‘Didn’t spontaneously combust.’ Martin smiles, then a hint of a frown creases his forehead. ‘Did you imagine you were in the chapel?’

‘Further back.’

Martin nods. ‘You listened to it with your mum.’

‘And Dad.’ He smiles. ‘On his lap, actually.’

‘Butter biscuits in close proximity?’

William laughs, and the tear tips down his face. ‘Almost certainly.’ He takes a sip of coffee and they sit in silence for a while. ‘Martin, do you think Colin held on? I mean, waited, till they’d come to say goodbye?’

Martin tilts his head. ‘Possibly. You did tell him they were coming, didn’t you?’

William sniffs and twists to face Martin. ‘Can I borrow your car for the day?’

‘Of course. What for?’

‘To go and see Mum.’

‘In that case, I’ll give you the keys, but only once you’ve had a couple of hours’ sleep.’

William looks at his watch; it’s just after six. ‘You’re right.’ He stands up. ‘If I go to bed now I could leave at ten.’

Martin pulls him into a short, fierce hug. ‘Well done, whatever happens,’ he says, close to his ear, ‘well done!’

▪ ▪ ▪

By the time he drives into Mumbles, it’s early afternoon and a smooth, shining expanse of sand stretches towards the glittering water. During the hours in the car, William has resisted practising what he’s going to say. Several times though, he’s found himself smiling at the thought of his mother’s pleasure, and a sense of relief keeps stealing over him. Pulling the steering wheel right to climb the steep incline of Plunch Lane for the second time in his life, William feels the tacky pull of sweat under his arms.

The immaculate front lawn and window boxes spilling over with pink petunias, profuse yet tidy, are very Evelyn. The door to the house is stippled glass, with three strips of yellow wood emerging from the bottom left-hand corner, like inverted rays of sunshine. When he came here after the Aberfan funerals, he didn’t even manage to get out of the car. This isn’t an option now, so as soon as he’s turned the engine off, he climbs out and strides down the path. By the time he’s reached the door, his heart is thumping in his throat.

The simple two-tone bell is loud, but somehow, William can tell it’s echoing through an empty house. There’s no flicker of movement through the bobbled glass. She’s out. Nevertheless, he presses the bell again. And again.

‘She’s not here.’ A very Welsh voice comes from his left. The woman next door has stepped out onto her front garden. She’s tall and skinny, with bulky pink strips of sequins on her slippers that twinkle in the sun.

‘Do you know when she’ll be back?’

The woman shakes her head, turns her mouth downwards. ‘Not until late. She’s gone to Sutton Coldfield.’