Dreaming of a Wolf (Snowdonia Wolves) Read Free Page A

waterfall raged in a torrent, pouring over rocks and boulders, filling and re-filling pools, and then smashing into the river at the bottom. Droplets of water vapor hung in the air in little rainbows.
    “It’s beautiful,” I shouted, and felt his chuckle against my skin.
    “So are you.” He kissed my neck. “I used to come here with Sasha and Tammy. We were little hell raisers.”
    “Who?” He didn’t reply, and so I wriggled free and turned to face him. “I said, who are Sasha and Tammy?”
    I spoke into thin air, the sudden silence making my heart judder. I was in bed again. When I rubbed my eyes, my face was damp. As though I’d just been standing near a waterfall.

Chapter Five
    The crowds in London were terrifying. I was swept along with Tom and Luce, as we struggled to make our way into the hotel they were using for the public inquiry into the accident. I’d never been claustrophobic before, but it was now a distinct possibility. I’d persuaded Mum and Dad to stay home, and I wished I’d stayed there too.
    Cameras flashed, video recorders hummed, and journalists darted through the crowd, talking to people, and searching for stories. Meanwhile, a body of official-looking people sat at a table, facing the crowd. A man in the center stood and fiddled with his tie, waiting for the audience to quiet.
    Someone jostled me from behind, and I missed the guy’s opening words. This was worse than being in the mosh pit at a rock concert. The acoustics were terrible, and even when I tried to concentrate, I could only make out half of what the investigators said. After twenty minutes of being barged into, and having my feet trodden on a dozen times, I pushed my way to the exit. I’d meet the others later.
    Why had I come today?
    When I’d dreamed of Alun last night, he’d urged me to come to London. We’d been standing at the top of a mountain, so high it felt as though I could touch the ravens that surfed through the air above us. Another of his favorite places, he’d said.
    Perhaps my brain was cycling through all the places he’d said he loved, as it tried to accustom me to the idea that he was gone.
    When I reached the end of the list, would I stop dreaming about him?
    I shoved that thought away, and wandered down the streets. The weather was foul, a typical wet November, but it suited my mood. Settled inside a warm café, and nursing a mug of hot chocolate, I sent Luce a text to tell her where to find me.
    The newspapers all carried the story of the rail inquiry. I wouldn’t be able to escape it today.
    I didn’t even know why Alun had been on that particular underground train. He’d been in Brighton for a guys’ weekend, drinking and partying with some of his friends, in advance of one of them getting married. We’d spoken on the phone, and he’d texted me. On that particular Sunday, he should have been catching a train to Manchester to meet me, not crossing London on the Tube.
    Phil, the distraught groom-to-be, said Alun had left Brighton before the others, because he had an errand to run. London was an hour away by train, and Alun should have changed there for a connection to Manchester. Instead of waiting at Euston station though, he’d been miles away in East London. Why?
    The last text I had was as he’d left Brighton. He said he was too old for all-night parties, and was going to sleep on the journey home.  There was no mention of any errand.
    Tom and Luce arrived, and sank into the free seats at my table. Luce was pale, her face tight and drawn, and Tom’s hands shook. “Fuck this,” he muttered. “I need a real drink. Let’s find a pub.”
    Half an hour later, with cheap Tequila shots lined up, I asked about the initial findings from the official inquiry.
    “They’ve no idea.” Tom gazed into space, his eyes unfocused. “They know one train managed to drive into the back of another, but they’ve no explanation why it burst into flames. They’re electric fucking trains. It’s not