The Runaway Page 22

  And so I tell them what happened. I tell them what I remember of Elin Morgan: her smiling face and the voice that used to sing to me. I tell them about the night my mum went out when she thought I was asleep, and how later my aunt and uncle came over and told me I was going to have to stay with them for a while, and how I overheard them arguing in the kitchen about what exactly they were going to tell me about where my mother was. Uncle Ed had wanted to tell me the truth, as kindly as possible. Diana had thought there was no way a child my age could understand or deal with that.

  I do not cry as I speak. It has been more than ten years, and though I am aware of the absence of someone who really ought to be here, I am also conscious that I have grown used to this being the way things are. Diana became my guardian after that. Now that I think about it, I see just how young my aunt was back then, and what a responsibility must have fallen on her shoulders that day. Did it frighten her, the prospect of raising her sister’s child?

  “I’ve never talked so much about what happened,” I admit.

  “Then it’s an honour to hear it,” says Adam. I acknowledge that I have made everyone’s mood very serious. Even Callum does not make any jokes at my expense. They don’t say anything sympathetic either, as people normally would in this situation, but I am actually glad they do not. I would not know how to answer, and their listening has been kindness enough.

  “You mentioned that Ifan was better?” I say, deciding it is my responsibility to change the subject.

  “Yes,” says Grace slowly. “The wound wasn’t so bad after all. He seems to have returned to his old temperament.”

  I smile, knowing that Grace means the injury and the fight have done nothing to ease Ifan’s fiery pride. Then I think of Nia, and my amusement fades. She will bear the worst of his temper, I’m sure.

  Chapter three

  Rhiannon

  Adam and Grace arrive early the next day, because they need to be back in the village to help get ready for Diana’s party. They bring the usual supplies for Callum, and when I hear them on the path I go to join them. This is my favourite part of the day. The time I spend alone feels dull, even when I spend it on vital things like gathering food and firewood.

  However, when we find Callum today, he isn’t impatiently awaiting the arrival of his first meal of the day. He is packing everything he has into a bundle.

  “What’s going on?” asks Adam.

  “Good, you’re here,” says Callum. “I can say goodbye then.”

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  “Yes, away from here,” he says, and then launches into a speech that sounds rehearsed. “I’ve realized that even if I can’t go back to Llandymna, the police aren’t looking for me any more, so there’s no reason why I shouldn’t go somewhere else and start a new life.”

  “Right.” Adam puts down the bag of food he has brought for Callum. “So what’s the plan?”

  Callum looks taken off guard by this question. “I thought I’d hike south for a bit until I get to another town – one where I won’t bump into anyone I know. Then, uh, I’ll get a job, find somewhere to stay, and forget I was ever here.”

  I wonder if Callum has really thought this through. I doubt it.

  “You realize you might need to shave or shower before anyone will offer you a job, right?” I say.

  “And what about your family?” says Grace. “Will you say goodbye to your mother before you go?”

  Callum falters. I guess he planned to leave without saying anything to Angie.

  “Here’s a thought,” Adam adds. “If you’re set on going somewhere new, let us drive you there, rather than walking. Come back into the village, say your goodbyes to everyone, explain all this to your mum, pick up some fresh clothes and any money or documents you need to start fresh, and then we’ll take you to a town and get you booked into a bed and breakfast until you can find your own place.”

  “That’s a good plan, and I wish I could,” Callum answers, “but I can’t risk showing my face in Llandymna.”

  “Why? What are you afraid of?” Adam sounds incredulous as he blurts out the question. And I have to say, I think his plan sounds much better than Callum’s, but I never expected him to agree to it.

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” Callum snaps back, and for a moment I think he and Adam are about to start shouting at one another.

  “All right,” says Grace, “point taken. Let’s have something to eat together before you go then.”

  She starts to unpack the bag, and we all sit down on the forest floor together, Callum still shooting glares towards Adam for his accusation. Grace hands out plastic mugs and then pours tomato soup from a flask into each one. We all fall quiet for a while as we drink, no one looking particularly happy.

  “You know,” Grace says after a pause, “you were asking about our dad yesterday, Rhiannon. Do you know why he left Llandymna?”

  “No,” I say, thinking: How could I possibly know this? But then it occurs to me that in a village where everyone knows one another, perhaps the fact that no one has ever told me is the real mystery.

  “Maebh told us that no one talks about him these days. But he ran away because he was wrongly accused of a crime.”

  “Just like me then,” Callum mutters.

  “Except that in your case, you did actually stab someone,” I point out. Sometimes I think Callum is starting to behave like an adult, but then he says something self-pitying again and I wonder how long it takes a person to really change.

  “Thanks for that reminder,” he says crossly.

  “He never came back, but he never put Llandymna behind him either. How could he, when there was so much left unresolved here? He missed his old friends, even if they were very few, and he felt the sting of never having reconciled with the people he left behind. At the very end, when he was too weak to travel, we found out how much he regretted it. Callum, I’m saying this because I don’t think you fully understand the implications of your plan. Adam and I have done a lot to help you, but I think you should go back home now.”

  “Look, I appreciate you passing on your dad’s wisdom or whatever, but this is different. I can’t go back.”

  “It’s your best chance of surviving once these two have left,” I say. “You’re not exactly self-sufficient here, and I don’t think you’re going to land on your feet anywhere else immediately. When Adam and Grace leave, you’ll need to be at home or you’re going to starve to death.”

  “Actually, Rhiannon,” Grace continues, “I was about to say the same thing to you. I know you don’t want to hear it, and you’re very capable of looking after yourself, but I think you need to go back and face your friends and family again.”

  “And why exactly do I need to do that?” I ask. I feel torn, between the strong loyalty I feel towards my friends and my instinct to defend myself against any attempt to send me back to Llandymna. Everything in me hates the tone I am using towards Grace right now, but I cannot make sense of her suggestion. Doesn’t she understand how awful it was – both my behaviour to others and theirs to me? Does she think everyone will have forgotten and welcome me with open arms? It would take something more than a cautionary tale about her father to make me willing to face what waits for me in Llandymna.

  “The thing about running away is you won’t actually escape anything,” says Adam, “but ultimately it’s up to you. If you’re going to leave, Callum, we’d like you to do it as properly as possible.”

  “What d’you mean?” Callum cannot object to what sounds like it might be a supportive remark.

  “You’ll need things to start out in a new place: ID and paperwork, for example. So you can get a job and somewhere to live. Those are all at your house, right?”

  “Yeah, but I can’t go and get them. Can you go for me?”

  “You want us to go to your mum’s house, tell her that we know where
you are and that you’re leaving for a new start somewhere else, but that you won’t come and tell her yourself, and then ask her to hand over all your belongings to us?”

  “Well, I know it sounds bad if you say it like that, but yes.”

  Adam and Grace look unconvinced, but they say that they will think on it and come back with an answer after the party. Then they pack up and return to the village to celebrate Diana’s birthday. I half entertain the thought of sending them back with a message for my aunt, but then I realize I’m not ready for the consequences of doing that. They leave, and I wonder if this is the last time the four of us will all be together; if by the time they return Callum will have gone for good.

  I sit beside the stream, my bare feet in the water, mud curling away from them as the little current cleanses my skin. Callum is on the opposite bank, sorting through a handful of small stones and throwing them into the water one at a time.

  “Can you believe them?” he asks.

  “You can’t blame them for trying,” I say. “From a practical perspective, they’re right. It would make sense to go back, especially before winter. I don’t know what I’m going to do for food once the harvest dries up.”

  “I guess there won’t be much on the trees soon, right?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Still, I can’t go back. I’ll wait to see if they come back later with the stuff, and then I’m going, either way.”

  It is strange to think that Callum will be leaving. I can’t say I’ve exactly grown to like him, but I have become used to him being here.

  “What if they don’t come back?”

  “Then I’ll need you to say goodbye to them from me. And thank them for everything. I wouldn’t have managed without their help.”

  “They’re good people,” I say. “It’s a shame to think that if their dad hadn’t been driven out, they might have been born in Llandymna and then we would have known them all our lives. I wonder if things would have been different then.”

  “Different how?”

  “They’re so… so reassuring. They make you feel as though you’re doing OK at life rather than falling flat on your face all the time, which is what Diana seems to think.”

  “Don’t feel bad. She doesn’t reserve that just for you.”

  “It’s like they look at someone and see everything about them, understand them, but then choose only to talk about the very best side of that person. I wonder how you learn that, or if it’s something you’re just born with.”

  “I’ve said it before, Rhiannon, but you think way too deeply. It’s what makes you so angry all the time.”

  I don’t resent this comment any less than before. “As opposed to someone who doesn’t dare look below the surface, because it complicates life too much?” I retort.

  He doesn’t snap back. After a pause he says, “You were right, in what you said about Nia the other day.” I am glad to be sitting down, or I might have keeled over in surprise at hearing those words escape his lips. “She’s only ever been kind to me. She’s like Tom – she thinks before she speaks. I know I don’t do that.”

  I have nothing insightful to say, so I respond with, “Really?”

  “And if I’m honest, I hate that. I remember when we were younger, when we used to go to Maebh’s after school and listen to her stories, she would always single Tom and Nia out for being thoughtful, while I’d be starting a fight with one of the other kids in the corner and arguing over whose dad was tougher.”

  I suddenly feel pity for Callum, the boy who grew up copying Ifan and hoping to be admired for his efforts.

  “It’s not as if Nia and Tom have all the good qualities and you have none,” I say. The kindness feels a little stilted in my throat, but hopefully it doesn’t sound that way. “I heard you apologize to Adam yesterday for what happened to his hand. Someone like Ifan would have been much too proud to do that.”

  “Living in the forest does strange things to people, doesn’t it?” he says, and I think that for the first time he may be acknowledging that we have both been changed by our time in Dyrys. I think about how differently I view others now, about how much less Callum and I both find to resent in other people these days.

  Maybe it is the fact that we are finally agreeing on something, or maybe the peculiarity of our situation, but our eyes meet and we both start to laugh together. It is strange, this shared moment of incredulity and mirth – perhaps a reaction to the underlying worry of what will become of us next.

  Llandymna

  Diana stops on her way to the party to collect some cakes that Maebh has baked for the occasion. She does not want to risk not having all the food ready at the start of the event. She brings Eira and Owen in with her, and sends them into the front room while she and Maebh go to the kitchen, where lemon drizzle slices and shortbread are cooling on wire racks, halfway to being packed into their boxes and tins. Diana sighs as she sees that Maebh is not ready for her yet, and rolls up her sleeves to help get everything prepared.

  “And I hope you’ll be coming to the party too,” she says, prising the lid off an old tin.

  “Of course I will, dear,” says Maebh. “It’s a special occasion.”

  “Oh, it’s just a little get-together, really. I’m so touched at how much effort everyone has put in.”

  Maebh gives a wry smile, knowing full well that everyone has worked exactly as hard as Diana has instructed.

  “Well, dear,” she says, “you work hard for this village, and I’m sure people are looking forward to thanking you for all your efforts.”

  Diana looks gratified, and Maebh sees she has articulated exactly what Diana was hoping the party would represent. But Maebh has another agenda today, so she continues, “And you know, I’ve been thinking about all the things that might drive a person to work as hard as you do.”

  “There’s no mystery to it,” Diana says, going to the kitchen drawers to look for a utensil to help her lift the smaller cakes. “It’s for the good of Llandymna and its people.”

  “Of course. But I know that a lot of people who work like you do would be motivated by something else.” She pauses, easing the lid off one of the tins where it had stuck tight, and then looks back up at Diana. “Maybe the idea that they could forget what hurts them if they keep busy enough. Or that by doing enough good, they would be making amends for something else.”

  Diana selects a cake slice and returns to the kitchen table, but now she looks uneasy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You do, my dear, or you wouldn’t have just used that tone with me. And I think, if you’re honest, you want to talk about it to someone.”

  “What do you know?” Diana asks, her voice now quivering with a blend of fearfulness and anger.

  “Only that you’ve been carrying a lot of guilt around on those shoulders of yours for a long time now.”

  “Maybe,” she says, and keeps her eyes fixed on the task in front of her. “But I can’t talk about it.”

  “Well, not talking about it hasn’t done you much good so far, has it? Why not try another option?”

  “You do know, don’t you?”

  “Try me,” says Maebh. Diana checks the children are occupied in the front room before she puts the cakes aside and faces Maebh. She looks frightened and relieved all at once as she takes a deep breath.

  “The night Elin left – for the last time –” her voice wavers, “it was my fault.”

  “Go on.”

  “I’d thought when she came home pregnant that would be it – that having a baby would force her to calm down, to start thinking about the consequences of her actions. And for a while I think it did help. She stayed, after all, and took care of Rhiannon. But then her old ways started creeping back in. She’d leave the child with me and go out all night. She’d leave Llandymna and not tell anyone where she was going. And I wa
nted her to understand that people were going to get hurt if she carried on.

  “So one night, I told her about what happened when she was four years old, when she wandered off one night and everyone thought she was lost. How that man Emrys was blamed. Yes, I’d known about that for a long time, even if I was too young when it happened to remember it. When you’re a quiet, serious child, adults forget themselves in front of you. They discuss things they don’t mean to, let you overhear secrets before they even remember you’re in the room.

  “I told her it was her fault that man was beaten and attacked and driven away. That he was probably dead now because she had been too self-involved to think about anything except what she wanted to do. I thought if I could just shock her enough, she’d stop and actually listen to me.

  “I shocked her all right. She went white as a sheet. She didn’t say anything. She just picked up her keys from the table and walked, like she was in a trance or something, past me and out of the house.

  “That was the night she crashed the car. I’ve pictured her a thousand times, driving out into the night under the burden of all I said, too distraught to pay attention to the road. And I – I’m almost certain that if I hadn’t said all of that, she would never have lost control of the car. She’d still be here.” She buries her head in her hands, instinctively trying to conceal the pained expression on her face.

  “Diana, my dear, you can never know what was going through your sister’s head at that moment. You can’t be sure of that.”

  Diana looks up. “Not being sure is somehow just as bad as knowing. I keep thinking, what would people say if they knew the truth? It isn’t easy to keep a secret for ten years, but I can’t seem to do enough good to insure against the backlash.”

  Tears stream down her face, and Maebh remembers how uncertain Diana was as a child, always desperately trying to do the right thing, reading every situation to find out what was expected of her.

  “But that’s the awful thing about not knowing everything, isn’t it? I try not to think about that poor man Emrys. Because what if he really did die all because Elin wandered off? And then there’s –” she exhales and steadies herself to say what follows – “there’s Rhiannon. What if something similar has become of her? She always had so much of her mother’s character – the daydreaming, the stubbornness.”