He began by pulling all the records he had of the Captain’s history and throwing them on to his desk, then he sat combing them for any indiscretion that might be useful, and then he reread the report of the drowned soldier. When he finished, he pushed himself away from his desk, got up and looked for his coat. He needed to see the cove, where they said the soldier had entered the water. The police had said that there was a cottage overlooking it, and that they had found a brother and sister living there, but nothing out of the ordinary. He made his way across the barracks, keeping his head down, trying not to draw attention. He was in his civilian clothes, and knew that some soldiers would enjoy it; the fact that they did not have to officially acknowledge him. He didn’t mind that; it was those who looked at him with compassion that he found most humiliating, as if he was suddenly vulnerable, someone to be pitied.

He crossed out of the barracks and took the path that he had followed all those years ago, when he had first come to the site. It was beginning to get dark so he walked at some pace, tasting the salt in the air. He could feel his body warming, his legs stretching after days of confinement. He had missed the trekking, if truth be told. The yomps. The feeling of exhausting himself to the point of oblivion. The piles of paperwork had replaced the job.

He could hear the sea as he came nearer. He traced the coast with his eyes, looked for where it dipped inwards to the south. He quickened, the darkness keeping pace with him, until he saw it, the cottage in the distance, perching precariously on the edge of the cliff. He stopped, blew out his chest. Some colour on his face. He breathed deeply for a moment before moving closer and closer through the couch grass and the reeds, until he was outside the cottage. It was quiet. No sounds except the sound of the sea in the cove. He looked over, walked slowly towards the cliff edge. As he peered down into the cove, he heard a noise behind him and he turned to see a young woman. Dark-haired and still. He was breathless.

‘I’m sorry, you live here?’

Nefyn nodded. Noticed that, despite the civilian clothes, he had army boots on his feet. His regulation haircut. He walked towards her.

‘Yes,’ she said cautiously.

He nodded, the breeze catching his hair. ‘I suppose it’s quiet.’ He found himself struggling for words, his resolve dissipating under her gaze. ‘I’m sorry, I just wanted to see …’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what I wanted to see.’