All tiredness, aches and pains are expelled as my whole body jolts into life. I jump to my feet, the blanket falling from my shoulders. My brain plays catch-up for a second as I process the fact that Alfie must be with Tris and I force myself to answer.
‘What are you doing here?’ I dispense with radio etiquette and the need to say ‘over’ each time.
‘I … er … didn’t fancy staying with Bradley any more.’
‘Why?’
‘We had an argument. I told him I was going to stay with a mate. I didn’t say who and he didn’t ask.’
‘How did you know where to come?’ Probably not the most pressing of questions, but I feel totally thrown by Alfie’s presence.
‘Ruby told me. It was all on Joanne’s laptop.’
I take a moment to process this latest development. How or why Alfie’s here is, on the scale of things, unimportant. All I can think of now is that he’s with Tris, and my mind is filled with thoughts of his safety. ‘But you’re OK? I mean, really OK?’ Will he pick up on what I’m asking? I can’t think of any secret code I can apply.
‘Yeah, sure, Mum. I’m fine,’ he replies.
I listen hard for any inflection in his voice, any telltale hint that he might not be fine, but I can’t hear any. He sounds pleasant and, if I’m honest, this is one of most civil conversations we’ve had in some time. Although, on second thoughts, I wonder if that in itself is the code? His usual grumpy grunting teenage self is conspicuous by its absence. Is he trying to tell me there is something wrong simply by pretending there isn’t? Not for the first time this weekend, my thoughts are going around in circles. I simply cannot think straight.
‘How did you get here?’ I ask, focusing on more practical aspects.
Before Alfie can answer, Tris speaks. ‘Carys, we can chat about those sorts of details in the morning. I assume you are coming back here. You wouldn’t abandon Alfie, would you?’
Too fucking right I wouldn’t. I stop myself from responding, for the first time grateful that the press-to-talk button gives me the second I need to compose myself. I don’t want Alfie to know I’m frightened. If I suddenly fly off the handle at Tris, it might provoke him into doing something rash. What that something might be, I don’t know.
‘Yes, I’ll be back tomorrow,’ I say, aware there is no other option. ‘But, Tris, I’m trusting you to look after Alfie for me. And, Zoe, if you can hear me, you will too, won’t you? You’ll look after him, like I’d look after one of yours?’
I hope Zoe is listening. I might not be able to predict what Tris will do, but Zoe is my friend, and like me she is a mother, so surely she won’t let Tris do anything to harm Alfie.
‘Don’t be worrying now, Carys,’ says Tris. ‘We’ll look after Alfie for you. Won’t we, Zoe?’
‘Yes, Carys. You have my word.’ It’s Zoe’s voice, from somewhere in the background.
‘There, you have Zoe’s word,’ says Tris.
‘Do I have your word too?’ I have to ask. My mother-meter is going off the scale.
‘Of course you have my word too,’ says Tris. ‘Now, get some rest, you’ll need your energy for tomorrow. Make sure you’re here by eleven o’clock. No later.’
‘Or what?’
There is silence from the handset. I’m not sure if Tris is still there. Then after a few seconds I hear his voice again. This time it is low and threatening.
‘Listen, Carys, don’t fucking mess with me. You get your arse back here in the morning.’
‘Now you wait a minute. Listen to yourself, Tris. What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?’
‘In case it’s escaped your memory, my wife is dead. And I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that your son is here. So don’t mess about.’ His breathing is heavy through the speaker and I hear a controlled, menacing tone to his voice. There’s an iciness to it I haven’t heard before and my skin prickles at the sound.
My mind is immediately filled with images of Joanne lying outside the porch of the croft. Is it possible that her death wasn’t an accident? Is it a coincidence, Tris showing up? I have a sudden memory of Andrea telling me he was in financial difficulty. If he has been having an affair with Zoe, would both these things be enough to make him kill her?
A wave of nausea hits me and I retch as my stomach convulses. Bile reaches my throat and I cough and splutter, forcing myself to swallow it down.
My mind is reeling from the knowledge that Alfie is in that house with Tris. I need to get him out of there. And then there’s Andrea. I must think of a way to help her. God only knows how she’s bearing up.
I consider setting off now, heading not for the croft but the village. I need to raise the alarm and get the police up to the croft as soon as possible.
‘Carys? Are you listening to me?’ Tris’s voice breaks my thoughts.
‘Yes. Yes, I am listening, but hear what I have to say first,’ I reply. I can’t reconcile the Tris I’ve known for over twenty years with the Tris I have conjured up in my mind. The Tris who wanted me to hang myself. There must be a more logical explanation for his behaviour. ‘Joanne’s death – what if someone was with her when it happened but they didn’t mean for any harm to come to her?’
‘What are you talking about?’
I swallow hard. ‘What if you killed Joanne by accident?’
‘Why the hell would I want to kill my wife?’
‘Not on purpose but by accident,’ I say. ‘I know about your affair with Zoe and the money problems. If you had an argument with her and it got out of hand, maybe her death was an accident.’ I’m aware that I’m throwing Tris a lifeline, but it’s not for his benefit as much as mine and Alfie’s. I don’t want to believe that he is capable of something like that, but if he is, then convincing him that I believe it was an accident might be my only hope of getting Alfie out of there.
‘You really are deranged. Joanne said you were on the verge of a breakdown. From what Zoe’s told me, you’re the one who had the argument with Joanne. You were the last one to see her alive. Anyway, we can sort this fucking mess out in the morning.’
‘OK. I promise I’ll be there. Let me speak to Alfie.’
‘Hang on a minute …’
I assume Tris is returning to the room where he’s left Alfie. The next voice I hear is my son’s.
‘Mum? You OK? You are coming back tomorrow, aren’t you?’
‘Yeah, sure I am.’ I inject a cheer into my voice I don’t feel.
‘Where exactly are you?’ says Alfie. ‘Why aren’t you here?’
‘I was … erm … hiking in the woods and got caught by the bad weather,’ I reply, thinking on my feet. I don’t know what Tris has told him. I mentally cross my fingers for luck and hope Alfie won’t ask about Andrea or Joanne. What can I say? I can’t say I think Tris is responsible for Joanne’s death. I don’t want to burden him with this suspicion. I err on the side of ignorance being bliss. ‘Look, love, I’d better go. I’m really tired. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?’
‘Yeah, sure.’
‘Love you.’ I wait for a response. I can’t remember the last time Alfie told me he loved me. Was it the morning Darren committed suicide? Was it when he left for school that day, a happy, carefree young lad of fifteen? Was that the last time he paused halfway down the path, turned and waved, telling me he loved me too? He’d come home from school that day and his life had changed forever. As did our relationship. He hasn’t told me he loves me since that day.
Tears leak from the corners of my eyes. He isn’t going to tell me now either. My heart cracks a little more. I wish I could take away his pain and fix him. I would give anything to have my happy, loving son back, but each day I fear he moves further towards the horizon, getting closer to the absolute event, the point of no return, when he will be lost forever.
I don’t stop the tears. I need to let them fall. After everything that has happened this weekend, coupled with Alfie being here, I have to let that emotion out. I sink to my knees and howl, rocking to and fro, letting the tears run down my face, hoping they will somehow wash away the pain.