‘And what about you?’ Efa asked, still holding her hand. ‘The storm that brought you Hamza?’ Efa paused for a moment. ‘Did she send that, too?’

Nefyn shrugged.

‘Perhaps.’

Efa let her head tilt against Nefyn’s and they sat together, the tableau of the Crucifixion on the stained-glass window glowing above them.

Hamza was always restless before a journey. It was as if he left days before he departed. When Hussein was small and work used to take him away, he would be absent in his head long before his departure, and too present physically, hugging Hussein until it irritated him, and arguing with Fatima. Part of preparing for any journey involved the possibility of not coming back.

He had borrowed a bag from Joseph, packed some clothes and some food. He had the sextant and the maps, which he had tried to memorize. He had the old phone too, given to him by Joseph with strict instructions not to turn it on until they were way out of The Range. He had filled it with a list of numbers from Joseph’s contacts.

When Nefyn came back from the church, she found him walking the floor agitatedly. She closed the door quietly behind her, watched him a moment.

‘What if he’s dead? What if Hussein is dead? When I didn’t know, I could … I could hope. I don’t know what to do if …’ His voice faded away. Nefyn stood, her back to the door.

‘What if he’s alive?’ she countered. ‘What if he’s waiting for you?’ There was a fear in his eyes that Nefyn had not seen before.

‘I don’t know what I’m going back to.’

He stopped walking. Surrendered. He moved towards her and they held each other quietly. Then he leant her backwards, looked at her closely.

‘Why won’t you come?’ He was searching her face now. ‘You could come with me.’

Nefyn shook her head.

‘I’ve told you.’

‘You said you can’t come, that’s all.’

‘I can’t leave here, Hamza.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I can’t.’ Nefyn shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I …’

‘Please. Tell me why. Help me understand.’

Nefyn tried to find the words.

‘I’ve told you, we could go and find Hussein, we could find a place for the two of us by the sea.’

Nefyn had tears in her eyes. She shook her head again. ‘No.’

‘You can’t love me … not like I love you.’ He let her go. His anger souring. He studied her. ‘You’re scared. But you don’t belong here, Nefyn. Not like this. You could come, you could be free. Free of all of this. This thing you hide behind.’ He was angry again now. His eyes flitting. ‘What I found here, what we have … you can’t throw it away!’

‘Stop it.’