Page 118 of A Game of Lies

‘Good,’ George says. The DI’s head tilts to one side, and she realises what he’s really asking. ‘Mostly. It comes in waves.’

‘I understand. It’s not the same, I know, but I lost my mother last year. It’s very hard.’

George counts to ten in her head, a polite smile on her face to hide the scream inside. It isn’t remotely the same. It never is, and yet George has lost count of the number of people who have offered up their grief for comparison. Grandparents, neighbours, even a guinea pig called Fluffy.He had such a dear little face, the woman in the post office said, and George had left without buying the stamps she’d gone in for.

George had met Spencer at the start of secondary school. Not that they spoke to each other then – twelve-year-old girls want little to do with boys, and the feeling is mostly reciprocal. She and Spencer started going out at sixteen, were engaged by eighteen and married by twenty-one, and, despite all theit’ll never lasts from their families and friends, they remained married until eighteen months ago, when Spencer went down to the garage at three in the morning and hanged himself from the rafters.

‘I wondered if you’d spoken about it to anyone in the office,’ Malik says.

‘No.’

‘It might help. On days when you’re feeling particularly—’

‘No.’ George is adamant. She does not want Ffion to know. She doesn’t want anyone to know. She finds grief exhausting; finds talking about it even more exhausting. There are too many questions and not enough answers, and God knows George asks herself enough questions as it is. Why did a seemingly contented man take his own life? Why didn’t she see it coming? Why, when George heard Spencer stir that night, didn’t she go downstairs to see what was keeping him?

She swallows. Blinks hard. ‘I’d rather focus on the job.’

Malik looks at her. ‘Understood. You know where I am if—’

‘Thanks. Is that all you wanted to see me about, boss?’ George feels the pressure subsiding. If she doesn’t talk about it – doesn’t think about it – it’s manageable.

‘Actually, no.’ Malik hesitates. ‘How did you find working with Ffion? I know she can be a little …’ He doesn’t finish his sentence, and George has the distinct impression he doesn’t know how.

It’s George’s turn to hesitate. She hasn’t seen Ffion since their confrontation in the corridor, and when she’d heard Ffion had taken leave there was a bit of her that had worried it was her fault. Because, contrary to the accusation Ffion flung at her, George is not ‘dead inside’.

Years ago, George watched a documentary about a man with locked-in syndrome. His cognitive function was intact, but every muscle in his body was paralysed except for his eyelids, which he used to communicate. George feels the opposite. Her body continues to function, but inside she feels numb. Her outburst with Ffion took her by surprise, but there is something of Spencer in Leo, and George finds Ffion’s dismissive attitude infuriating. Doesn’t she know how fragile life is?

‘Working with Ffion can be …’ George searches for the right word. ‘Challenging.’ She wonders how many of her predecessors were tasked with working with Ffion, and how many complained about it. Ffion is frequently enraging. Occasionally insufferable. ‘But …’ She hesitates again. When she was standing in the corridor arguing with Ffion, she hadn’t felt numb. She’d felt anger coursing through her veins, and after eighteen months of numbness that feels like a step in the right direction.

‘But?’ Malik says hopefully.

‘I don’t mind working with her,’ George says.

‘Really?’ Malik fails to hide the surprise in his voice. He coughs. ‘Excellent. In that case, I’d like to keep the two of you together on a permanent basis. Let me know if you encounter any more … er … challenges.’

‘Will do,’ George says, although she has no intention of running to the DI every time she crosses swords with Ffion. In fact, she realises she’s looking forward to the next job that comes their way. Working with Ffion might not be easy, but it certainly isn’t boring.

FIFTY-TWO

THURSDAY | FFION

A light drizzle mists the air as Ffion, Mam and Seren walk up Pen y Ddraig. They’re following the footpath from the village, having tacitly agreed on a route that will take them nowhere near theExposurecamp. Automatically, Ffion looks around for Dave, then remembers he isn’t there. She imagines him crying for her at the rescue centre, then forces the image out of her head. It’s in Dave’s best interests, she tells herself. She’s doing the right thing.

Carreg Plas is out of sight in a fold of the mountain. Already Ffion feels detached from everything that happened there. DCI Boccacci’s team are dottingisand crossingts, but Ffion’s part is done. It feels strange to be doing nothing, after the adrenaline of the last two weeks, and she’s almost regretting asking Malik for leave.

It will be a while before the aftermath ofExposuresettles. More complaints have been made to the communications regulator about the programme than about any other television show ever. There will be no second series. Nobody from Young Productions has arranged for Dario’s caravan to be collected, so he is still living in it, pondering his next move. Zee Hart packed up her tent after being threatened with contempt of court. Ffion keeps seeing her pop up on social media, trumpeting another video or blog post.

Roxy Wilde intends to set up a new production company, employing only women. She wants Aliyah to be her co-presenter. Jason is not being prosecuted for bigamy. His divorce from Addison is in progress and he is tentatively building bridges with Kat, who was somewhat appeased by the unedited footage of Jason waxing lyrical about her. Pam’s Board of Governors have informed her there is a necessary process to go through, but that they are fully supportive of reinstating her. Lucas has gone on a religious retreat, after which he has promised to return home and face the (organ) music.

When Ffion, Elen and Seren reach the summit of Pen y Ddraig, they collapse on to the grass. What an odd thing it is, Ffion thinks, this compulsion to climb mountains, only to walk back down them. She feels it every time she sees a peak, as though it’s an itch that demands a scratching. She smiles at nothing – at the view, at being here with Mam and Seren. At everything.

‘I’m not going to Bangor Uni,’ Seren says suddenly.

Ffion stops smiling. ‘We’ve been through this a million times! You’re going—’

‘I’m going to uni in London.’ Seren picks at the grass. ‘Caleb wants to work in TV, and he’s got more chance of finding something there, and I don’t want to travel to Bangor every day, Ffi, I don’t want to live in Cwm Coed, I want—’ She breaks off, then turns to look at Ffion. ‘I want more,’ she says softly.

‘More than what?’

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