‘I guess.’
‘How did they get on with their dad?’
‘Dunno.’ It’s automatic, but then: ‘They had a row.’
‘The twins?’
‘Rhys and Yasmin. Felicia and Tabby heard them arguing on Christmas Eve – Tabby said it was really bad.’
‘Over what?’
Caleb shrugs. ‘Ask them.’ He’s too savvy to talk, Ffion thinks, but too well-brought-up to walk away.
‘So, where’s home?’ Leo asks.
‘Here.’
‘Before here.’
‘London.’
‘Like it?’
Caleb shrugs. Then, after a moment: ‘Mum doesn’t.’
‘How come?’
‘She doesn’t like my mates.’
Leo nods. ‘It’s kind of a given, to be honest. Mums aren’t supposed to like our friends. My lad’s only just started school, and a few of his classmates are well dodgy.’
Caleb laughs, a sound which seems to surprise even him. He looks at Leo. ‘I don’t like them much, either.’ He picks up a stone and throws it from one hand to the other.
‘Troublemakers?’ Leo says. The boy nods.
‘You’re not exactly squeaky clean yourself,’ Ffion says. She’d like to warn him off – Seren’s dropped him into conversation too often for there to be nothing in it – but she knows better than to add fuel to something that might still burn itself out. Telling a teenager not to do something is a sure-fire way to make it happen.
‘I know you won’t believe me, but they made me do all that stuff.’ Caleb scuffs his trainers on the ground. ‘I’m not trying to make excuses – like, I know I could have said no, I know I did it. I did the crime, I gotta do the time, blah blah blah.’
‘As you get older, it’ll get easier to stand up for yourself,’ Leo says.
‘That’s why Mum got this place.’ Caleb nods towards The Shore. ‘She saw it online and got, like, obsessed with it. No one around to be a bad influence.’ Caleb perfectly mimics Clemmie Northcote’s voice.
‘Expensive way to make a fresh start.’
Caleb shrugs. His phone pings with a message. ‘Gotta go.’
‘Fresh start, my arse,’ Ffion says, once he’s gone. ‘My sister reckons he’s supplying cannabis to half of Year Eleven.’ She yawns. ‘I should really do something about that, I suppose.’
‘I think he’s a good kid. Underneath.’ Leo gives a half grin. ‘He reminds me of the way I was, at that age.’
Ffion snorts. ‘He reminds me of the way you are now. You learn to stick up for yourself as you get older, do you? I didn’t see much evidence of that when your DI was ripping the piss.’
Leo starts walking back towards the lodges. ‘Will you do the full character assassination now, or are we actually going to nick Yasmin Lloyd?’
‘Now that you mention it, you’ve got a terrible habit of—’ Ffion cuts off, as Leo stops dead and glares at her. She grins. ‘Oh, alright. We’ll nick Yasmin Lloyd.’
In the Lloyds’ lodge, Tabby picks out mournful tunes on the piano, while Felicia kneels at the glass coffee table, surrounded by photographs of her father.
Yasmin sighs. ‘I told her not to. It’s only going to make her feel worse.’
‘I have to,’ Felicia cries, as she works through her father’s mail. ‘Dad’s fans are devastated – he’d want us to reply.’ In every reply, Felicia is including a printed statement. Ffion picks one up.
We are grief-stricken by the loss of Rhys Lloyd, a loving husband and father.
Felicia slips a signed photograph into an envelope along with the statement, and licks the envelope. A fat tear falls on to the address as she adds it to the pile to be posted.
‘We need to speak to you,’ Leo says. ‘Is there somewhere the girls could—’
‘Whatever you’ve got to say to me, you can say it here,’ Yasmin snaps. ‘It can’t be any worse than being told their father’s dead.’
Ffion shrugs. ‘Yasmin Lloyd, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the stalking and harassment of Rhys Lloyd.’ As Ffion recites the caution, Felicia bursts into fresh tears. Yasmin says nothing.
Tabby lets the lid of the piano slam, the sound echoing through the lodge. ‘You can’t arrest her, it’s against her civil liberties. I’m calling Daddy’s legal team.’
Rhys’s legal team – comprising several contract lawyers and an intellectual property expert – turn out to be about as much use to Yasmin as a waterproof teabag. She’s allocated the duty solicitor, who listens to Ffion’s brief disclosure without expression, then withdraws to consult with his client.