It was quiet. She scanned the road, up and down. Cursed herself for having slept so soundly. It was just that he had seemed so settled. The night before he had been crying in his sleep and calling out for his mother. She had been unable to console him or convince him of who she was. Anything to make the calling stop, for her heart’s sake as much as his. His clumsiness meant he was dirtying his clothes much more than usual; she had spent the day doing the laundry and, with it being so cold, everything took so long to dry.

‘Emrys?’

The harbourside was quiet. Nothing but the gentle rocking of boats, their lines slapping on the masts occasionally and the moon setting a path across the water. ‘Emrys?’ Her voice sounded around the harbour walls.

‘Yes?’

Efa stopped. Her breathing laboured.

‘Where are you?’

He was standing by the slipway into the harbour. Alone. Feet from the water.

‘We’re taking the new boat out today,’ he said. ‘Have I forgotten something?’

Efa stopped. He was barefoot. His thin pyjamas hanging loose on his wasted shoulders.

‘Emrys, what are you doing here?’

He laughed as she embraced him.

‘Working. What do you think? What’s wrong with you?’ Efa felt her face crumple. Warm tears on his shoulder. ‘What on earth’s the matter?’ He stroked the back of her head. Thirty years of rising at four in order to be at the harbour by five had ingrained themselves. And the repetitiveness had worn grooves in his memory and, occasionally, the pin of his mind would find them as his consciousness swirled and an old familiar routine would resurface. Crackle with static. Emrys felt his wife sob on his shoulder. ‘I won’t go today, then,’ he said into her hair, an instinct to comfort her. ‘Not if you don’t want me to.’

They stood, as dawn began to stir, a leaving delayed, their arms wrapped tightly around each other.