‘Yes,’ she heard herself say.
‘What would you say to her?’ Leo repeats. His eyes are urging her onwards, and she knows, she knows what she’s supposed to say, but she was Ffion Wyllt, Rhys knew that and so she had to expect—
‘I’d say it wasn’t her fault,’ Ffion whispers. Her voice cracks, and she’s crying again. ‘It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault.’
THIRTY-SEVEN
MID-AUGUST | CALEB
By rights, Caleb should be bored out of his skull. His mum says by next year The Shore will have a games room, with a bar and coffee shop, and a crazy-golf course in among the trees. Right now, there’s none of that, just the deck and the lake and the shadow of the mountain. Cwm Coed village is less than a mile away, but there’s nothing to do there either.
There are hardly any people around. The morning after they’d arrived at The Shore, Caleb had taken one of the resort’s forest-green bikes and cycled around the lake without seeing a single car. He had felt his shoulders, usually hunched up to his ears, slowly returning to their correct position. He’d pedalled faster, the wind whipping a grin on his face. He felt alive.
‘I know you’ll be missing your mates,’ Mum said, but all Caleb felt was relief. Relief that when his phone beeped with a message from the lads he could ignore it, knowing that when they came looking for him, they wouldn’t find him.
It had started when Caleb moved schools halfway through the first year at secondary. Everyone already had friendship groups, and Caleb was grateful to be taken under the wings of Brett and Jamil. It was fun at first – even the shoplifting was a laugh – but then people started getting hurt, and Caleb got scared. He took it out on his mum, knowing he was being unfair, but at the same time unable to stop himself lashing out.
‘They’re a bad influence,’ she’d say, and Caleb would slam his bedroom door and hide from the truth.
Now, Caleb stares at his phone. Two doors down, Rhys Lloyd is singing, and even though Caleb hates classical music it sounds right for this place, with the sun sparkling on the water. Tabby and Felicia are messing about on pink flamingos.
‘Caleb!’ one of them shouts. ‘Are you coming in?’
He ignores them. He’s scrolling through his contacts, systematically blocking each number in turn. Brett, Daz, Jamil. With each one, he feels as though he’s shedding a skin.
‘Oh, my God, Tabs, you just flashed a nipple, I swear!’ Felicia’s voice carries through the still air. Caleb looks – he’s fifteen, after all – but sees nothing.
‘Shit, do you think there are fish in here?’ Tabby says. She pulls her feet on to the flamingo. ‘Like, actual fish?’
Caleb catches Bobby Stafford’s eye. He’s on the neighbouring deck, stretched on a sun lounger with a beer in his hand.
‘D’you reckon twins can share a brain cell?’ Bobby says. Caleb laughs and Bobby points his beer can at him. ‘East London, right?’
‘Dagenham.’
‘What d’ya do for kicks around there?’
Caleb shrugs, unwilling to let himself be dragged back to Brett and his crew.
‘Play any sport?’
‘Bit of footie.’
‘Ever tried boxing?’
‘Not really.’
Bobby points up at the overhang from the upstairs balcony. ‘I’m putting a punchbag there. I’ll give you a few pointers, if you like.’
Caleb feels a glow inside. ‘Yeah, alright.’ He throws his phone on to the deck. ‘Might go and check out the water.’
Bobby winks. ‘And the rest, right?’
Caleb stretches. He jumps to the next deck, climbs down to the pontoon and takes a running jump, landing in a perfect bomb between Felicia and Tabby. The lake is ice cold and dark, and Caleb opens his eyes and takes long, strong strokes through the clear water. He bursts into the sunlight, laughing at the outrage on the twins’ bedraggled faces, then hauls himself out.
There’s a movement, further down the shore, and Caleb sees the red-haired girl hiding behind a tree. She’s been there for a few days, spying on them, thinking she can’t be seen. For want of anything better to do, he heads after her, but as he rounds the side of the lodges, a hand grips his shoulder and spins him around, then pushes him roughly against the wood cladding.
‘Perve at my girls again and I’ll cut your balls off.’ Rhys’s hand is locked around Caleb’s throat, pressing against his windpipe. Caleb can hear the twins laughing on the lake; his mum’s voice, talking to Mrs Huxley at number two. Sweat trickles down his spine.