Page 46 of A Game of Lies

Ffion puts her phone on speaker, pulls on yesterday’s clothes and scrapes her hair into something approximating a ponytail. Anticipating a walk, Dave leaps off the bed with a thud.

‘She doesn’t want the police involved,’ comes Mam’s tinny voice through the phone.

‘I hate to break it to you, but remember that funny black and white hat I used to wear … ?’ Ffion takes the stairs two at a time.

‘You don’t count.’

‘Thanks.’

‘You know what I mean.’ Elen exhales sharply. ‘I’m kicking myself for not looking at my phone last night. Thank heavens for a menopausal bladder, otherwise I might not have checked it at all. You’d think the HRT would have—’

‘Mam. Focus.’ Ffion’s downstairs now, looking for her car keys and casting a longing glance in the direction of her coffee machine. ‘Is Angharad conscious? Breathing?’

‘Yes and yes. Poor thing was lying at the foot of the stairs when I got here.’

‘Have you called an ambulance?’

‘I’m not an idiot, Ffion Morgan.’

‘I’ll get uniform there.’

‘She’s adamant, Ffi. No police.’

‘Mam, she’s been assaulted.’

‘She says she had a dizzy spell and fell down the stairs.’

‘Then why is she insistent the police aren’t called?’

Mam doesn’t answer.

‘I’m letting Control Room know now.’ Ffion hangs up and picks up her radio.

Many years ago, a fallen tree made the road leading to Angharad’s cottage impassable, and, since Angharad doesn’t drive and is selective about visitors, she left it that way. Now, Ffion leaves the Triumph next to the ambulance, ducks under the trunk and jogs the half-mile to Angharad’s cottage. The dawn light is breaking through the trees, throwing dancing tree shadows across the dirt track. Ffion keeps Dave on the lead, despite his pleas to chase rabbits.

‘Most people would be thrilled by the prospect of staying at home,’ she admonishes him. ‘What’s the big deal? The entire bed to yourself, Radio 4 on all day, and Sian popping across the road to fuss you at lunchtime … what more do you want?’

Dave doesn’t answer. Ffion’s plan to sneak out by scattering a distraction of gravy bones across the kitchen floor had been an abject failure: Dave had hoovered up the bones in four seconds, then hurled himself at Ffion as she made a dash for the door.

Up ahead, Ffion sees flashes of fluorescent through the gloaming. When she reaches the cottage, two paramedics are strapping Angharad on to a wheeled stretcher.

‘I’m perfectly fine,’ she snaps.

‘Standard practice for a head injury,’ replies the male paramedic firmly. ‘Two secs,’ he adds,sotto voce, to his colleague, before pulling Ffion to one side. ‘She claims she felt a bit rough last night,’ he continues, his voice low. ‘She texted a friend to ask the GP to visit, then went to bed, but she fainted when she got up in the night and came to at the bottom of the stairs.’

‘Are her injuries consistent with that?’ Ffion loops Dave’s lead around a sturdy branch, hoping he hasn’t noticed the baby deer recovering in the nearest pen. Angharad is still arguing with the female paramedic, and Elen Morgan has stepped in to mediate.

The male paramedic jiggles his head from side to side, hedging his bets. ‘She’s got a cut on her head which is already healing, and a contusion to the side of her face I’d say was a good few hours old. No bruises anywhere else, which is odd after a tumble down the stairs, but they might still come out, of course.’

They walk back to Angharad, who has finally fallen silent. Elen looks at Ffion. ‘I’ll go with her to the hospital.’

‘Angharad,’ Ffion says. ‘Pwy oedd yma neithiwr?’

The answer comes fast and firm. ‘No one was here.’

‘Was it Ryan?’

‘Who?’ Angharad turns her head away.

---