of the bed, lowered my head and licked the wound. The sweet, metallic taste is always so sensual, but with Ava it was more. She was like nectar on my tongue. She is special. I was part of her, and just for a moment, I held her in my mouth. Her breathing got a little faster, almost like she recognised I was there, and I waited until she quietened again, almost holding my own breath.

Tick-tock, and I couldn’t do any more that night. She is supposed to wonder, but not to know. Not yet.

Petulantly, like a child cheated out of a bag of sweets, I left my parting gift next to the obnoxious yellow bedside lamp and slipped stealthily back across the room. Two minutes, and I paused at the foot of the bed, relented, and allowed myself a final treat…

Leaning down, I felt her warm breath on my cheek, and my lips found hers. A gentle, chaste kiss, but I fought the urge to tear at her lips like a ravenous animal.

A last look and I was back at the door. The house was shadowed, quiet, and I let myself out, and walked home. The freezing air was nothing to me, and elation warmed my blood. I hurried back, eager to move my player along to the next square.

The hill is always an effort, but I paused at the halfway point to admire the shadows, the dips of blackness where the evil things dwell, and the eerie moonlight that turns the Big Water into crumpled paper.

Now, with a few stolen moments alone, I can relive my night, before I face the world of normality. My game face is back on, and I’m ready for our next meeting.

‘Wnaethoch chi gysgu’n dda neithiwr, Ava Cole?’

‘Did you sleep well last night, Ava Cole?’

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