Hamza looked at her. Studied her face. She was oblivious to his eyes. Joseph rounded on her, grabbed her by the forearms. Hamza stepped forwards instinctively. Joseph’s voice was tight now, threatening.

‘Why won’t you listen? You haven’t been taking them, have you?’

Nefyn looked away. He jerked her arms. Demanded her attention.

‘Look at me, Nefyn.’ Her eyes fell to the floor. Joseph let her go roughly. He turned towards Hamza.

‘I’m sorry for whatever’s happened to you, but we can’t help you.’

Hamza turned to Nefyn. She looked smaller now next to her brother.

‘Go and pack your things,’ Joseph said. ‘Whatever you have. I’ll give you some money.’

Hamza nodded.

‘No.’ Her voice was resolutely steady. Calm. Unsettling. She looked up.

‘Nefyn?’ Joseph hissed.

‘Un fi yw e,’ she replied. Joseph studied her face in disbelief. ‘He stays here,’ she said. Joseph shook his head. ‘And you will sleep in the boathouse.’ Nefyn’s voice was studiously even.

‘I … I can go and sleep there,’ interjected Hamza.

‘No,’ Nefyn said, her eyes fixed on her brother.

‘I’m trying to look after you,’ Joseph said through his teeth. Nefyn laughed, a sudden lightness in her face. ‘He’ll be gone by this afternoon and you can forget about him.’ Joseph’s tone was softer now, wheedling.

‘No.’

‘Nefyn.’

‘I said no!’ There was a quiet fury in her now. ‘You know what I’ll do, Joseph.’

Joseph felt the weight of her words for a moment.

‘Paid â siarad felna …’ he replied.

‘Bydd ddistaw! Ti’n gwbod beth alla’i neud,’ she threatened.

Hamza watched as Joseph was cowed. An unintelligible exchange. A sudden vulnerability about him. Joseph was looking at her in fury. He turned. Spat on the floor. Grabbed his bag and left.

Nefyn sat on the bench, looking out to sea. Hamza came outside, sat beside her in silence. It was clearer this evening, the fog’s opaqueness thinning, allowing for glimmers of the sea’s opalescent blues.

He had stayed inside for hours, his guilt growing. Like water, he had trickled into their home and, having frozen there, inflexible, he had split them apart. Sometimes, it took only a little to split boulders; a small insidious trickling into an infinitesimal vulnerability could split countries. Water or blood. Both could create this particular misery.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said eventually, ‘I know you didn’t ask for this.’

‘Neither did you,’ she replied, keeping her attention on the sea. It was restless this evening. Small white waves over its surface. Seabirds rising and falling with the wind.

‘Will he tell anyone I’m here?’

Nefyn shook her head. Hamza thought for a moment of the look on Joseph’s face when he left.

‘What did you say to him? What language was that?’

‘Cymraeg,’ she whispered, suddenly sad, ‘it’s what my mother spoke. What we speak around here.’