The Runaway Read online

  Nia writes down the address on a scrap piece of paper for Adam and thanks him profusely. Adam goes back into the house, picking up a cup of cold coffee on the way.

  “Grace, let me know when you want to take a break from work later.”

  “Not for a bit. Why?”

  “You know that woman you heard about last night? The one you thought might have been here at the same time as Dad. Didn’t you say her name was Maebh?”

  “Yes, that’s right. Maebh O’Donnell, they said. Why? What have you done now?”

  Adam grins. “I’ve just arranged for us to go and see her.”

  *

  Maebh answers the door and invites them in almost before they have explained that they are there on Nia’s behalf. She offers them tea and lemon cake, and then tells them to sit down.

  “You must be Maebh,” says Adam.

  “For want of another name or face, I must,” she says with a mischievous smile, “and for want of a better introduction, you must be the visitors staying on the Evanses’ farm. Grace and Adam, isn’t it? I’m sorry, dear boy, you mustn’t look surprised. I tend to know everything that happens in this village.”

  As they introduce themselves, she scrutinizes their faces with her sharp glinting eyes. These two are new, different, and yet somehow familiar. There is something about them that tugs at her memory, though she cannot pin it down. A slight movement or mannerism: the disarming openness of one’s smile, or the gentleness of the other’s voice. She must have seen them somewhere before. She frowns in puzzlement.

  “Well now, why would two strangers want to visit me? It was kind of you to bring those things, not just for my sake but for Nia’s. I know she has a lot on her mind these days, poor thing. Tell me, are you here just to help her, or is there something else I can do for you?”

  “Sharp as an arrow!” laughs Adam, realizing the complete transparency of his plan now. “I am afraid you’re right. We have actually come to ask you something.”

  “And I imagine it’s not to knit you a Nativity set, unless fame of my skill with wool has spread further than I thought.” Maebh cackles, amused by her own sarcasm today. Still she cannot place what it is she thinks she recognizes about these two.

  “No, we wondered if you might remember somebody who used to live here. We heard that you’ve been in Llandymna for many years now.”

  “Ay, that’s true enough. Who is it you think I may remember?”

  “We think you might have known our father, Emrys Trewent.”

  Maebh sits motionless as all the familiar expressions and gestures fall into place in her memory, and instead of two faces, she now sees one.

  “Emrys,” she says, trying out the name like a forgotten word from a foreign language. “That’s not a name anyone has spoken in Llandymna for some time now.”

  “You knew him though?” asks Adam, suddenly animated and eager. “You must have done! This village was never big enough for everyone not to know each other, or that’s how it seemed when he spoke of this place. And I think you would have been similar ages – maybe even have gone to school together.”

  “You say ‘knew’ and ‘spoke’, so am I to assume he is dead?”

  “Yes. He died about a month ago.”

  “I see. Losing someone is hard, and you are both young. I am sorry for it.” Maebh is silent, contemplating this. The brother and sister watch her face, but she seems for a moment to have forgotten they are there. The only sound is the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. Finally she looks up.

  “Well, what is it you want to know about him?”

  “The truth of what really happened, and why he left here,” Adam replies. Maebh gives an incredulous laugh.

  “There’s a story I’ve been trying to tell people around here for, oh, decades, and then you two turn up and the first thing you ask is to hear it! Do you know there are people in this village who did everything in their power to prevent a local history society being set up? And they said it was because we needed the resources and the manhours elsewhere, but the truth is they didn’t want people learning too much about their predecessors.”

  “We understand it might not be what we want to hear,” says Grace, though she has visibly tensed at Maebh’s warning. Adam leans forward, eager to have his questions answered at last.

  “Well then, if you’re sure you’re ready for it. Someone should know his story, after all, and you of all people have a right to it.” Maebh sighs and closes her eyes for a moment. Then, taking her time over each word, as if she has been rehearsing this tale a long time, she begins. “Emrys was born just after the end of the war. He was born too soon, they said. His mother went into early labour and the baby was small and frail. You’ll know, of course, about his right arm that never quite grew properly.”

  “Yes,” Adam says, “but it never really seemed to hold him back. He’d take me fishing and still be able to reel in the line faster than I could.”

  He smiles to remember his childhood, but glances over at Grace to check that she is not too upset by this already. His sister’s expression gives little away so far: she has always been better than Adam at concealing her emotions.

  “That’s good,” Maebh nods, pausing to picture the man she remembers, sitting beside a river with his son, “but when he was young, Llandymna was much more a farming community. And Emrys was the only son in a farming family. Even though he grew healthier than the doctors ever expected, he never had the strength for a life of work in the fields. His father made no effort to conceal his disappointment at this.” She frowns in deliberation over how much to tell them, then decides to be blunt. “He could not see the point of a son who would not inherit the Trewent farm.”

  Grace arches an eyebrow and Maebh looks sympathetic. Emrys’s father would not have thought much of his granddaughter’s academic achievements.

  “But there was more to Emrys than that,” she continues. “He read, and he drew with his left hand, and he did his best to make friends, though most children at his school avoided him because they had been told by their parents that he was somehow different, or not quite right. None of that bothered him. He was always generous in his opinions of others, and there was such a peaceful quality about him. He seemed to feel the pain of others as deeply as if it were his own. Once, I remember, he found a sparrow that had fallen from its nest before it could fly. He and I found a hiding place where we could watch it at a distance, to be sure the bird’s parents came back for it, and he painstakingly scared off every predator that came near.

  “But then one day, when he was still a young man, strange things began to happen around the village. Some sheep disappeared from their pen and turned up drowned in the river. Some said it was an accident, but others said the animals had been drowned on purpose. Gardens were torn up overnight, and some said it was just more animals escaping, but others thought it was vandalism. And they looked around Llandymna for where to point the finger, but they didn’t look for long. Because when they saw Emrys, hanging back from the group because he wasn’t used to being around people, that was that. No one could prove anything, of course, because there wasn’t a mite of evidence against him, but everyone believed it was him.”

  Grace and Adam stare in disbelief. In all their father’s stories, he never mentioned this. But Maebh’s story is still unfolding, and she ploughs on, though her voice becomes graver as she relives those years.

  “Emrys had always been forgiving of others when they showed him unkindness. But these accusations were everywhere now. Folk wouldn’t speak to him on the street any more, or serve him in shops. He became low. That wonderful heart of his was turned heavy and dark by the weight of what others were saying and doing. He started avoiding people, so as not to give them the chance to be cruel. It made me sad to see him finally defeated by them, after all this time. But I didn’t know then that wouldn’t be the worst of it.”

&nbs
p; She reaches for her cup and takes a sip to clear her throat, but when she sets it back down, there seems to be a slight tremor in her hand.

  “You understand that it’s easier to fear what you don’t know? With Emrys hardly seen any more, I seemed to spend all my time correcting other people’s gossip. In the years that followed, there were rumours that he lived wild and never went indoors, or that he ate frogspawn and dragonflies. There were all manner of stories of how he hurt his arm, and none of them painted him as a hero. Parents started to threaten their children that if they did not behave, Emrys would come and get them. Then, one day, a child disappeared in Llandymna. A little girl from a family that’s been here for generations. And you can guess what everyone here decided had happened, and who they held responsible.”

  “No,” Grace whispers under her breath, suddenly understanding where the story is headed.

  Maebh nods sadly. “People were scared and they were angry, and it was easy to blame the strange man no one had spoken to in years. And in those days, Llandymna was even more isolated than it is today. It felt like its own little kingdom away from the world. So they thought they’d confront him themselves, rather than call the police.

  “I’ve had nightmares about what happened that night. Emrys’s mind was too overcome with all he’d already been accused of to properly understand what they were saying. And when he could not answer them, a few men set upon him – beat him almost senseless, they did. So when there was a moment’s chance, when Emrys was back on his feet, I distracted them just long enough for him to get away. And he ran off into the night. They tried chasing him, and had it been daylight they most likely would have caught him. But it was dark, and Emrys had been an outcast long enough to know all the hideouts and secret paths away from here. He must have kept running until they were too weary to chase him further. He escaped. But I never saw him again.

  “And the next morning, do you know what happened? They found that little girl, safe and sound. She’d been playing on one of the farms and had fallen asleep in a barn. She walked herself home the next day, but it was too late by then.

  “Rather than admit they’d made a terrible mistake, the people of Llandymna made a silent agreement that day never to speak of what happened. They were ashamed, but not in a way that was going to do any good. So no one names Emrys here. Most young folk will never have heard of him. All I can do is tell stories of heroes who have his kindness and goodness, and hope they will learn to value that in others. The older ones tell themselves it was all fair, all deserved. They retell the story in their heads until they find a version they can live with.”

  Maebh waits now for Adam and Grace to have time to make sense of it all. As her words sink in for them, she becomes lost in her own thoughts. She remembers the shouting. She remembers running past houses, looking for Emrys, trying to find him before the others did. She remembers watching him disappear into the darkness, and how the next day she went out looking for him, calling his name from the path through the woods. Now she sees his face traced as a likeness upon these two. She wonders: are they like their father?

  “Before today, I never knew what became of him after he left this place. I didn’t know if he even survived his first winter away from here. But now at least I know he went on to live. Though you seem young to be his children. You must be about thirty, I would guess.”

  Grace picks up the story from Maebh, repaying her story with the information she wants. “He married late in life, or at least late for what was normal in those days. He was forty when Adam was born. He went to the coast, found work, and met our mother there. He lived a life far more ordinary than what you have described.”

  “And was he happy?”

  “Yes, I believe so. Our mother’s faith always seemed to give him strength. He told us stories of this place, but never spoke of what happened. He never seemed bitter or angry. Though we knew something wasn’t right, we would never have guessed at the truth.”

  “And he died just a few weeks ago. How?”

  “His lungs. He’d been having trouble breathing for some time. It was peaceful in the end.”

  Maebh thinks of all the possible outcomes and imaginings she has ever dreamed up of what may have become of Emrys – all the stories she has told children of the Boy Who Shone in the hope she could somehow make these happy endings real for him. Now she knows the truth, and reality carries with it both relief and disappointment.

  Chapter three

  Llandymna

  Adam and Grace walk through the centre of the village on their way back to the farm.

  “Funny to think he would have walked down here fifty years ago,” says Adam. “That would’ve been his post office there, and that corner shop.”

  Grace is silent.

  “I know. Not the history we were hoping for, is it?” he continues. “But at least it’s filled in the gaps. We know now why he didn’t talk much about it.”

  His sister continues to focus on the road ahead. Her jaw is set, all the muscles tightened resolutely.

  “Ayawa, it’ll be OK –”

  “OK?” Grace finally answers. “Kofi, for once it’s not OK! It was supposed to be a lovely meaningful thing, to go back to where Dad grew up. To bring back stories of his childhood for Mum to enjoy. But now we know… what these people did to him… I can’t even think about it.” She chokes back tears, and her brother hugs her. “How could they do that?”

  “I know, I know. It’s not right.”

  A man walking a dog crosses the street away from them, clearly taken aback by this display of emotion.

  “Look,” says Grace, catching her breath, “if you don’t want to stay here now, that’s fine. I know you offered to keep me company while I’m doing research here, but now that we’ve found what we came here to ask, I’ll understand if you want to go back. I need to be here for a week or two, but you don’t.”

  “And leave you here to face it all on your own? No chance. I’ll stay until you’ve finished your work.”

  They continue walking and pass the church hall, which is the site of a flurry of activity. Large crates of food are being carried into the building while trestle tables are hauled through the doorway. Two men are on step ladders attaching orange and green bunting to the outside of the building, while a woman with a clipboard stands on the steps and directs them.

  “Higher on your side, Rhys, or it’ll look uneven,” she calls. Rhys obediently raises his end of the bunting until the effect is perfect symmetry.

  “A bit early for Halloween, isn’t it?” Adam remarks to Grace as he takes in the bright decorations, spotting the chance for a much-needed distraction.

  The tactic works, and Grace cannot resist sharing a deep-buried piece of trivia from a book she read perhaps a decade ago, in favour of dwelling any longer on the day’s revelations. “Maybe it’s a wedding with a bold colour scheme. Roman brides used to wear orange veils.”

  Adam laughs. “There’s no end to the strange things you know, is there?”

  The woman with the clipboard has spotted them and is walking over at a brisk pace. She greets them each with a firm handshake.

  “Hello there, I’m Diana Griffin. You must be Ifan and Nia’s guests I’ve been hearing about. Welcome to the village. I hope you’re enjoying your time here.”

  “It’s a beautiful place,” Adam says, so as to seem to be answering her.

  “It is, isn’t it?” Diana nods, apparently not spotting the slight evasion. “And you’ve come at the right time for our harvest festival. We have it every year in September. There’s a big meal to celebrate later on today. You can see we’re busy setting up for it here. You should come, if you have time. Everyone is welcome.”

  “That’s very kind,” Grace says guardedly.

  “Thanks very much,” Adam adds. “Sorry we can’t stay, but my sister needs to get on with her work, so we need to get back.
”

  “We’re going to that, aren’t we?” Grace says resignedly as they turn the corner and head back towards the farm.

  “What? No, not if you don’t want to.”

  Grace gives a look that says she is not taken in by her brother’s nonchalance. “I know you, and I know that even after everything we’ve learned today, you can’t resist the idea of being around people – and food, for that matter.”

  “Well, I was thinking it sounded like a good opportunity to meet locals,” Adam admits, “but you don’t need to be there if you don’t want to.”

  “Don’t be silly – someone’s got to keep an eye on you. Though at this rate, I’m never going to get my work done.”

  Rhiannon

  An invasion of gold is fast banishing the green of the forest. The trees blaze all about me in their new colours, but in spite of this brightness the sky is growing duller every day. The days when it rains non-stop are the worst. Then I can do little but shelter, cold and miserable, waiting for the downpour to be over. Today, a chill in the air clings to my skin with keen fingers as I set out into the dew-glistening forest.

  I know my way around well now, though I trip still from time to time when I forget to watch the ground as much as the path ahead. As I walk out, I notice that many of the flowers have died down into the earth, and I can only hope that they will be here next spring, along with so much else that will try to outlast winter.

  Yesterday I ventured deeper into the woods than I ever have done before. I was scared of being caught after I saw those two strangers here. I expected them to rush back and send a search party to find me. But they must not have said anything, because no police patrol came into Dyrys all day. I would know, even if I didn’t see them. Police officers wear heavy shoes that leave deep prints. Being in a new part of the woods gave me access to new blackberry bushes I had not come across before, so I ate well at least. But I am starting to worry about what I will do when this year’s crop of fruit has died back. So far I have only ever collected enough for that day and the next, but I need to start thinking about a proper store, of things that will not rot or attract insects.