Page 43 of A Game of Lies

This evening, though, Angharad is watchingExposure.

Her laptop is on a kitchen chair in front of the sofa on which Angharad is eating her supper. This in itself is unusual – Angharad prefers to eat at the table, where she can prop up her book against the vase in the centre – but then it’s been a rather unusual day. She feels unsettled by the police’s visit. She remembers DS Brady from last year and likes him no more now than she did then. She knows Ffion of old, and still cannot reconcile the wild child she knew – FfionWyllt, as everyone called her – with the job she does now. And then there was the dog – that beautiful, strong German shepherd – made to do the police’s dirty work. Angharad’s animals had confused him, she was pleased to see. He’d changed direction, running between the badger and the deer, sniffing out the rabbits. Losing the scent he’d been tasked with following.

There is a vicar onExposure. Angharad knows this because, whenever the Reverend Lucas Taylor is speaking, a banner appears on the screen, informing her of this fact. Do people nowadays have so little concentration they must be spoon-fed? Angharad has only seen fifteen minutes of this vacuous yet profoundly damaging television programme, but she has the measure of all four contestants. The young woman, Aliyah Brown, works in a children’s nursery. Angharad isn’t a parent, but she imagines Aliyah gets on well with infants, largely because she is still rather childish herself.

It astounds Angharad that Ceri Jones, the postwoman Angharad has always found eminently sensible, has put herself in this appalling situation. Angharad suspects Ceri is thinking the same, as the programme started a quarter of an hour ago and Ceri has yet to smile.

Angharad doesn’t like Henry Moore. She might be alone in this view, as even Angharad can see that he makes himself useful in camp, and doesn’t talk behind the others’ backs. But his eyes are too close together, and in Angharad’s experience men with close-set eyes are not to be trusted.

That only leaves Lucas, to whom Angharad might have lent her support, were it not for his obsession with all things celebrity. Angharad’s faith might not be conventional – she hasn’t set foot in a church since she was a child – but it is strong, and she feels let down by this self-proclaimed ‘modern vicar’.

‘There’s quite a few celebrity vicars, aren’t there?’ Henry is saying.

‘Therearequite a few,’ Angharad says from the sofa. ‘Plural, Henry. Being an accountant is no excuse for poor grammar.’

‘Yes, it’s quite the trend.’ Lucas is searching his bunk for something.

‘Is that what you’re after, then? A programme on Radio 4? A chat show?’

‘That would be nice.’ Lucas tuts. ‘Have you seen my socks? They’re hot pink and they have a small hole on one heel.’

There’s some nonsense on screen about voting by text message, accompanied by several bars of the ghastlyExposuretheme tune, then the graphics swirl away and the screen returns to Lucas hunting for his socks.

‘Magazine interviews, TV adverts, a book deal for a cosy crime series.’ Lucas runs through his ambitions, which Angharad notes are entirely self-serving. ‘And a podcast, of course.’ He finishes his wish list, distracted. ‘Someone’s taken my bloody socks!’

Angharad frowns. If Lucas is a ‘modern vicar’, she’ll stick with the old-fashioned ones. ‘And these are the ones in the lead,’ she exclaims. ‘I shudder to think what the others were like.’

‘They were alright,’ says a voice next to her.

Angharad’s expression softens as she turns to her guest.Exposureis on at his insistence. She refused at first, citing her lack of television as an excuse, but Ryan became increasingly demanding and Angharad wondered if it might, in some way, prove cathartic.

‘Pam was kind. She looked after me when I—’ He breaks off. Angharad doesn’t push him. He’ll talk about it when – and if – he’s ready.

Yesterday, Angharad had been feeding the animals when she’d heard a commotion coming from the lake. A man was shouting, but he’d sounded distressed rather than angry, and Angharad had walked down to see what was occurring. She found the man – Ryan – standing waist-deep in the water with tears streaming down his face.

Many moons ago, Angharad was a teacher in a particularly challenging school. When the students were disruptive (as they often were), the other teachers would raise their voices above the throng and call for quiet. The students would talk louder, the teacher would shout more forcefully, and so it would go on. But when Angharad’s class grew rowdy, she became still and quiet. She would make eye contact with every pupil, her expression open and curious. Slowly, like spilt water seeping across a table, the room would fall silent.

When Angharad saw Ryan in the lake, she took off her shoes and walked into the water with him. She stood quietly, feeling the delicious cool of the lake enveloping her feet. She waited.

‘You can’t stop me,’ Ryan said. Angharad acknowledged the truth with a nod. ‘I’ve got nothing left to live for.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

She let him guide their conversation, never speaking until he spoke. She learned about the television programme, and what could only be described as a gross betrayal of trust. She learned how Ryan tried a dress on for the first time on his thirty-third birthday, and that the moment he did, he felt indescribable joy as he wriggled the fabric down over his hips.

‘I don’t want to be a woman, though,’ he said. ‘I don’t even want to dress as one all the time. That doesn’t make any sense, does it?’

‘If it feels right, then it makes sense.’ Angharad had wiggled her toes. ‘My feet have gone numb. Shall I put the kettle on?’

‘He’s going to destroy all their lives, too.’ Ryan gestures to the screen, where the four contestants are grouped in a circle. ‘He doesn’t care who he hurts, as long as he gets the ratings, the kudos. Why are they still there? Why don’t they leave?’ His voice gains volume until he’s yelling at the laptop, and Angharad sits very still and very quiet. She knows what the police would do if they saw him now, shouting and waving his arms about. They’d restrain him and bundle him into a van, then they’d write their statements and say it was necessaryforhis own protection– and just how would that protect Ryan’s fragile state of mind?

In the middle of the contestants is a tray of objects, covered by a rich purple cloth.

‘Each of the seven objects on this tray relates to anExposurecontestant, past or present,’ says the presenter. ‘But will they bring you a step closer to exposing your campmates?’ Roxy is game-show-host breezy, but above the mischievous smile her eyes are flat.

‘Past or present,’ Ryan says. ‘Past or present!’

Angharad stays calm. ‘We can switch it off.’

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