This week, Crime Cymru’s R G Adams provides an excerpt from her latest psychological thriller

The Last House is the second in a series of non-police procedurals featuring intrepid young social worker Kit Goddard, who lives and works in the south Wales town of Sandbeach. The novel centres around Kit’s investigation of a reclusive family. Rhian Meredith and her seventeen-year-old son Dylan live in isolation at the top end of a valley, beneath the looming Mynydd Oer. Dylan has stopped attending school and has been seen with an injury. In this scene, Kit confronts Rhian and Dylan about what is going on and sees the strangeness of the relationship between mother and son for the first time:

‘What’s the problem then, Dylan?’ Kit kept her voice gentle. ‘If you can tell me, we can talk about what to do.’

‘I’m going to tell her, Mam.’ He moved a step nearer to Rhian and took a hold of her shoulder, turning her to face him again. ‘Let me tell her, and maybe she can tell us how to make them stop.’

‘You know we can’t do that. You know why. Please, Dylan.’

‘Do you mean Aled and Joe?’ Even as she said it, Kit knew those two idiots couldn’t be the cause of all this. But her words were lost anyway; Rhian’s breath had started to come from her mouth in jagged gasps, startling in the hushed room. Dylan reached out and took his mother’s hand. His fingers curled into her palm first, kneading gently at the scant flesh, then he turned her hand over and ran them back and forth across her knuckles, caressing and soothing her. His eyes stayed on hers and his head moved up and down with the rise and fall of her chest, mimicking it at first, then slowing, leading her to follow his rhythm. After a few minutes, she exhaled audibly and he nodded at her.

‘That’s better,’ he said, keeping hold of her hand and clasping it in both of his. ‘That’s better now, isn’t it?’

Kit cleared her throat, uncomfortable for a reason she could not put a label on.

‘Best if you leave.’ His face was empty of hope now.

‘I’m not in any rush.’

‘I’ll let you out.’ He dropped his mother’s hand.

‘Thank you for coming.’ Rhian spoke as if it had been a tea party. Dylan crossed the room and went into the hall, leaving Kit and Rhian to stand in silence.

‘I’m a good mother.’ She spoke without lifting her eyes from the floor. ‘You think I’m not, but I look after him.’

‘I don’t think you’re a bad mother at all. I know you’re very strong, you must have been to bring Dylan up on your own. That must have been hard.’

Rhian looked her full in the face now, a smile wavering on her lips. ‘Thank you for saying that. Yes, it was very hard, on my own.’

‘And he’s lovely, he really is. But you seem like you’re . . . suffering.’

‘We are. They’re plaguing us. I wish you could help.’

‘Then let me.’

‘No one can. It’s just not possible. But thank you for coming.’

She turned away to face the curtains, leaving Kit with no choice but to follow Dylan out into the hall.

When he had finished undoing the chain and turning the key in the front door, Dylan straightened up and she managed to catch his eye. He looked away, but not quickly enough to hide his red-rimmed eyes. Her heart filled with sadness for him.

‘Will you meet me at the viewing point later this week? We can talk about this some more?’ She ran through her schedule in her mind. Maybe it would be good to give him a few days’ break from her. ‘Friday, maybe?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Come on, Dylan. She doesn’t even need to know and we can talk about a different way to do things. I’m not giving up, I told you that, so you needn’t think I’m going away. I’m going to help you.’

‘Whether we want you to help us or not, eh?’

‘Well, that’s about it, yes.’ It was confusing, the way he could switch from coldly escorting her out of the house to teasing her in a matter of seconds. But she was flooded with relief. He couldn’t bring himself to finally draw the line, in case she didn’t come back. They were standing close together now, the scent of his fresh skin reaching her again. He made a small, self-conscious movement with his hand, brushing his hair out of his eyes and revealing his cheekbone just as she had before. There was no sign of the bruising now. But she felt sure that if she asked him in this quiet moment, as they stood so that they were almost touching, he would tell her the truth.

‘Dylan, the first time I saw you, you had a bruise on your face. Did someone hit you?’

‘No. Don’t be stupid.’ Tears welled and hovered on his lower lashes. He turned his face away from her before they could fall, pulling the door wide open, then stood with his chin up, staring out into the garden as if she wasn’t there. She rested her fingertips lightly on his lower arm.

‘Dylan, if someone hurt you, you can tell me. Was it your mum?’

His eyes were full of anguish when he turned to face her. His chest rose as he gathered himself to speak.

‘You need to go now.’ Rhian stood behind them, her face set and cold. Had she heard? Kit couldn’t tell but she knew it was time to leave. She stepped out onto the path and turned to find that Rhian had pushed past Dylan and was standing framed in the doorway. But her attention wasn’t on Kit. Following Rhian’s eyes Kit saw something on the path glinting in the sunlight. It was a small handful of change, just four or five coppers.

‘I guess someone dropped some money. Might have been me, actually.’ Kit started to pat her side pocket, where she usually had a few coins. It was empty. Perhaps the money had fallen out when she’d put her phone away earlier. She leaned forward to pick it up.

‘Leave it.’ Rhian’s irritability was rising now. ‘It wasn’t dropped, look at the way it’s lying. It’s been placed.’

‘Placed? What do you mean?’

‘Just leave it.’

‘All right, I will, I’m sorry. Dylan, will you meet me on Friday? Usual time?’

But he didn’t answer or even look at her. He was looking over his mother’s shoulder, pushing forward urgently to see what had caught her attention. She’d lost him. Making her way down the path, Kit swore under her breath. Every time she got near to him, he backed away. She turned at the gate, hoping to get another word in. He was on the doorstep now, his mother leaning into him, his arms encircling her upper body. They clung together, oblivious to Kit’s presence, their eyes fixed on the coins, their faces taut with fear.

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Both The Last House and its predecessor novel Allegation are published by riverrun, the literary crime imprint of Quercus. Amazon link: The Last House: an intense psychological thriller of locked doors and family secrets: Amazon.co.uk: Adams, R. G.: 9781529404715: Books

You can read more about R G Adams on this link