Trust Me (Trust Me, Find Me 1)

“The one he wasted three years over.”

“Jees.”

Jason’s eyes burned into Sion’s.

“He topped himself, you say?”

“Yeah.”

Sion pulled at the loose label on his beer bottle.

“He was an alcoholic. He was depressed.”

???

Jac had tried all afternoon to get hold of her from his landline. He could only think that her phone must be switched off or out of charge.

When he called Maureen back later to tell her that he’d failed, she said that the police had drawn a blank too. She wasn’t in her apartment, and she’d left work early. Her line manager hadn’t said why, and he didn’t know where she was.

This was his last shot. Otherwise, he’d have to rely on Callista. But, something told him that he needed to speak with Annie first.

The Cross Keys had a good mobile phone signal. He’d send her a text, he decided, locking the cottage door behind him. Then he’d wait in the pub to see if she called him back.

As soon as he walked into the back bar of The Cross Keys, Claire’s eyes were on him. She gave him a friendly smile, then looked searchingly over his shoulder, towards the door. By the time he reached the bar, she was already pouring him a pint of real ale.

She put the amber-filled glass between them onto the polished top.

“Your usual, Jac.”

“What if I’d have wanted a pink gin?”

“Unlikely. A tough army boy like you.”

“Not that tough these days.”

“Your mate Sion not with you tonight, then?”

Jac’s mouth curled. He thought that she’d been taking an interest in Sion. It seemed he was right.

“He’s in London for a few days. Job came up. Short notice.”

“Police were in here earlier, asking about you.”

Jac looked at her levelly.

“Yeah? Askin’ ‘bout what?”

“About where you were last night?”

“And what did y’say?”

“That you were here all evening.”

“Which I was.”

“He took down the names of the two you were playin’ pool with.”

The police were welcome to go down as many rabbit holes as they liked. He had nothing to hide. Once they read up on Glyn’s history they’d be satisfied it was suicide, he was sure.

“How’s Maureen doin’?”

“Bearing up, considering.”

Claire wiped the top of the bar down with a beer towel.

“So sad. Still can’t believe it, to be honest with you. Goes to show ya never can tell what’s goin’ on in people’s heads.

“True enough.”

“Poor old Glyn. Absolute legend, he was.”

Jac said nothing.

“Used to have me in fits all night, he did. Ah! And that voice of his. When he sang Myfanwy in the bar that time; d'ya remember? I’m sure he could’ve gone professional back in the day.”

The bell from the kitchen sounded.

“‘Scuse us, for a second.”

Claire disappeared into the kitchen to take food to a couple sitting at a table near the bar, giving Jac the opportunity to escape with his pint to the small table near the fire.

He would, no doubt, be hearing lots of similar sentiments over the next few days, now the word was out about Glyn.

Angel Pen Fffordd a Diawl Pen Pentan. That was what they said around here. An old Welsh saying. An angel in the community, the devil himself at home.

Glyn Evans, the life and soul of the party. The hard-drinking, sweet-singing, loud-laughing, larger-than-life character that he was.

Jac took out the crumpled scrap of envelope and thought about what he was about to do.

Taking a gulp of his ale, he began carefully tapping out the message on his mobile phone.

They’d be the first words of his that she’d actually read.

CHAPTER 4

---------?---------

I stare hard at the text that has pinged in on my charging phone, trying to focus on the words.

I notice there are lots of missed calls too. One from Seb, some also from home, and from another number with the same area code.

Something has happened and I feel too tipsy to deal with it. More than tipsy. Things are spinning slightly as I try to focus on the text.

‘Annie, it’s about your Dad. Call me. Please. Jac.’

Jac.

Before I think about it, I press to call the number, buoyed up by my mojito buzz.

“Annie? Is that you?”

“Yes.”

I can hardly breathe. Hearing him say my name, after all these years, sends a shudder of electricity through me.

This is ridiculous. I hate Jac, I remind myself.

“Uh… have you been trying to get hold of me? I’ve loads of missed calls. What’s happened?”

“Hold on… Don’t hang up.”

He sounds like he’s in a bar.

The line goes silent for a minute, then I hear his voice again.

“Annie, how are you?”

It’s quieter now; like he’s gone outside. His voice is strangely reassuring after my God-awful day.

“I’m fine.”

“You sound odd. Kinda slurred.”

I clear my throat and try to speak slower; articulating my words more roundly, trying to sound sober.

“I’m tired, that’s all. How are you, Jac? How are you liking farming?”

He cuts across the pleasantries.

“Annie, it’s Glyn. The police have been trying to contact you. He’s… he’s dead, Annie. He killed himself.”

“I…”

I can’t speak and it’s silent at his end too.

We listen to each other in the silence, until I’m sure he hears me crack as the news sinks in. It’s a slight whimper escaping from somewhere deep, and I cough it away.

“Jac…”

“I’m sending Callista ‘round. She’ll be with you soon.”

Did he hang up or did he lose signal?

Either way, the call’s ended; and the dizziness is back with a vengeance.

Is it from the alcohol and lack of food? Is it from hearing about Dad? Or, is it from hearing Jac’s voice again, after all this time?

He didn’t say what happened, and I can’t call Mam. Not like this.

I lie down on the sofa, still in the dark.

Taking in the news.

Thinking about Dad.

Mam.

Home…

A shrill buzzing makes me jump awake; disoriented, but sober now.

Wiping the dribble off my face, and smoothing down my hair, I get up off the sofa.

It’s still dark, and I stumble to grab my phone as I go to answer the door.

It’s only eleven. Not quite the wee small hours yet. The early drinking with Stacey makes it feel much later.

The buzzer sounds again.

“Alright… I’m coming.”

It’s probably a pizza delivery for someone in the other flats.

“Annie, let me in.”

Callista’s voice calls through the intercom and I buzz her in.

The news hits me again, like a mid-afternoon hangover. Dad.

“Annie! My darling. Come here.”

Callista’s arms feel warm and familiar as she holds me, letting the wave of emotion that smashes into me ride out as I break down in her arms.

“How did you…?”

“Jac called me.”

I try to recover, brushing away the hair that has become plastered on my wet face. Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.

Callista goes to the bathroom to get me a tissue.

“D’you know what… how he…?”

Callista shifts a little uncomfortably.

“No, sweetie. Just that he ended it."

I feel her eyes on me. Like her son Jac’s; they are dark and impenetrable, making her appear deep and thoughtful.

&n

bsp; "How was he at Christmas?"

“He was in a low phase, depressed. Spent most of his time getting pissed.”