Page 13 of A Game of Lies

‘Minor artistic differences,’ Miles says, flashing Ffion and Georgina a smile. ‘Roxy took a while to understand my vision, that’s all. There’s nothing cruel about encouraging honesty, is there? We’re holding a mirror up to society, with all its filters and fake news. We’re saying: be true to yourself.’

‘It’s a genius concept.’ Owen grins. ‘And not too shabby on the old CV. I’ve had two production companies on the phone already, asking for my availability.’

‘You’re not going anywhere, mate.’ Miles puts an arm around Owen’s shoulders. ‘This is just the start – wait till you hear about the next show I’m planning.’

Ffion wonders if Miles’s plans include Roxy, who has turned away and is washing up her coffee cup. ‘When did Ryan Francis leave the show?’

There’s a split-second pause. ‘Around three o’clock this morning, we think,’ Miles says.

‘And you waited till now to report him missing?’ Ffion raises an eyebrow.

‘I expected him to turn up, to be honest, not least because he’s contractually obliged to return to the farmhouse after leaving camp. Heaven knows what I’m going to tell the media if he doesn’t show up.’ Miles sees Ffion’s face. He clears his throat. ‘Although obviously all that matters is finding him safe.’

‘Quite.’

‘When did you realise he’d gone?’ Georgina asks.

‘The contestants started getting up around seven o’clock, but several of them were still in bed at ten. I went for my run, and when I got back to my desk they’d discovered that Ryan had stuffed a pillow and a couple of jumpers under his blankets. The man himself was nowhere to be seen.’

‘We reviewed the footage,’ Roxy says. ‘There are night vision cameras in the tents, but it can be quite hard to make out what’s happening. It looked as though Ryan was just turning over in bed, but when we watched it again we saw he’d dropped out of it, on the side furthest from the camera.’

‘A few minutes later,’ Miles says, ‘you can just make out a movement in the fabric of the tent as he slips underneath it and out into the woods behind the camp.’

‘Where does he live?’

‘Staffordshire,’ Miles says. ‘I tried calling his wife, Jessica – she’s listed as his emergency contact number – but she isn’t picking up.’

‘Any medical issues?’ Georgina’s taking notes.

‘Nothing current.’ Miles’s wording is careful. Too careful, Ffion thinks.

‘Something historic, though?’

Miles hesitates. ‘Ryan disclosed on his application form that he’d suffered from depression,’ he says quickly. ‘But that was all behind him. He was fit and well, and he passed a medical with flying colours. We take a very robust approach to mental health, don’t we?’ He looks at the others to back him up, and Owen nods vigorously. Roxy, Ffion notes, says nothing.

Ffion looks at Georgina. ‘Get Control Room to check psych wards as well as A&E. Minor injury units too. And we need a Staffordshire unit despatched to his home address. Even if he hasn’t gone home, we should inform his wife and see what additional information she can give us.’

‘His mobile phone and wallet are still in his bag in his stable room.’ Roxy looks anxious. ‘I thought it would be okay to look through it. In the circumstances.’

Ffion gives a tight nod. Ryan’s been gone for around eight hours, and it doesn’t take a mastermind to work out why. ‘What’s his secret?’

Miles frowns. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘If Ryan left of his own accord, it’s a fair assumption he did it to protect his privacy. So what was he hiding?’

‘I can’t tell you that.’

‘This is a missing person investigation, Mr Young. You have a responsibility to—’

‘You don’t understand – there have been hundreds of thousands of bets placed since the first episode went out last night. Bet247 are taking wagers on who’s leaving first, who sleeps with who, what everyone’s secret is … They’re making a fortune.’ Miles sighs. ‘My hands are tied.’

‘I’ll get a description circulated.’ Georgina has her radio in one hand, a list of actions in the other. ‘And request search-and-rescue?’

Ffion nods, and as Georgina updates Control she dials Huw’s number and steps outside into the courtyard. ‘There’s a job on its way to you,’ she says, when her ex-husband answers. The drizzle is still light, a silvery mist that rests on Ffion’s jacket as though it doesn’t have the energy to carry on. Higher up, around the summit of Pen y Ddraig, the sky is still periwinkle blue, wisps of cloud drifting eastwards with no apparent urgency. Ffion is used to the vagaries of Cwm Coed’s weather; to the discrepancies from one village to the next. There are times when one end of Llyn Drych is bathed in sunlight, the other fighting squalls coming off the mountain.

‘A search-and-rescue job?’ Huw says. ‘Or are you wanting a loft conversion?’

‘I’d need a loft to convert first.’

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