The Dream Weavers by Barbara Erskine (books you have to read txt) 📕

Tucking his phone into the cup-rest between the seats he allowed the satnav to guide him along the dark winding road. Halfway to Llangynog he pulled into the hedge and called Felix. ‘Yeah, Mum called the police,’ the boy said. ‘They were questioning her about social media and stuff. Perhaps they thought the old man was impersonating someone. I didn’t know they’d rushed over there. Oh God, that’s awful. Those poor people.’

‘As far as the police were concerned she’s a seventeen-year-old girl who’s been missing for two days,’ Simon said. ‘Now they’ve been told she’s trying to meet up with a mysterious boyfriend and was last heard of in a remote farmhouse with two elderly people who probably looked a bit sinister. They were trying to do what’s best for her. Have you managed to track where she is now?’

‘No. Her phone is still off, Dad. I’ll ring you the second she pings up again.’

‘OK. I’m going to head for this shrine. I don’t know what else to do.’ Simon stared out of the windscreen at the silhouette of the mountains, impenetrably black against the blackness of the sky, and wound down the window. The car flooded with the scents of deep country, flowers, hay, a faint aroma of sheep and above all the immensity of silence. Without the car lights on it felt as if he was in the middle of nowhere. It was the middle of the night, he was completely exhausted, and he had no idea where Emma was.

47

When Sandra woke it was dark. She was lying on the floor at home in her own front room, alone, with a splitting headache and ribs that felt so bruised she couldn’t breathe.

For several minutes she lay there wondering what had happened. That flash of light, blinding, a lightning flash, had flung her backwards against a stone wall. She remembered feeling as though her head would burst and an agonising pain in her chest, then nothing.

It was several minutes before, clutching her chest, she staggered to her feet. She could see her phone lying on the far side of the table. If she could just reach it, she could call for help. She winced again as a sharp pain sliced through her ribs, leaving her gasping.

She had been in this incredible place, an ancient monastery, watching Emma pleading with the monks. No, it wasn’t Emma. It was a vicious, hard woman who knew her stuff. Eadburh. Bea had been there too. Watching. Always bloody watching. And someone else. Another woman, in the shadows.

She reached out for the phone and grabbed it. She was feeling dizzy; the room was spinning. She sat down, trying to catch her breath and, both elbows planted on the table, brought the phone up close to her face, squinting at the little screen, trying to find her contacts. There must be someone she could call

She remembered now. She had looked away from Eadburh to find Beatrice watching her. Beatrice who had been distracted, who hadn’t even seen her, Beatrice who had been open to the entire scene. That had been her chance. She had gathered all her strength and hurled a curse towards her. She had seen Bea struggle and stagger, and then there was a man there with her. Simon. The author. Emma’s father. He caught Bea and pulled her away, away from the past, away from the scene, saving her from, from what? The next thing she remembered was the flash of light, a blinding reflection, the slam as she hit the wall, and then nothing.

Somewhere Emma had taken a wrong turning. She had made a last-minute decision to follow the signpost towards the trail rather than stick to the road along the bottom of the valley and found herself climbing up through fields and then woodland as she headed west above the course of the river. It was growing ever darker as she walked and she found it hard to see where she was going through the trees. Deep down she was beginning to feel frightened. She was exhausted and lost and hungry. Now was the time to call her dad. Before the last streaks of red had faded from the sky she sat down at the foot of an oak tree and turned on her phone.

There was no reception. Almost crying with frustration, she stared at the screen in despair. Leaning back against the trunk of the tree she closed her eyes and felt the hot tears begin to slide down her cheeks.

It was some time later later she remembered she had food. Annie had wrapped up some Welsh cakes and put them in a bag for her to take with her. She felt in her rucksack for the package, still slightly warm from Annie’s stove, and she began to eat. The food helped her think more clearly. She needed to find a signal for her phone then she would be able to find where she was in relation to the path. Standing up, she turned on the phone’s torch and flicked it round the trees. She mustn’t use it for too long in case she ran down the battery again, but there was enough to find her way upwards towards the higher ground where there would be a signal. She spotted a path almost at once, narrow, but definitely a path, winding through the trees out of sight. With a renewed sense of hope, she set off and found that almost at once it started to climb.

Then, somewhere in the distance, she heard a wolf howl.

Bea was sitting up in bed. Mark had insisted on walking Heather home and, finally acknowledging her exhaustion, Bea had climbed upstairs. But she couldn’t sleep. Sitting up again she pulled a throw round her shoulders and she went back carefully over their conversation. It seemed that Heather had gone to see Sandra and found her with