“Tell me it’s not true.”
Ffion’s heart splinters. Her whole world crashes about her feet. “What?” she whispers, even though what else could it be?
Seren’s voice rises, hysterical, pleading. “Tell me it isn’t true!”
“What?” Ffion says desperately, because if there’s a chance Seren hasn’t worked it out, Ffion won’t be the one to—
“You’re my mam, aren’t you?”
Years ago, Ffion had sometimes allowed herself to imagine what it would feel like to be calledMam. She would slip into a parallel world—one in which Ffion had been older, able to keep her baby—and she would picture them at the park or walking to school, Seren’s hand in Ffion’s.
Mam.
She’d never once imagined it sounding like this.
“Seren, where are you? We need to talk.” Ffion tries to stay calm, knowing Seren feels out of control, hoping she sounds like the mam she’s never had the chance to be.
“You’ve had sixteen years to talk, and instead you’ve lied to me!”
Leo puts a hand on Ffion’s arm, but she shrugs him off, fighting to focus.
“You had me, and you gave me to Mam like I wasnothing!”
Ffion stares out at the whirling snow. “How did you find out?”
“Caleb nicked a photo from Glynis. He thought it was funny—said the girl in it looked like me.”
Ffion closes her eyes. She wants to press pause, to rewind. She wants to find Caleb and shake him, ask what the fuck he thinks he’s doing interfering in something he knows nothing about.
“It’s you. With Rhys.” Seren’s crying. “And I kept thinking about something Mrs. Huxley said, that Felicia and Tabby and me, we could be sisters, and—” Her voice rises to a shout, hysterical and pleading. “He’s got his arm around you in the photo, Ffi. And you’re looking up at him like—” Noisy sobs fill the phone.
Ffion remembers that photo. One of the photography GCSE students had covered the camp as part of their coursework, had taken a load of pictures of the workshops, the show, the party. There’d been some piss-taking afterward about how, wherever Rhys was, Ffion wouldn’t be far away. Ffion had wanted to cry.It was the other way around, she’d wanted to say.Everywhere I went, there he was.
Did any of the teachers see the photos of the party? Or were they too concerned with the workshop, the performances? They didn’t look beneath the surface, to where Ffion was gasping for breath.
“It’s all true, what everyone says, then.” Seren’s suddenly harsh. “FfionWyllt.”
“Please—”
“And with—” Seren falters, sobs slicing into her words. “Withhim!”
“Seren, let me explain.”
“I can’t believe Rhys Lloyd is my dad.” She’s crying so hard Ffion can hardly make out what she’s saying.Disgusting… Old… How could you…
“Wear the dress, he said!” She’s getting hysterical, dragging gulps of air between each word screamed down the phone. Ffion’s trying to speak, but everything she says prompts another volley of abuse from Seren. Leo’s pulled over and now he’s reaching into the back seat, unzipping his folder and rifling through papers, and Ffion glares at him. Can he not just sit still for two minutes? Surely, he can see how important this is?
“I hate you.”
“Seren, please—”
“And I hate him!”
“Where are you? I’ll come to—”
“I wish I was dead.”
“Don’t say—” But the line’s quiet. Seren has gone.