LITMIR.BIZ

      ‘Sorry, there’s nothing we can do.’

      That was the phase I heard over and over that week. Each day was a battle. After I’d drop Tilly at school there were endless phone calls and visits. The benefits office was sorry but there was a backlog and they couldn’t process my claim for weeks. My landlord wouldn’t accept housing benefit tenants. There were some flats which would but they were in a rough area and quite far from Tilly’s school. The insurance company smothered me with terms and clauses and legalities I couldn’t understand. Citizen’s Advice couldn’t fit me in until the New Year. The landlord of the shop was sorry, but in light of the arrears he’d found a new tenant and he’d be keeping my deposit to cover some of the rent I’d missed.

      Sorry. Everyone was sorry.

      It was Friday that finally broke me. Although I’d applied for every job going, from cleaning to waitressing, it was the position in the flower department of my local supermarket I had pinned all my hopes upon. I knew it would only be unpacking cellophane-wrapped bouquets from boxes and dumping them in plastic buckets but I was certain I’d get the job.

      The white envelope imprinted with the shop’s logo dropped onto the doormat. I pounced on it eagerly.

       We regret to inform you…

      The rejection punched the back of my knees, tore sobs from my throat. I slid to the floor, curling myself as small as possible. The hessian doormat bristled against my cheek as I cried for the things I didn’t have; a job, money, a home, but most of all I cried for Gavan, his name rising from the pit of my stomach, spilling out into the cold empty hallway where he would never again kick off muddy boots and trail brick dust over the carpet.

      Eventually, I exhausted myself. I shuffled on my knees to the bottom of the stairs and unhooked my handbag from the bannister. It was while I was rooting around for a packet of tissues that my fingers brushed against the piece of paper Saffron had given me.

      ‘If it weren’t for Alex I honestly don’t know where I’d be.’

      Was there such a thing as a truly altruistic person?

      I had nothing to lose by asking, but still it was gargantuan to tentatively dial her number, not allowing myself to hope.

      ‘Hello.’

      ‘Saffron, it’s Laura. From the florist.’

      ‘I was just thinking about you! The shop’s been locked all week. Are you okay?’

      ‘No,’ I whispered. The rivers I’d cried had dried my throat. ‘No, I’m really not.’

      ‘We can help,’ she said.

      And those three words were enough for me to drive to Gorphwysfa the following day.

      It’s easy, with the benefit of hindsight, to realise that taking Tilly was my second mistake. We may have been broke, homeless, longing for support, but nobody had died then.

      Nobody had killed.

Chapter Nine

      LAURA

      What sort of people shun society and build their own community? I tried to discuss it with Tilly during our scenic journey to Abberberth but the further out of town we drove, the quieter she became. Tufts of grass sprung in the centre of the unfamiliar road that twisted and turned as it led away from the coast towards Mid Wales. We dipped into a valley, the rolling hills swallowing the car, the tips of their peaks hidden by mist. Free from the buildings that crowded our town, it seemed we were driving into the vast slate-grey sky.

      Tilly had her face turned away from me, staring absently out of the window at the bleak and empty fields, her mood as low as the clouds that threatened rain. I wanted to ask her what she was thinking, what she was feeling, but I didn’t know how to reach her. I was seventeen when she was born, little more than a child myself. My best friend at the time, Natasha, told me it was really cool I had a daughter. ‘You can go shopping together, hang out, you’ll be mates.’ But I didn’t feel like Tilly’s friend right then, and with all the ways I was letting her down I didn’t feel quite like her mum either. Gavan was always the calmer parent, right from when she arrived red-faced and squalling into the world. He had held her against his bare chest, as he’d read about the importance of skin-to-skin contact, while I was mopped up, stitched up. I fought against climbing down from my cloud of pethidine into reality, where I was responsible for this tiny creature with fisted hands and a furious cry. I wondered how we’d cope, but Gavan was the perfect balance of discipline and fun at each and every stage, coaxing Tilly to finish her vegetables without the onslaught of World War Three. Effortlessly moulding papier-mâché into a castle for her history project, throwing together a fancy dress costume with things he plucked out of the airing cupboard. Although there had been a definite shift in their relationship before he died, a tension which wasn’t there before, I put it down to the changes she was going through. Seventeen was impossibly difficult. For me it was an age full of memories I’d locked away.

      We’d been driving for forty-five minutes when, almost too late, I noticed the opening between the trees. I swung a hard left, bumping down a rutted track that tapered until hanging twigs scraped against my paintwork. I thought I must have taken a wrong turn. Slowly, I edged forward, looking for a place to turn around. The track widened again. A weatherworn sign speared the ground, a crow perched atop so still at first I thought he was a statue. ‘Tresmasers yn Ofalus’ in black peeling letters, and then almost as an afterthought, the English translation, ‘Trespassers Beware’. A second sign shouted ‘Ffens Trydan’, ‘Electric Fence’, and a third, newer sign, ‘Oak Leaf Organics’. I’d found it. Gorphwysfa. Resting place.

      An ominous thunder cloud hung suspended over the impossibly tall fences spiked with razor wire. Padlocked chains twisted around the metal gate.

      Apprehensively I sat, engine ticking over. In the shadows, a movement. A figure dressed in black strode out of a small wooden cabin and moved towards us. His head shaven, tattoos wrapped around

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