medicated sleep. She looked painfully old and frail. The last year had clawed away almost every remaining trace of the woman who used to pick him up and swing him around in the air as a young boy. He bent to kiss her cheek. Then he left the room and the house. He drove to the factory, made his way to his office and opened the safe. He took out a pile of newspapers and flipped through them, passing headlines such as ‘Fifth Body Discovered Buried In Woods Near Death House’ and ‘Third Local Man Arrested In Death House Investigation’ and ‘No Charges To Be Brought Against Julian Harris’ and ‘Susan Carter’s Parents Hail Father and Son As Heroes’. At the centre of the pile nestled a videotape — his dad’s tape. As he’d done dozens of times before, Julian stared at it with an agonised uncertainty. Only this time he didn’t return it to the safe, this time he snatched it up and started unreeling its insides. He piled the shiny black tape in a metal wastepaper bin, took some matches from his desk drawer, struck one and held it to the tape. As it crackled and melted, he muttered, “Not even a different kind of lie. Just more of the same.”
When Julian was sure the tape was destroyed beyond repair, he returned home and slept only because his eyes refused to stay open.
In the morning at breakfast, Julian watched his mum out of the corner of his eye, wondering what she remembered about the previous night. Several times he caught her giving him inquisitive sidelong glances too. When Jake took Henry for his walk, he said to her, “I had a visitor last night after you went to bed.”
“Oh really, who?”
“Don’t be coy, Mum. You know who.”
Christine looked at him direct now, eyes full of eager enquiry. “So come on, tell me how it went.”
As Julian had suspected, she’d been too heavily medicated to remember his visit to her bedroom. “Me and Eleanor are over, finished.” His voice was gentle, but there was a ring of finality in it. “I know you mean well, Mum, but I’m asking you, please leave it alone.”
Christine shook her head in disbelief and dissent. “Eleanor loves you. Don’t you know how rare love is in this world? You’d have to be insane to-” She broke off as Julian started to stand, reaching to take hold of his wrist. “Okay, Julian, let me say one more thing then I’ll drop it.” He waited mutely for her to continue, eyes on the floor. “Just do me a favour, take a few days off, get away somewhere and think things through. If you feel the same way after that, I promise I’ll never mention Eleanor’s name again.”
“I can’t. The factory-”
“To hell with the factory,” Christine interjected. “Please, Julian, do it as a favour to me, will you?”
It’d be a waste of time, there’s nothing to think over, Julian was about to tell her, when Wanda entered the kitchen, saying, “Julian, you got something odd in the mail.”
He turned to her, panic spiking in his chest. His fear turned into curiosity when he saw what she was holding. “A postcard, what’s odd about that?” said Christine.
“There’s no message on it.”
Wanda handed Julian the postcard. It showed a map of Pembrokeshire surrounded by smaller images of rolling hills, beaches and castles. Someone had ringed the Preseli Mountains in blue biro. Julian flipped the card over. As Wanda had said, there was no message, only his name and address. Like someone in a daze, he traced the outline of the writing with his index finger.
“That is odd,” agreed Christine. “Who do you think it’s from?”
As if prompted into action by her question, Julian hurried to his bedroom. Exchanging uneasy glances, Christine and Wanda followed him. “What are you doing?” asked Christine, as he began pulling clothes out of his drawers and stuffing them into a rucksack. Still getting no reply, she persisted, “Julian! What’s going on? Are you alright?”
He looked at her then, and slowly a smile spread across his face. “Yes,” he said. “Maybe I am.”
