The Cellar, page 7
‘Do you want Cerys to be there when you tell him? You know what he can be like.’
Lucy shook her head.
‘No, I can handle him. This is something I need to do myself. And please don’t tell Dad or Cerys about the baby for now. Just keep it to yourself. I’ll tell them when I’m ready.’
‘My lips are sealed. And I’ll be here if you need me.’
Lucy ate the last of her toast, drained her glass, loaded the tray and stood.
‘Thanks, Mum, appreciated as always. I’ll give you a ring to tell you how it goes with Andy. And I’ll see you again at the weekend. Don’t bother getting up – I can see myself out. Is there anything you need?’
‘All I want is for you to be happy. If Andy gives you any problems, he’ll have me to deal with; no one upsets my girl and gets away with it. You tell him that from me.’
8
The holiday had been a long time coming. Laura Kesey had been promising her life partner, Janet, and their young son, Edward, a trip for almost three years. But her work as a busy divisional detective inspector in the West Wales Police Force always got in the way, with one high-profile case or another demanding her attention. But now it was finally happening. She’d made the time, booked the leave, a particularly traumatic court case had finally come to a positive conclusion and they were on the plane. She was happily anticipating three whole weeks of fun and relaxation in sunny Lanzarote, a volcanic Canary Island off the coast of West Africa administered by Spain.
The nearly four-hour mid-morning flight from Cardiff to the island’s César Manrique Airport passed surprisingly quickly. By the time the three settled in their extra-legroom seats, fastened their seat belts, listened to the preflight safety advice and ate various sweet treats packed by Janet in her recently purchased bright purple hand luggage, they were already well on their way. It was six-year-old Edward’s first time on a plane. Everything about the trip seemed exciting to him. He could hardly contain himself as he sat in his window seat, looking out at the grey-white cotton wool clouds and the miniature world passing far below. Kesey turned in her seat to look at her son with pleasure and pride. She’d always wanted to be a parent, and the reality had been even better than her imaginings. She wasn’t always able to give Edward the time she felt he deserved, but she told herself she did her best. It was the way of the modern world. Balancing work and home life wasn’t always easy, particularly since her promotion. But she and Janet were a team, each playing to their strengths, and that, she reminded herself, worked pretty damned well most of the time. They were a happy family unit, not without problems, but then what family was? Life could be challenging, and hers more than most, as she dealt with the criminals of this world, managing investigations, supervising officers, making arrests and trying to make the charges stick, sometimes successfully and sometimes not. Such were the vagaries of the criminal justice system, with the mountains of red tape and morale-sapping cuts to police resources.
The detective tried to push police work from her mind as a female flight attendant wearing smart dark-navy livery walked past with a friendly smile. Kesey was glad she’d finally booked a period of leave. A break was long overdue and she should have done it ages ago. She was determined to relax, something with which she often struggled despite her best efforts. Sometimes family had to come first. There were memories to be made. Kesey reached out to squeeze her partner’s hand, telling her it would be a wonderful trip. Janet smiled warmly and nodded before turning her attention back to Edward, who was colouring a picture of a passenger jet with various wax crayons Janet always kept handy.
They landed five minutes early at a quarter past two that afternoon, negotiated customs, collected their brightly coloured luggage from the carousel and then searched for their rental-car company. The office was conveniently located in the arrival terminal, and it wasn’t long before they were looking for an automatic white Kia in the relatively quiet car park a few minutes’ brisk walk away through the airport building. Kesey did the driving while Janet sat with Edward in the back, keeping him amused as he repeatedly asked if they were nearly there. Kesey was glad of her phone’s satnav app as she left the airport, driving cautiously in the direction of Nazaret, a small village dominated by white-painted villas, well away from the busy coastal tourist resorts so popular with British travellers. Janet had chosen a large detached villa high on a hillside because of the privacy, comfort and dramatic views it offered. It wasn’t cheap, but she’d eventually convinced Kesey it provided good value, given the stunning location and excellent facilities.
Lanzarote wasn’t like anywhere the detective had seen before. She was pleased the roads were as impressive as they were, with no potholes, and that the island seemed significantly less developed than she’d expected. There were none of the high-rise hotels she associated with other Spanish islands. Just attractive low-rise white buildings that stood out dramatically against the dark volcanic landscape and azure-blue sky. It felt almost as if they’d landed on another planet. It was so unlike West Wales, with its rolling green fields, woodlands and varied dramatic coastline, but there was a beauty about the place.
Within half an hour or so of leaving the airport, they’d stopped at a small supermarket to buy some basic provisions and were approaching the villa, having taken a wrong turn only once along the way. The private stone-strewn track leading directly to their holiday home was steeper and more uneven than expected. Kesey was glad Janet had opted for an SUV rather than a saloon or hatchback when making the arrangements. The four-wheel-drive feature was more than welcome. This final part of the journey was bumpy and a little demanding on both driver and passengers. But once they reached the villa, driving through the large metal gates, Kesey quickly concluded the effort of it all was very much worthwhile. The building itself was impressive, with a large, beautifully tended garden, planted with different cacti, and a welcoming swimming pool that raised Edward’s mood to unbridled excitement as soon as he saw it. But the best thing of all was the view, which could only be described as spectacular. There was a far-reaching volcanic landscape dotted with white buildings as far as the eye could see. It was stunning, a genuinely awe-inspiring sight.
Kesey counted over twenty inactive volcanoes as she helped Janet with the luggage, emptying the vehicle’s spacious boot. As the three reached the top of the steps leading to the front door, they looked out on the dramatic natural landscape, Arrecife, the distant island capital of about 30,000 residents, and the green-blue Atlantic Ocean beyond. Janet entered the four-digit number into the key safe, attended to the alarm system, a surprisingly simple process, and led them into the marble-floored villa, which was almost as pleasing as the location. Edward was in the pool within twenty minutes, splashing about as Kesey and Janet watched, drinking complimentary bottled water taken from the fridge and chatting. Kesey was so happy to be there. She could already feel the tension melting away as the bright sun warmed her body. Only now did she truly realise just how badly she needed the break. She pondered the dramatic contrast between her professional and family life, the horrors she often encountered at work, the worst of human behaviour. And she silently swore she’d make the most of the holiday, with no more thoughts of police work or the criminals and victims involved. Maybe then the headaches would become less regular, the irritable bowel less severe. There was more to life than crime. Lanzarote, she thought, had been a good choice. She was already in a holiday mood, and the daily grind now seemed so far away. It was the longest break she’d ever indulged. It was going to be three whole weeks of family fun. As she turned to kiss Janet gently on her right cheek, she’d never felt more determined about anything in her life.
9
Cerys was a worrier. She always had been, and she suspected she always would be. Nothing was going to change anytime soon. Her thought patterns were well established. She thought the same things most, if not every day. And she did again now as her head began to ache, an all-too-common affliction that nothing seemed to alleviate to any satisfactory extent. She’d given it a lot of thought over the years, reading one self-help book and well-meaning online article after another before finally concluding that it all started when she was just six years old. She and her four-year-old sister Lucy were spending the weekend in the care of Doreen, their much-loved maternal grandmother, in the lovely Pembrokeshire seaside town of Tenby, with its bucket-and-spade beaches, picturesque fishing harbour and impressive medieval defensive town walls. It was something the sisters did from time to time when their parents were otherwise committed or simply fancied some couple time. But that all changed one windy Welsh November day as a brisk autumn breeze swept sheets of cold rain off the Irish Sea, soaking everything in its path.
Cerys recalled her surprise discovering that her nana wasn’t up and about on that causative morning when she rose from bed at around seven. She could still picture the events now, almost as if in real-time. And the emotions felt real, too. She was back there in Tenby.
Doreen usually prepared a delicious breakfast of scrambled eggs, pancakes, maple syrup and freshly squeezed orange juice before waking the girls with a jolly call. There would be music playing in the background, the radio, or a favourite CD the sisters particularly liked – something cheery, tunes to make them dance. Their nana would be smiling, happy, exuding positivity as she almost always did where the girls were concerned. But not that day. Cerys had found her much-loved grandmother lying prone on the multi-coloured floral carpet of the comfortable lounge, next to the gas fire. She’d thought the middle-aged woman was simply asleep. She sat at her nana’s side and shook her, then again, using all her limited strength the second time, but she still couldn’t rouse her. She’d begged her to wake up; she’d pleaded time and again, but to no avail. It was an emotional scar, Cerys pondered, that had never healed. And so she relived those events time and again as if hoping for a different outcome, but with the same inevitable awful result she still couldn’t fully accept.
Cerys rocked gently in her comfortable garden office seat as she continued her all too familiar thought process. Even at the tender age of six, she’d had the wherewithal to pick up her nana’s landline in the hall, dial 999 and summon help. That was to her credit, worthy of congratulation, a pat on the back. And she looked after her younger sister too, hugging her tightly, holding her close, wiping away her tears until an ambulance finally arrived about twenty minutes later. It had seemed such a long time that twenty minutes.
Cerys was suddenly still, knees apart, her eyes tight shut as she smiled thinly. She took some satisfaction in the fact she’d acted as she did at such a young age. She’d been brave, looked after Lucy and hadn’t put herself first. But from that moment, life became a less predictable reality where the fear of loss was ever-present. And no amount of yoga, meditation, self-hypnosis, alcohol, prescribed anti-anxiety medication or any other therapeutic endeavours, however well-intentioned, would change that. She still pictured those events at the most unlikely and inconvenient times. As was the case now, as she sat at her desk, staring at her computer screen, urging herself to write the next chapter of her latest contemporary romance novel, the tenth in a little over seven years.
Cerys silently cursed her overactive mind as she pictured the past events. And it wasn’t just the past. Once the anxiety kicked in, it seemed to spread, grow, reach out its tentacles to pollute everything and drag her down. She felt like screaming. She so wished she could still her troubled mind, focus and let the words flow, allow them to appear on the page as if by magic, as if dictated by someone else entirely. But for now, that was a lost cause. She knew it only too well as she stood, pacing the room, first one way and then the other, even more agitated than before. She worried about the present too and, of course, the future, that greatest uncertainty of it all. She worried about her writing career, her health, her headteacher husband, her five-year-old son, whether he loved her as much as she loved him. She worried about her mother’s cancer diagnosis, the treatment, if she’d make a full recovery. Whether or not she’d die. And for some reason, of late, she was worrying more and more about her sister.
Cerys thought about that now as she stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out on the garden as two black-and-white magpies pecked the damp ground, searching for worms after a light fall of early-summer rain. Yes, Lucy’s career was going well, she was a talented artist, a skilled painter and sculptor, but her relationship was a disaster. And yesterday’s meeting with the strangely named man at the café. How weird was that? Cerys couldn’t help but feel that something wasn’t right. She tried to push her nagging concerns from her mind, but they kept coming back. There was something about Moloch, for all his smiles, that put her teeth on edge. It was an instinctive thing, a gut feeling, something she couldn’t ignore, however much she’d appreciate an easier life.
Cerys sat back at her computer now, folding one leg over the other, drumming the wooden desktop with the fingers of one hand, staring at the screen and willing herself to concentrate on the task at hand. She so wanted to write at least one chapter that day before picking up her son from school. But once again, her intrusive thoughts got in the way. She shook her head, closed her laptop and picked up her mobile. She looked up at the clock located on the wall to her right, next to one of Lucy’s paintings, a brightly coloured, blue, purple and green acrylic abstract inspired by the sea. It was almost lunchtime; Lucy would soon take a break from her lecturing duties, and maybe she’d be available to talk. She suspected that conveying her concerns wouldn’t be overly welcome, but she felt obliged to do it, anyway. Whatever Lucy’s likely negative response, Cerys decided she would tell her exactly what she thought of Moloch and the offer of work mentioned by her mother. Some things needed saying.
Cerys locked her office, hurried across the patio towards the house and into the kitchen, where she opened a can of organic vegetable soup, bought from a nearby, independent health food store. She needed to eat if she was going to have the confidence to make this call. She heated the contents in a copper saucepan rather than the microwave, cut two slices of locally produced sourdough bread, and sat down at the breakfast bar with her mobile placed next to her dark-red pottery mug. She blew her soup repeatedly to cool it, dunked in a small chunk of bread, and thoroughly enjoyed it, waiting until just after one before making her call. Lucy answered on the third insistent ring of the shrill tone.
‘Crufts Dog Show – woof, woof, woof.’
Cerys smiled but didn’t laugh. Lucy was nothing if not predictable. She made the same childish joke almost every time she answered the phone.
‘Very funny, Lucy, I can hardly stop laughing. Have you got time to talk?’
‘Of course. What’s up?’
Cerys felt her jaw tighten. She’d hoped to keep the conversation casual, as low key as possible, to express her concerns in a subtle way rather than jump right in. But it already seemed her tone had betrayed her concern.
‘Why do you assume something’s wrong?’
‘Well, there usually is when you ring. Is it Mum again? I called at the house to see her; she’s doing okay. She’s having the right treatment, she’s thinking positive, and you worrying yourself silly isn’t going to change anything for the better. You’re going to make yourself ill again if you’re not careful. You have to try to relax.’
Cerys adjusted her position, trying to get comfortable as her lower back stiffened and complained.
‘It’s, er, it’s not Mum, not this time.’
‘Then what is it? Come on, I know something is bothering you. Just tell me and get it over with – you know I’ll help if I can.’
Was that a hint of impatience in Lucy’s voice? Or maybe it was frustration. It was sometimes hard to tell. Either way, it was time to get to the point.
‘Mum told me about the problems you’ve been having with Andy.’
‘Ah, yeah, okay. I wondered if that was where this was going. I’ve told him he’s got to move out. It wasn’t an easy conversation. I’ve been putting it off for months, but now it’s done. Soon he’ll be gone. It’s a huge relief, to be honest. I wish I’d done it a lot sooner. The relationship has run its course.’
‘Was he difficult? When you told him, I mean? I know he can be. Did he give you a hard time?’
‘Same old, same old – a mixture of anger and tears, much as I expected. It’s done, that’s the main thing. I’m getting my life back.’
‘You’ve done the right thing.’
‘Yeah, I know, thanks. I’m glad you understand.’
Cerys smiled. ‘You and me against the world. We’ll always stick together.’
‘Exactly, that’s what sisters are for.’
It was now or never.
‘There is one other thing,’ Cerys said.
‘Oh, here we go. What is it now? I just knew there was something else.’
Cerys crossed and uncrossed her legs and then stood before responding, taking her unfinished soup with her.
‘That man you met at the café. Will you be seeing him again?’
‘I hope to. He made me a great offer. The most generous I’ve ever had. It would be a shame to miss out on so much cash. I think he must think I’m a lot more famous than I am.’
‘Don’t do it, Lucy. There was something strange about him, something I didn’t like.’
‘Have you been talking to Mum about that too?’
‘Well, yes, I have. I rang her yesterday evening, but it’s not that. Didn’t you notice something wasn’t quite right about his appearance?’
Cerys heard her sister let out a long breath before responding.
‘I thought he looked rather smart. A little old-fashioned, perhaps, but nice. I’ve got a quirky dress sense myself. A lot of artistic people have. You could say the same thing about me.’
