Lay Me to Rest. E. Clark A.
as they pecked with great concentration at the grain scattered for them in the courtyard.
‘Free range – make the best layers, you know. I don’t hold with that battery farming nonsense,’ declared the old woman. ‘How does crispy bacon and scrambled eggs sound?’
It sounded surprisingly tempting and I followed Mrs Parry through the door, outside which an old-fashioned bicycle – the sort with a basket attached to its curved handlebars – was propped against the wall. We walked into the kitchen. Mr Parry was in his usual chair by the range and in mid-conversation with a thin, sharp-featured woman of around fifty, who was sitting at the table drinking tea. She eyed me with what I felt was disdain, casting a look at my rounded abdomen, and with a barely discernible nod of her head, muttered a perfunctory, ‘A’right?’
‘Bore da, Mrs Philips!’ Mr Parry beamed through his customary halo of pipe smoke. ‘This is Mrs Williams, one of our neighbours. Marian, this is Mrs Philips. She’s the friend of Peter’s I was telling you about, staying in Tyddyn Bach for a few weeks.’
Pulling up a chair, I sat down opposite the woman, who was decidedly aloof. I extended a hand, which she shook with little enthusiasm.
‘Call me Annie,’ I said, in an attempt to break the ice. But this seemed to provoke an odd reaction. Mrs Williams stared at me as though I had slapped her. She made no comment but her cheeks flushed and her dark eyes narrowed into a hard stare. I felt her scrutinizing me from head to foot and it was not a comfortable sensation.
‘So you’re a friend of that Peter’s, are you?’ The voice was harsh and high-pitched.
I nodded. ‘Well, strictly speaking he’s my sister’s work colleague. I don’t know him that well, to be honest.’
‘Huh, you’d be as well to keep it that way, if you want my opinion.’
‘Now then, Marian.’ Mrs Parry placed a cup of tea in front of me and gave Mrs Williams a knowing look. ‘Let bygones be bygones. Peter’s a good lad, you know. I won’t have you calling him …’
‘You can say what you like, but there’s plenty round here who think the same as I do, Gwen. He’s trouble, that one. Even when he was a boy, I knew there was something not right about him.’
‘Oh, Marian, not that again. Mrs Philips hasn’t come here to listen to us arguing.’ Mr Parry let out a sigh and rose from his chair. ‘I’m off to Caernarfon this morning. I’ve got to pick up a couple of sheep. Would you like to come along, cariad?’ He smiled at me. ‘Or do you have plans?’
‘Thank you for the offer, Mr Parry, but I think I’ll stay here if it’s all the same to you. I’d like to have a proper look round the farm today, if that’s OK?’
‘Of course, you do whatever you like. Have a good morning.’ He turned to his wife. ‘I’ll be back for lunch about one, Gwen.’
‘See you later, then.’ The old woman planted a kiss on her husband’s proffered cheek.
‘I must be off now, too.’ Mrs Williams stood up abruptly. She was a good deal taller than I had expected, towering a good six inches above Mrs Parry, which accentuated her gaunt frame. ‘Thanks for the panad. So if you don’t need any cleaning doing today, shall I call again on Thursday?’
‘Yes, that would be fine. Ta-ra, then.’ Mrs Parry winked at me as the old man and Mrs Williams made their exit. We watched through the window as the two of them stood talking for a moment. There seemed to be a few heated words exchanged before the woman mounted her bicycle and pedalled furiously away down the driveway.
‘What was all that about?’
‘You mustn’t take too much notice of Marian. She’s become a bit bitter and twisted. Not a bad woman, don’t get me wrong; but she’s got some odd ideas.’
‘She’s really got it in for poor Peter, hasn’t she? What on earth has he done to upset her?’
‘It’s a long story. Marian’s daughter, Aneira, and our Glyn were sweethearts from when they were both in their late teens. She was a nice enough girl – a little scatter-brained, but good-hearted. They got engaged when Glyn turned twenty and, I believe I told you, they planned to move into the cottage once they were married.
‘Anyway, she never really got on with Peter for some reason, and his friendship with Glyn caused a lot of rows between the two of them whenever he was up here. She went missing last year, you know. They’ve never found her … terrible for her poor mother. It’s a cruel thing to lose a child – but not to know if they are alive or dead must be a living nightmare.’
‘That’s awful. What happened, exactly?’
Mrs Parry looked around and lowered her voice as though someone might be eavesdropping.
‘There was talk – in the village – that she’d taken up with some rough chap from the other side of the island. I couldn’t blame her for that, mind. Glyn passed away years ago and you can’t expect a young girl to live like a nun for the rest of her life. But she still used to come and help me now and then, with cleaning and such, especially when the cottage was being rented out. She never spoke about her boyfriend, if that’s what he was, and to be honest I didn’t want to know.
‘Well, one night last summer, there was a bit of a rumpus outside. Peter had come up to stay in the cottage for a few days. It was pitch-black out there – you’ve seen how it gets yourself. Will took his torch and his shotgun – just in case – and went to find out what was going on. Aneira was screaming at Peter, who was standing in his pyjamas in the doorway of Tyddyn Bach. Will saw a van disappearing down the drive.’
She paused. ‘I think poor Peter was quite shaken up. Will tried to calm Aneira down, but she was hysterical and ran off after the van. And that was the last time anyone saw her.’
‘But – why was she shouting at Peter?’
Mrs Parry shrugged. ‘He didn’t seem to know himself. Said it was something to do with him staying in the cottage when it was going to be her home. Well, that may have been true while Glyn was alive, but she distanced herself from us for quite some time after he died, even if she did do odd jobs for me later on. Surely she didn’t expect to be moving in there on her own – and certainly not with some ruffian she’d fallen for!’
‘Oh, dear. But why is her mother so angry with Peter? Did he do something to upset her?’
‘Not that I know of. I reckon Marian just wants someone to blame. I don’t think she knew anything more about why Aneira was so upset with Peter than you or I, but made the connection with the fact that she’d been to see him just before she disappeared. I think she’s put two and two together and made five, to be truthful.’
‘What about the van? Did anybody manage to trace it?’
The old woman shook her head sadly. ‘It was too dark for Will or Peter to see clearly, and neither of them got a proper look at the driver. I just hope that, one day, she’ll turn up. She might have just run off with the chap. But where they would have gone is anybody’s guess. The police have searched the whole of North Wales and beyond, but no one seems to have seen her anywhere.’
I ate my breakfast and turned the information over in my mind. I felt terribly sorry for Peter, who seemed to have been made the scapegoat, but at the same time sympathized with Mrs Williams, even if she was rather sour. I reasoned that, after all she had been through, it was understandable.
Thanking Mrs Parry for the food, I asked if I might explore the farm.
‘Of course. Will you be joining us for lunch? I could make you a few sandwiches if you prefer …’
I puffed out my cheeks, patting my stomach. ‘Never mind eating for two – I’ve been putting away enough to keep an army going since I got here!’
‘Nonsense!’ The old woman laughed. ‘That’s what you want –