Mrs Parry invited the Reverend and Mrs Evans to dinner. The sky was heavy with cloud and it felt as if a storm might be brewing after the oppressive heat of the day. The tabby cat seemed to be avoiding me, and watched from a safe distance as we ate. We made polite conversation, and thankfully saw the meal through without further event.
Nia was the first to broach the subject of the ghosts once more.
‘I can’t pretend we’ve had any real success in removing the problem for you today,’ she said frankly. ‘I think this is going to have to be a proper exorcism. Sometimes a few gentle words can help them on their way – but the spirits here seem to be extremely troubled. Something feels very wrong in the cottage – and I’m concerned about your welfare, Mrs Philips; even in the main house, to be truthful. I wonder if you might consider staying at our house tonight? I don’t like trying to carry out a laying-to-rest when the weather’s like this – the electricity in the air can cause havoc.’
Mr and Mrs Parry, clearly feeling the weight of responsibility for my welfare, were grateful for the offer of a room for me elsewhere for the time being.
‘We both think that you’d be better off staying with Mr and Mrs Evans, for tonight at least,’ said Mrs Parry gently. ‘Just until this is all sorted out. We won’t be charging you for your stay – I’m so sorry you’ve been put through such an ordeal.’
I insisted that I would be paying, but agreed to the suggestion of a bed at the Evans’ home without needing further persuasion. I went to collect a few belongings, casting my eyes uneasily to left and right as I climbed the stairs. Thankfully, ‘Anni’ appeared to be dormant for the moment and I was able to complete my task unhindered.
In desperation, I tried to ring Sarah again. Why hadn’t she returned my call? I was beginning to think that something was very wrong. Anxious that she would be unable to contact me at the Evans’ place, I left yet another message saying that I would ring the following day and for her not to bother ringing back for now. Not wanting to worry her, I neglected to mention the dire need for my staying elsewhere and said I would explain all when I next spoke to her. But it wasn’t at all like her not to ring me. Maybe she was really ill.
Then a thought occurred to me – perhaps I could ask Peter to pop round to check on her. He didn’t live too far away and I was sure he wouldn’t object. I went back into the kitchen.
‘Mrs Parry, do you have a contact number for Peter, please? I wondered if he could just go round to check on my sister, as she’s not answering her phone. I’m a bit worried about her.’
‘Yes, of course, cariad. Maybe you could mention to him about coming back to give us a hand with … the other business, too?’
With that, the picture of Glyn and Peter almost jumped from the wall and smashed into pieces on the kitchen floor. Mrs Parry cried out in horror. A creeping coldness had filled the room and the same disagreeably musky odour I had noticed previously wafted through the air.
‘Mrs Parry, I think that the sooner we leave here this evening, the better,’ said Reverend Evans, rising from his seat. ‘Thank you very much for your kind hospitality. Mrs Philips, perhaps Mrs Parry could make that phone call on your behalf. I really think we’d better go.’
As we left the farmhouse, it seemed to be the cue for the heavens to open and we ran to the truck to the roar of a thunderclap as a brilliant fork of lightning lit the sky. A rather bewildered Mr and Mrs Parry waved from the shelter of the portico, and we bumped down the drive to the cattle grid.
As I turned to look back at the cottage, I thought I saw a dark silhouette in the upstairs dormer window of Tyddyn Bach. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, and when I looked again it had gone. My arms prickled with gooseflesh in spite of the humidity. I was grateful to be leaving – and at that point had no particular desire to return.
*
The Reverend and Mrs Evans’ home was a beautiful old cottage a stone’s throw from the ancient church in the small village of Penmynydd. It was cosy and tranquil, and I felt an overwhelming sense of relief to be sitting in their little living room, away from the threat of any more unwelcome preternatural activity.
Nia lit the huge votive candles that stood at either side of the stone fireplace. They emitted a wonderful floral aroma. The rain continued to batter the leaded-light windows, and the thunder showed no sign of abating, but from the cocoon of the deep armchair, I felt secure and protected from the outside world.
The Evans’ dog, a lively Jack Russell named Jake, was delighted to see us. His little tail quivering, he went from one to the other to be rewarded by a pat on the head, and a handful of bone-shaped dog biscuits secreted in Reverend Evans’ trouser pocket.
We drank herbal tea and chatted for a while. Mr and Mrs Evans were very laid-back and friendly, and I felt at ease in their company. I learned that they had two grown-up sons who had flown the nest, so they had decided to downsize their home. They had bought the cottage in a run-down condition some three years earlier and had spent many months renovating it.
‘Arfon’s a dab hand with the plastering now!’ said Nia, laughing as she prodded her husband playfully in the ribs. He gave an exaggerated grimace.
‘I never want to have to mix a bag of browning again as long as I live,’ he joked. ‘It nearly finished me off!’
Their closeness was touching and I thought wistfully of the lighter moments that Graham and I had known. I understood now that I had never really appreciated just how special it was to be part of a loving couple, to know what the other person was thinking or feeling, to share a private joke or cherished memory. I had lost so much without realizing it.
Four months before Graham’s death, his elderly father, who lived in Yorkshire, had fallen ill. Graham’s mum had passed away over ten years earlier and his only brother had emigrated to Canada, meaning that there was no one to take care of his dad. Graham had been granted compassionate leave from work and travelled to stay with his father on the Monday, on the understanding that I would follow at the end of the week, which would have been the beginning of the October half-term.
However, after another member of staff dropped out, I had been asked to accompany one of the other teachers and a group of Year 10 students on a highly regarded and seldom available residential creative writing course, at a wonderful location in Devon. It was simply too good an opportunity to miss; other colleagues who had attended the course in the past had said how marvellous it was, how it had helped them to improve their teaching techniques radically and what an enormous difference it made to the students and their enthusiasm for the subject.
I felt sure that Graham would understand; after all, his father was showing signs of improvement and he would probably be able to return home himself soon. I telephoned Graham to explain about the course, and to ask if he would mind if I didn’t join him after all. I had been taken aback by his reaction.
‘My dad is ill, Annie. I thought we were a couple – a partnership. I could really do with a bit of moral support, if nothing else. But hey – you go off and enjoy yourself. Don’t worry about me.’
I was irked: as I was stepping in at the last moment, the course wasn’t going to cost a penny and it would be a rare opportunity to gain invaluable experience and hone my teaching skills.
‘Look, it’s not fun and games, you know. It’s work – and I’ll be letting the kids down if I don’t go. There’s no one else available at such short notice.’
‘No, because they’ve all got families to look after, I imagine,’ he responded tersely. There was a long pause. ‘Oh, just go on your bloody course. If Dad’s OK in a few days, I’ll be coming home. I’m arranging for some carers to come in next week, anyway.’
It wasn’t exactly his seal of approval, but I wasn’t about to argue. I was excited about the trip and unless his father had been at death’s door, I had no intention of missing out.
Reflecting on it now, I felt terrible. I had let Graham down when he needed me. His father had made a full recovery; but that wasn’t the point. I should have told my colleagues that I had to go and help my husband – that I had a responsibility to do so. I should have got my priorities in order. I had been typically thoughtless and self-centred. It was not a nice thing to acknowledge.
Afterwards, Graham had said very little about the course – or his time caring for his father – but with hindsight, I had crossed the line. I had put my job before him at a crucial time in his life; afterwards I detected a coolness towards me that I tried to ignore. As usual, I immersed myself in work and pretended that all was well. What a fool I had been.
The baby made a sudden, sharp movement, reminding me that I was not alone. I glowed inwardly, knowing that part of Graham was still with me in the form of our unborn child. I had to try to look to the future, as hard as it was. And to show Graham, if he was indeed watching me, that I was capable of putting the needs of someone else before my own.
My eyes had begun to grow heavy. I sat back in the armchair and smiled wearily.
‘Well, Mrs Philips …’ began Nia, eventually.
‘Oh, please, call me Annie! We’re friends now, after all, aren’t we?’
She smiled. ‘Of course we are. Well, Annie – I’m sure you’d like to see your room. Let me take your bag.’
‘Oh, it’s fine – it’s not heavy. I’ve only got a few bits in there.’
‘If you’re sure. Follow me, then.’
We climbed the short staircase from the tiny hallway. The walls were painted plainly in cream and there were exposed dark oak beams on the low ceiling. The carpet was thick and luxurious underfoot. Family photographs adorned the walls of the stairwell.
Nia showed me into a small but very comfortably furnished room, with a three-quarter bed. I felt exhausted after the day’s events and it looked very inviting. It must have shown on my face.
‘Please, feel free to go to bed whenever you like. I can quite imagine how shattered you must be!’
I nodded gratefully. ‘I think I might just turn in now, to be honest. I’m struggling to keep my eyes open.’
Nia wished me goodnight. ‘See you in the morning, then,’ she said, smiling. ‘Sleep well.’
‘Thank you for everything,’ I called, as she closed the door behind her.
I undressed and, slipping on my nightshirt, climbed straight into bed. The rain was still falling relentlessly outside and the mugginess had decreased, leaving the air temperature pleasant, and considerably cooler than it had been earlier. I glanced sleepily at the clock on the bedside cabinet. It was only 9.30 p.m. but felt as though it ought to be past midnight. Within minutes I had fallen asleep.
My dreams that night were vivid and distressing. I was back at home and Graham had returned. It was as though he had never been gone. I was quite clearly at the current stage of my pregnancy, and we were happy and appeared to be planning for the future.
And then a faceless, dark-haired woman appeared. Suddenly the whole dynamic of everything seemed to change. I could feel myself fading into the background and looking on as an observer. Graham and the woman had become the couple. I would try to speak, but it was as though I was a ghost and they couldn’t see me. I could hear their conversations and screamed at them to listen to me, but to no avail. I was invisible.
I found myself outside the house looking in through the window, and try as I might, could not open the door to let myself back in. They began to move away from me and soon I could only see them from a distance.
I awoke abruptly, feeling tearful and troubled, and tried to remind myself that it had just been a dream. But I felt distinctly uneasy about it all.
The room was as black as the recesses of a cave, the only light the reflective numerals on the face of the bedside clock. It was 2 a.m. There was an iciness in the air, which sent a shiver right through me. A steady, persistent tapping on the window made me sit up and listen. I rubbed my eyes and gradually they grew accustomed to the gloom. The tapping grew louder and more frequent. My pulse quickened and my hands, balled into tight fists, were white with tension.
I eased myself from the bed and slowly crossed the floor to the window, tweaking back the curtain with caution. Completely unprepared for what was to meet my gaze, I recoiled in horror as the face of a deathly pale woman stared in at me. The detail of the gaunt features was clearer than ever before. Blue, iridescent veins shone through the paper-thin translucent flesh. The eyes, almost luminous in the dark, glowered; the mouth, mauve and bloodless, twisted into a sneer.
I wrenched the curtain to and staggered back across the room, squeezing my eyes shut and plugging my ears with my fingers. I fumbled for the light switch and stood for a moment with my back against the wall, my heart pounding. The door was locked; I tried in desperation to turn the key but seemed to have no strength.
A cloying, musky odour suddenly filled the room. I knew now that she was inside. She had followed me – me – and I could not, dared not, conceive of what her intentions were. I was terror-stricken. I felt a rapid surge of cold air as she crossed the floor. Then the same, unwelcome cool breath against my face and the familiar, angry ghostly words: ‘Anni wyf i.’
*
I must have passed out, as the next thing I knew, I was lying on the floor. Nia was cradling my head in her arms.
‘Are you all right, Annie?’ Her eyes were wild with fright. ‘We heard a bang and I came to see what had happened.’
I felt sick and my head swam. With Nia’s help, I managed to sit up gradually and Reverend Evans appeared with a glass of water.
‘Here, drink some of this.’ He guided it into my trembling hands. I drank gratefully and tried to compose myself.
‘She – she was h-here,’ I managed to stutter eventually. ‘Outside – at the window – and then she spoke again.’
‘What did she say, Annie?’ The Reverend looked grim.
‘Just the same as before – that she is Anni …’
Nia shook her head. ‘I feel that she’s gone now. But I’ve never known this before – not personally anyway – when a spirit follows a person away from the usual site of the manifestation. I have heard that it’s happened to other people, but this is beyond my own experience.’
The Reverend turned to his wife. ‘We must keep a vigil over Annie tonight. First thing in the morning, we’ll go back to Tyddyn Bach and see if we can’t put a stop to this once and for all.’
Nia nodded solemnly. ‘We’ll all sleep in the living room, I think. Can you stand, Annie?’
The two of them helped me to my feet and we made our way back downstairs. I settled myself in the armchair once more and Nia and her husband made themselves as comfortable as they could on the settee. The rain had stopped now and the air temperature had begun to rise once more.
We talked for a while and in time, comforted by the Evans’ presence, I drifted back into a fitful sleep. My dreams were vivid but muddled. Graham and the dark-haired woman, Peter … and now Anni, too … all turning in my head. The faces merged into one but every time it came back to the mysterious Anni.
Who was she – and what was the connection between them? And then there was the tea caddy. I awoke suddenly, wide awake now, with the utmost conviction that this might just hold the answer to it all.