‘I suppose we are going to part ways,’ Hamza said, the opiate starting to spread in his system. ‘I’ve …’ Hamza searched for the word, ‘appreciated our talks.’ The Doctor smiled, looked away.

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t have done more.’

Hamza considered this. Shrugged. ‘You did everything you thought you could.’

The Doctor took this in. Watched as Hamza’s figure succumbed to the drug in his system. His eyes and shoulders softening.

Hamza reached out his hand, placed it gently on the Doctor’s forearm.

‘I am so sorry for what happened to your son,’ Hamza said. The Doctor felt the sting of tears in his throat.

‘You were listening?’

‘Of course.’

‘You know we have this tradition here, us old people; it’s called hebrwng. When friends come to visit us, when we’re their hosts, we walk back with them half the way.’ The Doctor smiled sadly. ‘It’s our way of making sure they’re well on their way home safely.’

‘Please, don’t trouble yourself.’

The old man shook his head.

‘Please, let me come with you. I just want to make sure your conditions are suitable. That’s all. Let me do that for you.’ His voice was breaking.

Hamza nodded imperceptibly.

The door swung open, making them both start. It was Adley.

‘Is he ready?’ His voice was edged with impatience.

The Doctor shrugged, looked to Hamza.

‘Are you?’

Hamza breathed in deeply before hauling himself to his feet. He gasped in involuntary agony and stumbled as the elderly doctor shouldered his weight. Held him up. His arm about the younger man’s waist, their faces close together.

‘Come on, my friend,’ he said gently. ‘I’ll help you.’

Nefyn lay on her bed, listening to the storm engulf the house. The weight of the wind, the way it shuddered inland from afar. Below the cottage the waves had begun to hit the bottom of the cove walls. Vibrating. Thundering. Each wave accompanied by an echo, an insistent, disconcerting bass note. Not violent yet, but knocking. Testing. The petulant wind had started to whistle too, sounding out the angles of the cottage. When the rain began it was a sodden mist swirling, dampening, wetting the lungs when inhaled. Lacing eyelashes and foreheads. Now, the mist had thickened, was more tangible somehow. Sharp droplets thrown by gusts. Nefyn listened as it rattled against the roof tiles. Watched as the old curtains swayed in the draught from the aged window frames.