Chapter 32
Cymorth - Help
Lucy
My cheek still hurts from where Aled slapped me.
I keep my head buried against my arms, ignoring the stink of pee, of stale sweaty bodies.
Instead, I focus on my breath. The ringing in my ears doesn’t mute the other noises in the house.
Footsteps stomp over the creaky floorboards, Bethan tries to sleep but only tosses and turns.
I’ve no idea how long I drift off for, but I wake again with a start.
‘Lucy, hey. It’s okay.’ Bethan’s hand slides up my spine to my shoulder to turn me over. ‘Let me check your face.’
She coaxes me onto my back, and I drop my arms.
‘My cheek...’ I pull in a sharp breath as she prods along my cheekbone, sending a serpent of agony across my face.
‘It’s swelling up nicely. Reckon it might be broken, but not much we can do about it.’
‘I shouldn’t have—’
‘Yes. You should. Any hope we have in escaping lies with the police and Rhys doing what they do best.’
‘I wanted to give them as much information as I could.’
‘And you did such a good job.’ She sighs, wraps her arms around me and lies back. ‘What do you think they’re doing right now?’
‘Rhys is probably trying to take control of the investigation.’
‘Reckon he’s letting Cai help?’
My laugh is weak. ‘No way. Even now we know Cai’s not at risk, Rhys will be trying to protect him.’
‘Idiot boy.’ She sniffs.
A hot tear drips off the tip of her nose and onto my cheek. But I can’t cry. My eyes couldn’t even water when Aled slapped me. I push myself away from her and off the bed, ignoring the dizziness gripping hold of me. When I’m sure I’ve got my balance, I edge towards the window.
I can’t sit here in the darkness anymore. I tear, claw, pick at the newspaper. My nails crack on the glass. It takes far more energy than I have to spare; the paper must have been caked on for years. But finally, the outside reveals itself.
Not that there’s much of a view. It’s morning again, but it’s grey outside.
Rain falls in wet sheets, drenching the bare tree, the burned-out mattress, and the broken paving slabs.
Grime clutches to the outside of the glass, despite the rain, making it difficult to see further than the end of the road.
‘Any idea where we are?’ Bethan asks.
‘No. It’s just a street. We could be anywhere in the city.’
‘Rhys will find us. You two collected all that information, all the evidence to make it easy for the police. And he knows Aled. They’re probably already on their way.’
‘If Aled’s his name. This guy looks nothing like the man I saw in the corridor, or the guy who turned up at the house after the break-in. Rhys and I even ate lunch with him before we left Cardiff. How could I not recognise him when he picked us up?’
‘I’ve known him years and I couldn’t tell. Don’t beat yourself up about it.’
But I should have known. It’s my job to keep track of who’s doing what for Cai, keep a mental list of people I can trust.
Aled was supposed to be on the list.
‘I don’t want to wait for Rhys,’ I tell her.
‘Aled, or whoever the guy is, has a knife. Has help.’ I take a mouthful of the fresh air coming from a crack in one of the windows then turn to the bedside table.
I start pulling it out. The wood grates along the rotting floorboards.
I stop. Glance at the door. Aled doesn’t reappear.
‘But what can we do?’
‘We need to find something to help us. Anything.’
‘There’s nothing in this room that can protect us. Unless we smash a window, but…’
We both stare at the window. It’s single-glazed. Already in poor condition. I hurry back to it. The garden is overgrown. If we could find something to break the glass then the bushes would break our fall. It’s a risk, but what’s the alternative? Waiting here for whatever Aled has planned for us?
‘The chair, Luce.’
She’s right. The chair is sturdy. High-backed. Probably oak. Not the MDF rubbish you get from IKEA. It’s the only thing substantial in the room. If Bethan throws it with enough force, we could break out.
It’s worth a shot.
‘You’ll have to do it,’ I tell her. ‘You’re stronger than me while I’m in a cast.’
‘What? Now?’
‘Why not? Before he comes back. Quick!’
She hustles off the bed and picks the chair up, tests its weight in her arms. She takes a deep breath, releases it, then steps closer to the window. ‘Okay. Stand back. Three, two…’
She screams as she swings the chair at the window. The glass shatters and I turn my back to the shards exploding from the pane.
Footsteps pound up the stairs.
‘Go now,’ I tell her, treading carefully over the glass to shove her towards the window, ‘and run for help.’
‘But what about you?’
‘I’ll follow after.’ The key scrapes in the lock. ‘Bethan, please.’
I use my cast to remove the last jagged edges of glass clinging to the tin frame and help her step onto the sill.
She turns around and lowers into a squat. ‘I won’t go far.’
I nod as she eases out of the window. She holds my gaze for one last second then lets go of the sill, disappears from view.
I step forward, heart pounding in my throat.
She’s okay. The overgrown garden has swallowed her up, like it did the chair.
She’s already fighting her way out of the bushes. Clearing space for me.
Okay. My turn. I exhale and climb onto the windowsill. The bedroom door slams open.
‘No you fucking don’t.’ One of Aled’s helpers locks his arms around my waist and pulls me to the floor. We land hard. My elbow slams into his stomach and he expels a hot oof against my ear.
‘Get off me,’ I yell in his face, swinging with my cast-wrapped arm until it connects with his shoulder.
He screams but doesn’t loosen his grip. Not an inch.
His fingers dig into my belly. I swing my arm again.
Whack, against the side of his head. Whack, breaking his nose with a loud crack.
A loud whack to his jaw. Hot blood gushes out of him, but it doesn’t stop me from continuing to hit him.
His face, his chest. My cast connects with his temple with a final dull thud, and he collapses against the floor, eyes glassy.
I scramble off him, gaze fixed on those unseeing eyes. I lean towards him. Place my ear to his face. Breath gurgles in his mouth.
I have to get out of here.
My wrist aches and the attack stole the last of my energy from me.
There’s no way I can handle the fall through the window.
I clutch my arm close to my chest as I creep back through the bedroom, peer out of the door into the landing.
But the house is quiet. Aled must have gone out, the other accomplice with him.
I pause at every creak of the floorboards, every groan of the house settling, as if it’s fed up with its miserable life. My trainers clunk down the stairs.
The ground floor is in a worse state than the room we were locked in. Wallpaper peels off the wall, and mould invades every corner. Most of the floorboards in the hallway have rotted away, leaving gaping holes. The carpet is long gone.
My eyes dart everywhere, looking for the next hurdle, the next person to stop us. Although I’m glad she escaped, I wish Bethan were here with me, watching my back as I sneak towards the front door. But nobody stops me.
I pull at the handle. It’s locked.
The sideboard is littered with yellowing mail, but I can’t find a key.
I sift quietly. Check the drawers. Nothing.
A bleak doorway opens up to the left. I sneak towards it, holding my breath, my cast raised in front of me in case Aled lies in wait.
But the room is empty, dark from the heavy velvet curtains pulled over the window.
I flick on the light and step further in.
I’m going to be sick.
The entire room is a shrine to Rhys. It’s devoid of furniture, apart from a large table pushed against the furthest wall, which is plastered with pictures of him, with me, with Cai, with Bethan. Our faces scribbled out, or replaced with cut-outs of Aled’s head.
Newspaper articles fill the other walls. Print outs from social media. Anything with Rhys’ face on it. As if Rhys is the celebrity, not Cai.
And it gets worse. The table is covered with rubbish.
Coffee cups with Rhys’ name on the side, beer-stained paper coasters emblazoned with Rhys’ favourite drink.
Ticket stubs. A sweaty-looking t-shirt. A pair of boxer shorts that used to be his favourite because they’re emblazoned with the Swansea FC logo.
A circle of half-melted candles surround a mason jar full of something dark.
I pick it up, my stomach churning at the red hair stuffed into it. Coarse, curly.
‘Told you I loved him.’
The jar slips out of my hands. Lands at my feet with a smash.
‘For fuck’s sake, Lucy. Do you know how long it took me to collect all of that?
’ Aled sighs. ‘I guess I’ll have to start again when we’re together.
Talking of’ — he checks his watch — ‘It’s time for us to go.
Shame Bethan ain’t with us, but it doesn’t matter.
You’ll do. Turns out, Rhys is bloody bonkers about you. Tearing his hair out, he is.’
He fills all of the doorway, his stance wide and strong.
I can’t escape. Even if I run at him full pelt.
Not that I get a chance to try. When he realises I’m not moving, he storms into the room, grabs me by the arm and twists it upwards and to my back.
The bones groan in protest, but they don’t break.
He holds my arm there to steer me towards the door.
I have to do something before he escalates.
‘I’m sorry I took him from you.’ I hate how thin, how resigned my voice sounds.
‘You met him before me. It wasn’t right that I stole him.
I recognised you in Manchester, gave him a different description so he wouldn’t know it was you.
I didn’t want him to see how devoted you were to him.
How much of a better fit you are for him. ’
‘I was only there for him.’
‘I know, and I should have said. But surely you understand. I couldn’t handle the thought of you replacing me. I was jealous.’
‘He would have stayed your friend. He’s nice like that.’ Aled’s voice softens. ‘Y’know this one time, Cai was at a pub gig and this lil guy wanted an autograph. Rhys did all he could to get the guy to the front of the stage, made him first in line. Inflated my heart ten thousand times, that did.’
‘Rhys is the best man in the world. He deserves to be happy.’
‘He really does.’
Aled’s grip slackens enough for me to swing my elbow into his stomach, stamp my foot hard on his insole and turn around, aiming a final kick at his crotch. SING: Solax Plexus, Instep, Nose and Groin. Good job we watched Miss Congeniality on our way home.
He hits the floor. Hard. Curls into the foetal position. ‘You fucking bitch,’ he says, though the words land a lot lighter when they’re squeezed through his teeth.
I rush into the hallway as the front door explodes inwards. A million people crowd into the house.
‘Put your hands in the air.’
I do as I’m told, my arms shaking. Someone speaks to me, but their words are garbled in my ears. An arm wraps around me, pushes me towards the outside, but I can’t peel my eyes from Aled. What if he moves again – tries to grab me. No, I have to watch him. Make sure he can’t get me again.
I only sink into the officer’s arms when the cold rain hits me. We stop on the top step.
‘Lucy! Luce! I’m here.’
That voice. Rhys’ Welsh accent curls around me, even over all the noise and hubbub of the police.
A flash of red grabs my attention and I finally set eyes on him.
All the nerves, the anticipation, the tension floods out of my body and a low, animalistic cry escapes my mouth.
An officer guides me down the steps. Rhys abandons Beth, who is already sitting on the back of an ambulance, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and darts around the hundreds of people trying to get in his way.
He gets to me before I set foot off the stoop.
He pushes the officer out of the way then gathers me up in his embrace.
My chest constricts. I can no longer draw breath, not when my face presses into his jumper.
My arm is in agony, but I could easily put up with the deep ache for the rest of my life as long as it means never leaving his safety again.
He tightens his grip, lifts me from my feet, and I cling to him like a baby, my hands clutching at the back of his neck.
He carries me bridal style through the rain towards the waiting paramedics.
‘You’re okay,’ he breathes out, his face buried in my matted curls.
‘I’m okay.’
‘I thought I’d never see you again.’ His voice breaks and I burrow closer to him, not caring about how much I might smell.
‘I thought I’d never see you. God, I missed you, Rhys. And I’m so sorry. I should have listened to you. Should have let Alina come with us. I’ll never ignore your worries again.’
He chuckles, a low sound that vibrates through me, soothing me like a cat’s purr. ‘You can tell me again later how right I was. Let’s get you help.’
We reach the ambulance, and he puts me gently to the ground.
Before anyone can start fussing over me, though, I close my eyes and crane up on my tiptoes.
It’s going to hurt like hell with my busted lip and sore cheek, but I need reassurance that he’s here, this is over and I’m safe. That nothing will hurt me again.
The paramedic clears her throat, disturbing us before we can kiss.
‘We need to get you to the hospital, Ms Taylor,’ she says. ‘Your partner can come with us. The detectives will want to question you, but I’ve told them they’ll have to follow us there. We need to get your cuts checked out. Does anything else hurt?’
‘I think I’ve broken my wrist again. I…I used it to...’
Rhys raises his eyebrows in a look that tells me he’ll be asking questions. Fine. He can ask what he wants. But later. The sooner we get to the hospital, the sooner I can go home. Finally.