Page 6 of A Game of Lies

Ffion is about to ask what the lock is for when Dave yanks his lead so hard she almost falls over. ‘Oi!’ She yanks back, before remembering what thePerfect Puppybook says. ‘I mean,off.’ She can do without Dave running away with a murder victim’s metatarsal. She’s about to make ahow humerusjoke, but decides Georgina wouldn’t appreciate it.

The three of them look down at the shallow grave, in which lies an assortment of dirt-encrusted bones.

‘You’ve done the right thing by stopping filming,’ Georgina says.

‘The thing is, if we don’t get going again soon—’

‘We’ll need to get an anthropologist out from Bangor University. They’ll tell us whether the bones are animal or human. If they’re human, they’ll date them, then establish if the site’s of archaeological importance.’ Georgina takes out her phone. ‘We should notify Cheshire Constabulary – we’re on their side of the border.’

‘You won’t get any reception up here,’ Miles says. ‘It’s why we use radios.’

Ffion feels eyes on the nape of her neck. She turns to see a brown-skinned woman watching them from the entrance to the women’s bell tent. She’s young and slim, and she’s wearing what Ffion assumes is the camp uniform: khaki combat trousers and an orange fleece. Dark hair falls in two thick plaits over her shoulders.

‘What are you doing?’ Miles has followed Ffion’s gaze and is striding towards the bell tent. ‘I told you to stay out of the way!’ He practically shoves the woman back inside, and Ffion catches a glimpse of the nameAliyahon the reverse of the woman’s fleece, before Miles sweeps the canvas door across the entrance.

‘This is batshit,’ Ffion mutters, crouching to get a closer look at the bones.

‘Sorry about that.’ When Miles returns, he’s all smiles again. ‘Exposureis sponsored by a major gambling operator. It’s crucial the contestants aren’t influenced by the outside world, which means keeping them away from visitors – even upright citizens like yourselves!’ He laughs, then looks at the bones and sighs. ‘Do you have any idea how long this is going to take? We’re expecting record viewing figures – the hype’s been incredible. Thousands of people applied forExposure. Some of the rejected ones tracked me down, begged me to reconsider – threatened me, in a few cases. This show is a big deal.’

Miles’s speech has little effect on Georgina. ‘These bones could belong to a murder victim, Mr Young. I’d say that’s a pretty big deal too, wouldn’t you?’

‘We air in three hours and we still have the contestants’ briefing to shoot, not to mention prepping the live segment—’

‘The bones aren’t human.’ Ffion looks up from the fire pit. ‘You can crack on.’

Miles exhales. ‘That’s excellent news, thank you, officer.’

‘Hang on a minute, we can’t just …’ Georgina glares at Ffion. ‘The Standard Operating Procedure clearly states—’

‘They’re animal bones.’ Ffion stands, wincing as her knee clicks. Is it normal for your body to start clicking in your early thirties? Lately, Ffion has caught herself making a tinyaahsound when she sits down. It’s a short step from there to having prunes every morning and watching ITV dramas with the subtitles on becauseactors all mumble nowadays.

‘I had no idea you’d done an anthropology degree.’ Georgina’s voice is laced with sarcasm.

‘I haven’t.’ Ffion reaches into the grave and fishes out a small metal tag, trailing the remnants of what might once have been a collar. ‘But I’ve yet to encounter a human corpse tagged with the number of a veterinary practice.’

That evening, after work, Ffion opens her fridge. She last looked inside approximately three and a half minutes ago, and there is no more in it now than there was then. Ffion picks up Dave’s lead. ‘Come on, mate, we’ll eatChez Morgantonight.’

It’s just before seven when she opens the back door of her childhood home. The kitchen is Elen Morgan’s natural habitat, and Ffion’s surprised to find it empty. Laundry hangs on the airer above the range, and Mam’s notebook lies open on the table, neat ticks against the items on her to-do list.Change towels in holiday let. Buy teabags. Return library books.

‘Mam?’ Ffion opens the fridge and her stomach rumbles in anticipation of the cold meat pie she finds there. She rootles in the salad drawer for tomatoes and lettuce.

‘In here,’ comes the response from the lounge. ‘Turn it up, Seren, I can’t hear a thing.’

‘It’s the adverts, Mam. And I thought you didn’t want to watch it, anyway?’

‘Watch what?’ Ffion carries her spoils through to the lounge. ‘Alright, Caleb?’

Seren’s boyfriend is sprawling on the floor. He’s bulked out lately and his jawline has lost the softness of adolescence. Only the floppy fringe still marks him out as a teenager. He sits bolt upright. ‘Yeah, good. You alright?’ he adds, as an afterthought. Seren says Ffion makes Caleb feel uncomfortable, as though he has to watch his step.

‘I will be, once I’ve eaten this,’ Ffion says. ‘Budge up.’ She kicks Seren’s feet off the sofa so she can sit down.

‘It’s a restaurant I’m running now, is it?’ Mam says. She’s wearing a red apron with the word YES in bold white letters – the logo for Yes Cymru, the movement for Welsh independence.

‘Three stars. Limited menu. Customer service needs work.’ Ffion takes a bite of meat pie and nods towards the telly. ‘Right. What are we watching?’

THREE

MONDAY | ELEN MORGAN | EPISODE ONE

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