Fifty-Eight
January 9
Ffion
Before a decision can be made to release Angharad, Ffion and Leo have to check out her alibi, and Ffion’s mam is delighted to finally be allowed to stick her nose in. She confirms that she did indeed spend New Year’s Eve with Angharad. “Now, will you stop for apaned?”
“Mam, we’re in the middle of a murder investigation. Leo’s waiting outside.”
“I’ll give you some space,” he’d said when they arrived at the Morgans’ house, and Ffion had been grateful for his understanding.
“I wish you’d mentioned you were with Angharad,” she says to Elen now. “We might not have nicked her.”
“You refused to discuss the case.”
“Mam, that’s diff—”
“I believe your words wereespecially not to my mother. Because presumably I’m going to shoot my mouth off around the village, am I? Never mind that I’ve got more on half of them than you’ll ever know.”
“I’m not interested in tittle-tattle, Mam.”
“It’s not tittle-tattle if Jos Carter’s run off with his driving instructor, is it?”
Ffion rolls her eyes. “I mean, Mam, it literally is—”
“Or if Glynis Lloyd is disputing Jac’s will?”
“What?”
“She’s found his original will, leaving Ty’r Lan to her. She’s going to take legal action.”
“Oh my God, Mam, I don’t care!” Ffion should know better than to get sucked into Mam’s gossip. She glances upstairs. “How’s Seren?”
“Sleeping.”
The hospital had discharged Seren after the morning rounds, and once they were home, Mam packed her off to bed with a hot water bottle and a mug of tomato soup. The consultant confirmed there’d been no ill effects from her terrifying ordeal, but they all know how lucky she was.
“She hasn’t answered my texts.”
When the ambulance had reached the boathouse, Ffion had gone with Seren to the hospital, Leo following in the car. Ffion had squeezed Seren’s cold hand and prayed she would be okay. Seren was so angry with her, but Ffion had saved her life—that would count for something, surely? But the moment Seren came round, she pushed Ffion away, making such a commotion that the nurses came to see what was happening. “Get away from me!”
Ffion’s texted her all morning, in between briefings and interviewing Angharad, but even though every message has been marked asRead, there’s been no reply.
“Give her time,” Elen says.
“She hates me.”
“All daughters hate their mothers at some stage. It’s a rite of passage.”
Ffion opens her mouth to disagree, then catches Mam’s eye and gives a wry smile. They stand in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts, and then Elen gently touches Ffion’s arm, her face darkening.
“Rhys, then.”
Whatever Seren has told Mam can only be half of the truth, and now she waits for Ffion to tell the rest of the story. For sixteen years, Elen has raised Ffion’s daughter as her own. She encouraged Ffion to leave Cwm Coed, to find her own way in life, unhindered by a baby. Ffion knows Mam deserves the truth, but all she can say is, “I didn’t want it, Mam. I didn’t want him,” before she’s sobbing again.
Elen’s own face crumples in pain, and she holds Ffion so tight, she can hardly breathe.
“I’m so sorry, Ffi, so sorry for everything that’s happened.”