The police arrived within the hour. Tyddyn Bach was immediately cordoned off with blue and white plastic tape.
In no time, the farm was a hive of activity, with forensic people dressed in white overalls to-ing and fro-ing, taking samples and photographs. A flustered Mrs Parry kept everyone going with an endless supply of tea and sandwiches.
I was in a daze. It was all too much to comprehend. Nia seemed withdrawn and sat quietly in the Parrys’ kitchen, looking pale and contemplative. Her husband spent some time in conversation with the police officers, giving as much information as he could.
As dusk began to fall, a private ambulance crawled up the drive and parked as close as it could to the cottage. After several minutes inside, the driver and his companion, sombre-faced and dressed in black, removed the corpse, now in a body bag, from the cottage on a stretcher.
We gathered outside and watched solemnly as the human remains were placed in the back of the ambulance. Mr Parry’s truck rolled up just in time to see the undertakers closing the back doors of their vehicle.
‘What the bloody hell’s been going on here?’ he exclaimed. His eyes darted wildly from the cottage to the undertakers’ vehicle.
‘Oh, Will, it’s been awful … awful!’ Poor Mrs Parry wept as her bemused husband tried to comfort her.
‘They’ve found the body of a woman. In our cottage! It’s just too terrible to even think about.’
‘Arglwydd fawr! How long do they think she’s been in there?’ Mr Parry looked horrified.
Reverend Evans stepped forward. ‘Judging by what bit we saw, she’s been there quite some time,’ he said gravely. ‘Any visible flesh had turned to adipocere …’
The Parrys looked at him blankly.
‘Sorry to be so graphic, but it’s how the flesh goes after several months or more after death. Sort of white and waxy. Not very pleasant.’
‘And … do they know who she is?’ asked Mr Parry. All colour had drained from his usually ruddy cheeks.
‘They’ll know more once there’s been a full post-mortem. They were able to establish that she’s relatively young. The dental records will be able to confirm her identity. But the question is, whoever she may be, how did she get there?’
Nia, who had remained silent throughout, spoke up. ‘I think we were on the brink of finding that out. We can’t go back into the cottage now. It’s a crime scene, and the officers will be back tomorrow.’
She turned to me, her voice hushed. ‘All we can do is say a prayer for poor Aneira, for in my heart I’ve no doubt that it’s her. Let’s hope that once she’s had a proper burial, and the person responsible for this terrible deed has been caught, her soul can rest at last.’
We looked on as the ambulance pulled away. The evening was warm and the now darkening sky still streaked with occasional bands of pink and orange. There seemed to be an unnatural stillness in the air, and everyone was subdued and lost in their own thoughts.
‘What about the tea caddy?’ Mrs Parry asked suddenly. ‘There might be something of interest to the police in there – after all, it turned up in Tyddyn Bach.’
Arfon looked excited. ‘Ah, yes – I forgot all about it, what with everything else. And I’ve brought my faithful keys! Let’s see if we can get it open, then.’
He fetched the bunch from his truck and we all filed back into the farmhouse kitchen. Everyone looked on in eager anticipation as he tried several keys before finding one that produced a promising ‘snap’. Lifting the lid, Arfon revealed a bundle of handwritten letters, tied up in a red ribbon. Untying the knot, he opened out the first piece of paper and began to scan-read; then the second sheet, and the third.
‘Well, let’s have a look then!’ said Mrs Parry, eagerly. ‘We’re all dying to see what they are.’
Arfon turned to face her. He looked uncomfortable. ‘They all appear to be addressed to your son Glyn, Mrs Parry,’ he said, handing her the first letter.
Putting on her reading glasses, the old woman stared down at the paper. She turned it over without a word.
‘It looks as though they’re all pretty much the same,’ said Reverend Evans, gently. ‘I’m not sure you’ll want to read the rest. I think you get the gist …’
Her eyes brimming with tears, Mrs Parry nodded, folding the letter carefully.
‘What is it, Gwen?’ Mr Parry placed a hand on his wife’s arm. ‘What does it say?’
After a lengthy pause, Mrs Parry handed him the piece of paper. ‘Oh, Will, they’re letters to Glyn … from Peter,’ she said, her eyes scouring his face for a reaction.
‘From Peter?’ Mr Parry peered down at the letter, looking confused. ‘But – I don’t understand …’
‘They are love letters, Mr Parry,’ explained Arfon. ‘Letters that, judging by the wording, were not actually meant to be seen by the intended recipient. It’s as though years of pent-up feelings have spilled onto every page. Tragic, really.’
The old man was lost for words.
‘I knew,’ said Mrs Parry, her voice barely more than a whisper.
‘What?’ Her husband stared at her, incredulous.
‘I’d always known. I guessed – even when they were just lads – that Peter had feelings for Glyn. It was the way he looked at him, the tender way he would put an arm round his shoulder or pat him on the back – more than just friendly. But I don’t think Glyn ever realized. They were so close – maybe Peter thought it would destroy their friendship if he told him the truth. And it may have done; who knows?’
Poor Mr Parry looked shell-shocked. He read about half of the letter, then put it down on the table without reading the remainder. He turned away from everyone, choking back tears.
I was stunned. Obviously, I had completely misread Peter – from suspecting that he might have held a torch for my sister, to entertaining the vague possibility that he may have found me remotely attractive. I felt a fool. And then I remembered his tale about the Ouija board and the message in Welsh – ‘She knows’. Could it have referred to Mrs Parry’s knowledge of Peter’s feelings for her son? A shiver ran through me.
A thought suddenly occurred to me. ‘Did Peter ring back, Mrs Parry?’
I remembered his promise to contact Sarah. I couldn’t wait to share this latest development with her – as well as all the other strange occurrences since my arrival in Anglesey. If nothing else, it had put all thoughts of Graham and my own miserable circumstances to the back of my mind for a while.
‘Yes, he did as a matter of fact.’ Mrs Parry attempted a smile. ‘I’m afraid he wasn’t able to get hold of your sister. He said he’d tried to ring and there was no answer, and that when he went round there didn’t seem to be anyone at home, either.’
This did nothing to allay my fears. I was convinced now, more than ever, that something wasn’t right.
‘Do you think I ought to contact the police? When I phoned her workplace, Sarah hadn’t been in. They said she was sick. She could be lying unconscious somewhere, for all I know.’
‘Listen, why don’t you try to ring her once more, and if you still have no luck, call the police. Arfon and I will drive you home in the morning,’ suggested Nia, who had been so quiet I had almost forgotten she was still in the room. ‘I have a gut feeling that everything is OK, and I can usually pick up when there’s something wrong.’
I wished that I could share Nia’s optimism, but agreed, thanking her for the offer.
Taking a deep breath, I went into the hall and dialled Sarah’s number once again, willing her to pick up. No reply: the answer machine kicked in. Just as I was about to hang up, I could hear Sarah’s voice breathlessly responding at the other end of the line.
‘Annie? Is that you? Thank God!’
‘Sarah, where the hell have you been? I’ve been worried sick!’
Sarah gave a huge sigh. ‘Oh my God, Annie, you’ve no idea … I don’t know where to begin.’
She proceeded to explain that she had actually had a migraine on the Monday morning and called in sick to work. Having left her mobile on silent, she took strong painkillers and went to sleep it off.
‘I heard the house phone ringing, but I just couldn’t drag myself out of bed. I was still pretty woozy on Monday evening when the doorbell went – I wasn’t going to answer it to be honest, but whoever it was just wouldn’t go away. So I came down – and there was this guy standing there. He’d obviously had a few. He looked a bit of a roughneck and forced his way in. I was shitting bricks; let me tell you.
‘But he was in a hell of a state. Said he’d found out I was a friend of Peter’s and was trying to track him down. It’d taken him months, but he’d managed to find out where Peter worked and was waiting for him outside the building on Monday afternoon. But of course Peter was still up in Wales with you … Anyway, the guy gave the receptionist some cock and bull story – said he was a long-lost relative or something. Peter moved house recently and the woman couldn’t find his new address, but knew I was mates with him, so she told him where I lived, the idiot.’
‘Christ, Sarah, what did you do?’
‘Sat and listened – I didn’t have much option! The phone went off a few times, but he screamed at me not to answer it. I wasn’t about to argue with him. It transpired that this bloke’s girlfriend went missing last summer up in Anglesey. She used to be engaged to the son of the people who own the farm where you’re staying, apparently …’
An awful coldness crept over me. I realized where this conversation was going.
‘Anyway, it seems that the police questioned Peter last year over her disappearance but it didn’t amount to anything. The guy who forced his way into my house – I never found out his name – was into drugs in a big way and had a criminal record; he was suspect number one, not surprisingly, so he went on the run. He’d been living in a squat somewhere in Birmingham for months. But he was clearly completely smitten with this Aneira girl and determined to find out what had happened to her … and he’s convinced Peter’s at the bottom of it all …’
My stomach churned. It was becoming clear that there was almost definitely more to Peter’s involvement in the situation than met the eye.
‘I can’t believe Peter would’ve had anything to do with the situation,’ Sarah went on. ‘But this lad’s got a real bee in his bonnet about it. He was here all night, ranting and raving. He said he was going to beat the crap out of Peter until he told him what he’d done with her. Eventually, I managed to convince him that Peter was away for a couple of weeks. He said he’d be back. I was a nervous wreck by the time he left. He wouldn’t let me answer the door, or pick up the phone or even open the curtains. I’ve been like a prisoner in my own home!’
‘Oh my God, Sarah! Did he – hurt you?’
‘No, but I really thought he was going to a couple of times. I just tried to cooperate as much as I could. I didn’t want to antagonize the man – he was clearly on a knife edge. I rang the police as soon as he left, so they’re on to him. I’ve been down at the station giving a statement – I had to do one of those photo-fit things!’
‘What about Peter? Did you call him?’
‘I tried to ring him but there was no answer. The police are aware that the guy’s after him, so they’ll be going round to warn him.’
‘You poor thing. You must be frazzled.’
‘I’ve been better!’ joked Sarah. ‘I could do with a few stiff drinks, and that’s no lie. Anyway, how are you? Are you having a good break?’
And so it all spilled out: the hauntings, the body in the attic, the love letters, the burial of the baby’s bones. There was an extended silence from the other end of the line.
‘Well, I thought I’d had an eventful twenty-four hours!’ Sarah responded eventually. ‘So what do you want to do about the rest of the holiday? I’m assuming you’d rather come back to the sanity of the Midlands after all that. I can come and collect you first thing in the morning if you want.’
‘I think I’d like that. This whole matter has left a very nasty taste. It’s such a shame – the Parrys are a really lovely old couple. They’ve got such a lot to deal with. It’s bound to take its toll on them.’
‘And what about Peter? Just shows – you think you know a person. To think – it sounds as though he might well be involved with this poor girl’s death … although I did have an inkling he might be gay.’
‘Well, that’s more than I did. I used to think he fancied you! Clearly I’m not a very good judge when it comes to affairs of the heart …’
Sarah gave a nervous little laugh but said no more on the matter. We agreed to see one another in the morning and rounded off our conversation.
*
The dialogue around the Parrys’ table was uncomfortably limited. Mr and Mrs Parry were very downcast and said little over supper. I explained what had happened to Sarah, which did nothing to improve the atmosphere.
‘Bloody thug, terrorizing a young woman like that,’ Mr Parry had growled, but said no more on the matter.
‘Mr Parry, it’s been an incredibly eventful day. So much has happened while you’ve been away.’ Nia proceeded to tell the old man about the spirit of Anwen and her poor lost infant, the bones in the well and the subsequent burial.
‘You were right about that one, then, Mr Parry,’ I said, hoping to engage the old man. He grunted but showed little interest in Nia’s story.
‘It seems, Mr Parry, that your great-grandfather, John Owen Parry, was the father of Anwen’s child,’ she went on. ‘He broke his promise to stand by her and told her that he couldn’t leave his wife. In desperation the poor girl drowned herself and the baby. She told me that she’d put a curse on the family.’
My eyes widened. This was a new revelation.
‘Well, that makes sense.’ Mr Parry’s sad, rheumy eyes did not leave his wife. She fidgeted uncomfortably.
‘We couldn’t have much more bad luck, let’s face it. The rotten old bugger. Maybe we have him to blame for it all, then.’
‘Arfon and I have had many such experiences over the years, but I’m sure it’s been an awful lot for poor Mrs Parry and Annie here to take in …’
It was obviously all too much for Mr Parry. ‘It’s been a lot for me to take in too, let me tell you. If you will all excuse me - ’ The old man rose from the table. ‘It’s been a very long day. I’m going to turn in.’ He seemed to look straight through his wife; the sorrow and resentment he felt was tangible. ‘I’ll see you in the morning. Nos da.’
Mrs Parry looked on sadly as her husband trudged heavily from the kitchen.
‘He’s angry with me for not telling him about Peter,’ she said softly. ‘How could I have said anything? He’s such an old-fashioned soul. And he’s always thought the world of the lad – more so since we lost Glyn. This will destroy their relationship.’
‘Nonsense, Mrs Parry!’ The Reverend Evans placed a hand on the old woman’s shoulder. ‘He’ll come round. Just give him time. It’s been an awful lot to take in, in one day.’
Once Nia and Arfon had left, I sat with Mrs Parry and we talked for a short while. The subject of Peter did not arise.
‘I’m really sorry your holiday has been ruined,’ she said. ‘I do hope you’ll return when things have settled down. Perhaps when the baby is here.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘You have something to look forward to. A new life is always to be celebrated.’
I nodded in agreement. If nothing else, my experience had made me realize that I was ready to embrace life once more, with or without Graham. Our baby had given me something to live for.
The Evans’s had been of the opinion that things might settle down since the discovery of the body, and so I tentatively resumed occupancy of the Parrys’ spare bedroom. By now I was emotionally and physically exhausted. I wished Mrs Parry goodnight and climbed the stairs wearily.
The heat of the afternoon had left the bedroom a comfortably warm temperature. I opened the sash window a fraction and lay on top of the bed, closing my eyes. Sarah would be here tomorrow – and I would be going home.