‘I’m going to fucking kill you.’
‘What a start to Christmas Day!’ Clemmie’s arse appears above them, and Bobby releases his grip. Rhys rubs at his throat. Clemmie looks nervously at each of them, and, just when Bobby thinks she’s about to confront them, Caleb jumps down and runs along the pontoon, and the others are crowding around them, and it’s time to get in the water.
Bobby jokes around with the others, as he splashes about in the icy water, but he never once takes his eyes off Rhys.
One way or another, he’s going to make him pay.
FORTY-SIX
JANUARY 8TH | LEO
‘I have to find her.’ Ffion grapples for the door handle, but Leo’s already started the engine again. It’ll be quicker in the car. Ffion’s dialling Seren’s number, over and over, the tinny sound ringing out until Seren’s voicemail kicks in. It’s impossible to see through the snow now, the windscreen wipers working uselessly against the blizzard.
‘Call me back. Please, Seren. It’s important.’ Ffion’s dry-eyed, wrung out by emotion but back in control. She ends the call, spinning her contacts to land on Home. ‘Pick up, pick up,’ she mutters. Leo puts the car in gear and begins moving slowly towards the centre of the village. If Seren’s at home, Ffion will want to go to her, and if she isn’t . . . well, they won’t find her here. ‘Mam? It’s me. Is Seren there?’
Ffion’s long exhalation is all the answer Leo needs.
‘Do you know where she is?’ Leo hears the rise and fall of Elen’s voice at the other end of the phone as he drives through Cwm Coed, crawling in second gear to scan the doorways, the side streets. Dusk is falling – the shops closed – and few people are braving the weather. Snow has swallowed the pavements, the high street a sheet of white from one row of shops to the opposite one. The air is a blur of furious white.
‘She knows, Mam.’
Leo brings the car to a standstill, half wondering if he should get out and leave Ffion and Elen to talk. Ffion closes her eyes, but the pain on her face is still evident, and Leo feels like an intruder. The silence stretches out, and Leo unclips his seatbelt, but, before he can move, Ffion grips his hand.
‘Yup. I’ll look there. I know.’ Ffion’s opened her eyes, her answers now clipped and curt. ‘It’s fine. I know. Okay, then.’ This is Ffion Morgan, police officer, not Ffion, the daughter. Ffion, the mother. The only indication of her distress is the pain in Leo’s hand, as Ffion squeezes it.
Ffion takes the phone from her ear, releasing his hand at the same time. Leo surreptitiously flexes his knuckles. ‘Mam hasn’t seen her since lunchtime. Seren isn’t answering calls from her, either.’ She lets out a shaky breath. ‘I can’t tell Mam about the texts, about Rhys being the one who . . . Not over the phone.’
‘What about friends?’
‘I only know where two of them live – Sian and Efa – and I don’t even know if they hang out much any more.’
‘It’s worth a shot.’
Neither girl has seen Seren since before Christmas, and when Ffion asks Efa to call Seren’s mobile, hoping she’ll at least accept a call from a friend, it’s switched off.
‘Do you want to call it in?’ Leo says, when Ffion has battled her way back to the car.
‘She’s sixteen, she’s been missing for – what – less than an hour? You know as well as I do how that’ll be graded.’
‘Any history of mental health problems?’ Leo hates asking, but Ffion shakes her head. ‘Self-harm?’
‘Not that she’s disclosed to me.’ Ffion frowns, scrolling through her contacts again in search of someone – anyone – to try. No one looking at Ffion now, Leo thinks, would know Seren was her daughter. It’s as though there’s a series of doors inside her head, each one locking away one part of her life and enabling her to function in another.
They loop back on to the high street, their previous tyre tracks already consumed by the storm. Ffion’s window is open and she calls uselessly into the flurry of snow that enters the car. ‘Seren!’
A movement catches Leo’s eye – someone standing in an open doorway, one arm up against the blizzard. Glynis Lloyd.
He pulls up by the hardware shop; winds down his own window. Glynis is in her shop coat, a thick cardigan pulled hastily around her shoulders, slippers on her feet. Her face is etched with worry.
‘Is everything alright?’ Leo says. She shakes her head, pointing to her ear, and he shouts it again, above the noise of the blizzard.