Trust Me (Trust Me, Find Me 1)

“Can you give me an update?”

“Sure,” he says a little stiffly. “If you like, I can show you where he… where it happened?”

I’m glad of the chance to get out of the house.

“Hold on, while I get my coat.”

We set off across the yard and he seems to relax a little.

“You get home often?”

“No. Not much at all. I’ve been busy with work,” I answer a little guiltily. “I don’t get much time off.”

“Your mother says you were living in New York?”

“Yes, for three years. I’ve lived in London, mainly. After uni, I never came back.”

I pause; then add by way of explanation, “There wasn’t much keeping me here.”

“Your father? Did he ever try to get help?”

I’m not sure how much he knows.

“You mean medical?”

“For his depression.”

That’s what this is about. His reticence. He’s fishing about Glyn.

I’m not going to sugar-coat it. The policeman needs to hear the truth.

“Glyn was ill. He was bi-polar and that’s a difficult condition for anyone to manage. But, my father was a nasty bastard too.”

The detective's eyes widen.

“In what way?”

I can tell Mam’s not told him. Typical.

“You didn’t want to cross him when he was drinking heavily. And Mam, me, even the poor old dog, got the scars to prove it. I can show you if you want?”

“Did you ever report it? Call the police?”

The look on my face, answers the question for him.

He changes tack.

“Did he ever try to kill himself before?”

“No idea. Mam would never have told me.”

“No?”

I find myself staring at my nails.

“No. She… uh… she likes to keep things private. That’s part of the problem.”

If we didn’t talk about it, it never happened.

“So, people ‘round here didn’t know what Glyn Evans was really like? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Pretty much. His mates in The Cross Keys, bet they said he was the life and soul of the party. A real character.”

“Did your dad go into town often?”

“Why?”

“Just establishing his routines, that’s all.”

It’s a bit of a random question. I’m getting the sense that this isn’t just a casual chat.

“He went every week. Since Mam retired, they do a trip into town together for supplies on market day. He liked to go to the mart to see his farmer buddies, while Mam did the shopping.”

“Your mother seems close to Jac?”

“We’ve known Jac for years. Lived in that static over there as a kid.”

I point to the ramshackle mobile home at the far end of the track. It probably needs scrapping by now.

“And, do you know a Callista Jones?”

“Yes.”

Again it’s unrelated. How did he know Callista?

“She’s Jac’s mother. Lives in London. She stayed with me the night I found out about Dad.”

The detective scribbles in his pad.

“Hmm… that explains the call. You’re still in touch.”

He’s not making much sense.

“So, where did it…?” I ask, looking around.

“There.”

He points up to the old grey beam.

“How?”

“With a rope. He used a stepladder to climb up. Then, kicked it away.”

I stare coldly at the space.

I feel nothing. Just the chill from the realisation that death has happened here.

“Was your dad ever in the navy?”

“No. Why?”

The detective stares up at the beam as he floats the question.

“The knot he used. It’s not a common one.”

“He was a practical man. Had to be, farming this place. And bloody-minded too. If he decided he wanted to end it, he would’ve planned it out. Found the best knot.”

“Planned it enough to have thought about the rope?”

“I imagine so. Why?”

“It was a specialist climbing rope, that’s all. Strong enough to hold his weight.”

“Yes. Glyn would have thought through the details. Made sure he did it properly.”

The detective turns and stares at me searchingly.

“Why then, d’you think he was still wearing his slippers?”

“If he was gonna end it, why would he care what he was wearing?”

“Fair point.”

He turns to leave the shed and I follow him out.

“The post-mortem results show probable cause of death as hanging. There’ll be an inquest, but the coroner should release the body soon.”

Back to reality, and the practical matter of dealing with Dad’s body, and the funeral.

Ellis Roberts leaves me by the farmhouse door. I blustered through his questions, but what he’d said about the climbing rope doesn’t sit right. It wasn’t Dad’s style.

Something’s off, but I won’t be losing any sleep over it.

???

Mam’s looking pale, I think, as we eat supper together.

She’s pushing the food around the plate and has been chewing the same mouthful for an age.

“Come on, Mam. You’ve lost weight since Christmas. You need to eat.”

“Don’t you be worrying about me, cariad.”

A lump forms in my throat when I hear her use the Welsh word for ‘love’. No one calls me ‘cariad’, except her.

“You’re looking thin.”

“I’m fine.”

It’s the same steely impenetrable wall I’ve faced for years.

“Okay, Mam. What do I know? You’re the nurse.”

I thought Dad's death might have changed things. But no, the defences are back up again. Something’s going on with her too, I’m sure of it.

I take our plates over to the sink.

“I’m going out after.”

The bowl fills with hot soapy water.

“I’m gonna see Jac. For a catch-up.”

“About time too.”

She grabs a tea towel to dry the dishes.

“He took his letters back, Annie.”

“What?”

The top of the dresser's clear. I hadn’t even noticed that they’d gone.

“When?”

“The day you arrived.”

“You were too hard on him for all those years. Remember, Annie; you left too.”

???

“Fancy coming out for a drink?”

As I stand at the door in front of him, my traitorous heart skips a beat.

He’s surprised to see me.

“Yeah, okay,” he says huskily.

I must have woken him up. Or, maybe I’ve called it wrong, and he was only being polite? He didn’t mean it when he said to come over and see him.

Nervous, my mouth rattles on, “I figured it was safer to go out, than stay here drinking your mother’s elderberry homebrew.”

I instantly feel my cheeks redden, and my pulse races as his mouth forms a quizzical smile.

Dammit! Now, he thinks I’m chasing him.

The pub’s busy. It’s Friday night and there’s a crowd in for food.

Jac stands by the bar trying to get served, and I use the opportunity to check my phone and emails. It’s annoying that this is the only place where I can do that. It doesn’t take long. No one’s called, and there’s nothing of interest in my inbox.

Jac comes back from the bar, placing two pints of real ale on the table. And suddenly, I’ve absolutely no idea what to talk about.

“How’s Maureen doing?” he asks, kicking off the convo.

It’s as good a place to start as any, and I don’t pull any punches.

“I’m worried about her, Jac. She seems different.”

“We both k

now why that is.”

He understands the tensions of living with my father’s unpredictable mood swings.

“I mean, she’s warmer with me than she’s been in years. But, there’s something she’s hiding from me, Jac… D’ya think she’s lost weight?”

“Hard to tell, ‘cos I see her most days. But, now you mention it, yes she has.”

“And she’s tired all the time… what if she’s sick?”

“Don’t worry. It’s sure to be all the stress and grief. She’s mixed up too. She must have loved him. She stayed with him for all those years.”