The Runaway Page 9

  The thought of my stupidity grows louder, until it rages in my head. I sit still, take a breath to clear my mind, and close my eyes. I try to think of something else. In my head I am sitting with friends in a clearing in the woods, at dusk. There is firelight and music. We pass the time with riddles and songs, and tell stories as old as the sky. It is my turn and I sing a sorrowful song about an old king giving away all the treasures he had collected during his lifetime. Each item is precious and has its own story for the one who receives it. My voice is as clear as running water, as crisp as a winter wind before the first snow falls.

  I can feel my shoulders relaxing and my stomach unknotting. The sense of disgust ebbs away. I know it isn’t real. I know that depending on my imagination to cope with everyday life probably isn’t ideal. But what else can I do? This is the only way I know how to bear reality sometimes. Maybe if the world were not so cold and flat and stony, I would not need to dream of a place full of beauty and joy.

  The water is bubbling now, which means it is safe. Time to throw in the ingredients: apples and elderberries today. The apples would be fine raw, but I quickly learned not to eat uncooked elderberries after vomiting up a handful of them last week. I found some rosehips too. It took me a while to risk eating them, because I was afraid they might be poisonous. The bright red colour isn’t much of an encouragement. Still, hunger pushes you to take risks. Even though I’ve learned to ignore stomach pangs, there are days when my legs shake and I know I have to find food quickly to replenish my strength. Sources of carbohydrate are few in the forest, and I can tell my body is starting to use up the excess cushioning of fat that I had built up before I ran away. I remember my biology classes; I know what comes next. I need to find new food supplies.

  I do like living here, away from everyone. It’s easier not having to deal with people, with all their faults and unkindnesses. But I’d forgotten how interesting new people can be, when you have to guess at their stories or try to find them out. I sometimes wonder whether flawed friends aren’t better than none at all.

  I eat the fruit I have cooked, and then prepare for what I must do now.

  “What do you think, Lleu? Will they tell anyone they saw me?” I ask the bird that perches in the branch of a hawthorn next to the house. He watches me with his bright yellow stare. “You’re right. It’s too much of a risk to stay here for the rest of the day. Someone might come looking.”

  I need to go further into the woods and hide until it is dark. My fence will keep my belongings out of sight, so I do not have to carry them all, but if they bring sniffer dogs, then even a thicket of ivy might not protect me. I put some essentials into my backpack, check the fence for any damage, then slip through one of the concealed gaps in it and head for the depths of Dyrys.

  Llandymna

  “Well,” says Adam, as they find the grassy lay-by where they parked the car earlier. “D’you reckon that’s normal for round here? Strange girls wandering the woods.”

  “I don’t know,” says Grace. “I wonder if she’s OK. She looked a bit… on edge. And dishevelled, like she’d been out walking for a while.”

  “What was it she called that bird? Clue?”

  “Lleu – it’s a name from the Mabinogion. He was a man who got turned into an eagle.”

  “Maybe that’s what they do to unsuspecting visitors around here!”

  “It reminds me of something. Something on the news, maybe, that might have been from round here… It’s no good. I can’t remember what it was. I’ll look it up later.”

  Adam cannot resist a last look back over his shoulder to the woods as they leave them behind. Then it is time to complete the journey: their destination is a short drive from here, and there are too few roads for them to get lost.

  *

  “There’s the gate – this must be it.”

  They pull into the driveway leading up to the farm. A cluster of buildings sits around three sides of the yard: two old cottages, a barn, and some more recent structures in corrugated iron. Hay bales wrapped in black sheeting are stacked at the far end next to a trailer.

  “I think there’s just the one holiday cottage to rent on the farm here. It wasn’t the easiest place to find accommodation in the end. I told the lady we’d arrive about two. What time is it now?” asks Grace.

  “Close enough to two. Time to find out if this place lives up to Dad’s stories.”

  As they stop outside the farmhouse, a woman comes out and waves to them. She crosses the muddy yard in her wellies to meet them as they step out of the car.

  “Hello. Welcome to Llandymna. I’m Nia. Would you like me to help you with your bags?”

  Chapter two

  Llandymna

  “All unpacked?” Adam returns downstairs to find his sister stacking folders and books on the kitchen table.

  “Just about. You don’t mind if I use the table for work, do you?”

  “Of course not. We can eat in the living room. Or get some food from the village. I’ve got a view up towards it from my room and I think I can see a pub. It might be easier to eat there some evenings.”

  “Probably. I’ll be working all day, and we don’t want to subject ourselves to your cooking!”

  “Grace Ayawa Trewent, you are cruel sometimes!” Adam mimes taking a stab wound to the heart, and staggers back across the kitchen. Grace laughs. “But if it means that much to you, I won’t try to cook. I’ll find another way to make myself useful.”

  There is a knock at the door. Adam goes to answer it, and is met by a stocky farmer who looks immediately shocked.

  “Hello, name’s Ifan. I’m the owner here. Thought I’d introduce myself. Sorry, my wife didn’t mention that you were… foreign. Speak English, do you?”

  Adam smiles patiently and explains, not for the first time in his life, that he speaks English fluently on account of having lived in Britain his whole life.

  “Oh, right. That’s good,” Ifan flounders, unsure what to ask or say next.

  “Your wife gave us a quick tour of the farm when we arrived – it’s impressive what you’ve done here. Have you been farming all your life?”

  “Oh yes, I took this over from my dad when he retired – he has himself a nice house in the village now. Nia’s parents were farmers too. It’s not a big piece of land compared to some, but we do what we can with it.”

  “I saw you have a river running by here too – do you get many fish there?”

  “Yes, we do. Do you fish, then?”

  “When I can. My father took me fishing a lot when I was younger.”

  Grace smiles as she watches her brother do what he has always had a talent for: winning people over. By the time Ifan leaves, he has arranged to go fishing with his new guest and invited the two of them to come for a drink at the White Lion this evening. Grace continues to set up her work station, where she will write up her research over the coming weeks. She places her tree identification guide next to the Ordnance Survey maps, and props up a few ringbinders against the wall. She hears Adam call a cheery goodbye to Ifan from the door, and then return to the kitchen.

  “Now, I know you’ll be annoyed with me, but I’ve gone and got us invited to the pub with our hosts this evening.”

  “I know. You always forget how loud you are when you’re being friendly.”

  “I thought it would be a good chance to get to know people. And that might be useful for, you know, our secondary research project while we’re here.”

  “Investigating Dad’s stories, you mean? Be careful.”

  “When am I ever not careful?” Adam asks. Grace puts down the books she has been arranging and folds her arms.

  “Kofi, I’m not joking here. I don’t think he left this place on the best terms. I know we could never tell which parts of his stories were real and which were made up – ”

  “Apart from the one with the se
a monster that swam up the River Usk.”

  “Apart from that one, yes. But I always got the impression there was something not quite right when he talked about this place. There must have been some reason why he never went back, after all those years. I just don’t want you to get in trouble if you go asking lots of questions and don’t like the answers you find.”

  “All right, I’ll tread lightly. Don’t want to go disturbing the peace.”

  “Thank you. I’ll phone Mum now, to let her know we’ve arrived safely. I want to check how she’s doing, anyway.”

  She leaves her glasses on the table next to the books and files, and goes to find her phone.

  That evening, they walk with Ifan and Nia up the road towards Llandymna. Nia asks if they are comfortable in the house, and apologizes that the controls for the central heating are so complicated to understand; Ifan asks why they chose this particular village for a holiday in September.

  “It’s really only a holiday for me. Grace is doing research and couldn’t do all of it from her desk at the university. She’s here for fieldwork. She won’t tell you this herself, but she’s a genius.” Adam seizes the opportunity to praise his sister to their new hosts.

  “You’re an academic then, Grace?”

  “Yes, I’m a researcher at Aberystwyth University,” Grace explains in a matter-of-fact tone, not showing the same pride in her achievements that Adam feels.

  “I see,” says Ifan as tersely as if Grace had claimed to be a unicorn tamer. “And what about you, Adam?”

  “I’ve been working with the Forestry Commission for several years, but I’m planning to start up my own business when we get back.”

  “A businessman, eh? Very good. What will you be selling?”

  “Woodwork. Fencing, decking, garden furniture, whatever I can build.”

  “Excellent. We always need more skilled tradesmen like you.” It is unclear whether by “we” Ifan is speaking on behalf of himself and Nia, the people of Llandymna, or the world as a whole.

  “Their surname’s Trewent,” Nia tells her husband. “Didn’t there used to be a Trewent family in Llandymna, or am I confusing that with something else?”

  “Not sure,” says Ifan. “Can’t say I’ve ever met anyone with the name though.”

  They come to the White Lion, which is warm inside and smells of beer and gravy. Tom and Callum have already claimed the usual table in the corner and are waiting for them. Ifan introduces them.

  “These are our guests from the farm, Adam and Grace. These two lads here are Tom and Callum. Best watch yourself – Tom’s a policeman, so no drunk and disorderly behaviour in front of him!”

  “Great to meet you!” Adam declares with real warmth.

  “So where are you from?” asks Callum.

  “Monmouth,” answers Adam, “though Grace spends a lot of her time travelling on research trips these days. How about yourself? A local here?”

  “But where are you actually from?” Callum asks again, not satisfied with the answer. Tom looks uncomfortable. Adam and Grace exchange a smile.

  “I’ll take this one,” says Grace. “Our dad was Welsh, and our mum is originally from Ghana. She came to this country before we were born. But we have always lived in the UK.”

  Nia tenses, wondering if her husband will take the opportunity to share his views on immigration. Fortunately, he does not seem in the mood for this; perhaps meeting a fellow fisherman has pacified him for today.

  “Oh, OK.” Callum nods, then turns back to Adam, asking a question that shows he has accepted this stranger: “So what team do you support?”

  Talk of rugby leads to football, and in almost no time Callum is telling them about the time he scored a winning goal against the rival team from the next village. The Llandymna locals have all heard this story a dozen times before, and it is a sure sign that Callum is keen to impress the new visitors.

  “Nice one, mate!” Adam enthuses at the end of the story, offering the approval that was being sought. “Right, can I get anyone a drink? Ayawa, what will you have?”

  “Lemonade, thanks, Kofi. I’ve got to get an early start on my work tomorrow.”

  Adam and Ifan go to the bar, talking about fishing and laughing like old friends.

  “I’ve never seen Ifan take to someone so quickly,” Nia says to Grace. “Your brother has a way with new people.”

  “Yes, he’s good like that. When he meets someone new, he works on the assumption that he is going to be their friend. It’s gotten him in trouble with bosses and authority figures in the past though!”

  “I can imagine. And these names that you call each other: are they Ghanaian?”

  “Yes. Our parents gave us first names that would be easy for people to understand and pronounce in this country, since we were going to grow up here, but then they gave us each a second name in the Ghanaian way, to remind us that we have two heritages. We go by our first names day to day, but in conversation with each other we like to sometimes use our Ghanaian names. Our mother still uses them too.”

  “I wish I had a cool African nickname,” says Callum, earning a despairing stare from Tom. He has started absent-mindedly scratching the edge of the table with his pocket knife, carving a small trench into the wood.

  “And I gather you’re a researcher,” says Tom. “If I ask you what your field of study is, will we understand it?”

  “I’m looking at how we can use environmental and archaeological features to reconstruct historical landscapes. Basically, I’m interested in what the land looked like hundreds of years ago. Sometimes even the plants growing in an area will give you an idea of what it used to be like.”

  “Sounds interesting,” says Tom.

  “Why research it? If you want to know what this place was like hundreds of years ago, just ask Maebh!” Callum delivers his joke with a tone of triumph. Tom groans and gives Callum a humouring pat on the back.

  “Who’s Maebh?” Grace asks.

  “Maebh O’Donnell is an elderly woman in Llandymna. She likes to tell people about the importance of remembering our own history,” Tom explains.

  “Not that she ever really tells us what history she’s on about,” Callum adds. “As if anything interesting has ever happened in Llandymna!”

  “Has she lived here her whole life then?” Grace asks casually.

  “Yes, just about. Her parents came over from Ireland. Started out on the coast where there was more work to be had, but ended up here as a farm help. She’s like everyone’s unofficial grandmother.”

  Grace nods as she logs this information to share with her brother later. Adam and Ifan return with the drinks.

  *

  “I knew we should have booked a holiday cottage with its own library.”

  Adam comes downstairs the next morning to find Grace already awake and surrounded by maps. The kitchen table has proved too small a surface, so she has taken over the floor as well. Adam carefully steps over an Ordnance Survey to get to the kettle.

  “Sorry. I was going to move these before you came down.”

  “No problem. Coffee?”

  “Yes please, if you’re making it. Look at this…” She sets down one map on top of the others. “This is where we are – see, there’s the village and this is the farm. Now, see how huge the forest is. It covers most of the map.”

  “I guess that means you’ve got your work cut out for you, right? If you’ve got to study that much land.”

  “True. But I’ve been thinking about that girl we saw yesterday. Where was she going when she ran off? There’s nothing in that direction that looks like a settlement or even a farmhouse.”

  “Maybe she was going for a walk first before heading back home,” Adam suggests, though he sounds unconvinced by his own theory. She had not looked like someone going for a walk.

  “Maybe.” Grace looks
puzzled, then shakes her head and goes back to work.

  Adam makes up two mugs of instant coffee. The first he places in a small square of free space on the table, and the second he takes outside, leaving Grace to work in peace. The morning air is cool, and a thin layer of mist hangs over the fields. He inhales deeply, then takes a sip of his coffee and walks to the bench at the end of the small garden in front of the cottage. From here he can see to the road in one direction, and over to the farmhouse in the other.

  A border collie runs up to the hedge and starts barking at this stranger. Adam puts his coffee down on the bench and goes out into the yard where the dog is currently jumping up and down.

  “You’re a friendly one!” Adam says as the collie launches itself at him.

  “Meg!” a voice calls, and the dog runs back to Nia, who stands under the farmhouse porch. “Sorry. I hope she wasn’t bothering you.”

  “Nah, I like dogs,” says Adam, walking over to say good morning at a distance that does not require shouting. “Busy day today?”

  “Fairly,” says Nia. “There’s always lots to do before we go to the farmers’ market, which is tomorrow. And I’ve gone and promised to take some eggs and apples over to Maebh today, on top of everything else Ifan needs me to do. Meg, stop that! Sorry. You don’t want to listen to me going on like this, I’m sure.”

  “Why don’t Grace and I deliver those things for you, if it’ll help?”

  “Oh no, I couldn’t let you do that. You’re not here to help out on the farm – you’re guests.”

  “But Grace wants to visit the library later, so we’ll be going into the village anyway. No point you making the trip too.”

  Nia hesitates as she realizes she has no other objections to this offer of help.

  “Well, if you’re sure.”

  “Course. Just let us know the address and we’ll drop everything round on our way.”