‘Is it so cheap to you? What we have?’ Nefyn’s face grew paler. ‘Or are you not brave enough?’

‘I am brave enough.’

‘Then come with me.’

Nefyn’s anger flared with an unexpected heat.

‘I said NO!’

He could tell she was wounded, became aware of her breathing. She was pulling away from him again.

‘They’re looking for you; you have to go as soon as possible,’ she said evenly.

‘Who’s looking for me?’

‘A man came here, when you were with the boat. You have to go. You have no choice. They’re closing in.’ Then she turned. Opened the door, walked out. Hamza thought of following her, but decided against it. He picked up a cup from the table and threw it against the wall.

Outside, Nefyn heard the smashing of ceramic. She tried to block it out as she walked. He was angry. She knew that. He was lashing out. She knew that too, but it hurt. It hurt, and the two days they had left were so brief already. She walked to Porth y Wrach, to the edge of the cliff, and without looking around, she slid down the cliff-top, and into the water. She let herself drop like a stone to the bottom of the sea. And she sat there, her eyes darkening in the grey water, her back to the cliff wall.

37

Launch ♦ ’iitlaq alqarib ♦ Bwrw’r cwch i’r dŵr

JOSEPH OPENED THE BOATSHED in the cool morning air. He had borrowed a small fishing boat for a few days, moored her out in the cove and brought a dinghy to land. He looked at his father’s boat. He had not sailed in her since he was sixteen, since she was brought home. The tide was rising, he could hear it, the sea lapping rather than drawing. He looked up at the cliff edges, knowing he would have to be as discreet as practicality would allow. Many hands had helped her up the shallow beach into the shed, but it would just be him trying to launch her out. She was on a trailer, but he would have to find a way of winching her to sea, at least past the tideline. Anchor her there so she would be let down and buoyed once again by the tide.