He had taken a walk once, when he was first posted here, to get the literal lie of the land. He’d looked down at the village. The backwaters. Thought about how it would be possible to live there, die there, completely unseen. Living a life, speaking a near-dead language that no one cared about. Voiceless. The thought had led him to gather his coat about him and turn back for the barracks. They were all living in blissful ignorance of the realities of the world, sleeping, like children. The drones tested on their waters a part of an ongoing conflict of surveillance and covert operations. Taking out targets thousands of miles away, discreetly, cleanly, meant that they could be at war without declaring war. It was all rather civilized. He picked up his hat. There came a knock at the door.

‘The car’s here, sir.’

‘Of course.’

He walked the corridor, his patent shoes creaking. The Captain held the door open for him, went around the car and got in himself.

‘Any news?’ he asked, his voice tight under his collar.

‘Nothing yet, sir, there seems to be no sign.’

The driver turned the engine over.

‘Has General Reeves called again?’

‘I’m afraid so, sir.’

The Lieutenant Colonel took this in.

‘Why on earth hasn’t his body washed in by now?’

The Captain sat in silence for a moment. Let his senior consider his own frustration.

‘Perhaps we’ll need to do some discreet house-to-house. Just to make sure.’

The Captain nodded.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Get the police to do it.’

‘Of course.’

‘Keep some distance.’

‘Yes, sir.’

He tapped the window and the driver pulled away. He sat back, adjusted his gloves.

‘Now, let’s get this over with.’

Efa stuffed the colourful scarf into the pocket of her black coat. Emrys would become troubled when he saw her dressed head-to-toe in black; deep down somewhere he would be aware of the association. So, Efa would wear a bright scarf around her neck whenever she left the house for a funeral. Their next-door neighbour, Mary, who liked to think of herself as a charitable type, would come over sometimes to care for Emrys. She would help him dress, sit with him as he stared out of the window, her pen scratching words in her puzzle book. Her patience, though, would sometimes wear thin, so Efa would make sure to heap praise on her, tell her often that she didn’t know what she’d do without her. Bring her a little something. Then, all would be well again, until the next time. In this way, Efa could continue looking after the houses, keep adding to their pension, which would make all the difference. If she finished her work early, she could also go to the café and take a cup of tea alone. Looking out at the sea. Feeling her back ache with the washing, the caring and the dressing.