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Chapters (50)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. Acknowledgements ♦ Diolchiadau
  50. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

Joseph woke and squinted against the morning light. His mouth dry, the smell of vomit near by. He sat up, his arms and back aching from having slept on the hard floor. He tried to focus. He rubbed his face. She was still there, looming above him. His father’s boat. He remembered looking at her, the night before, bottle of brandy in hand. He hadn’t looked at her since she was dragged up the beach after his death. He’d thought of the way his father was tied to her as he breathed his last, Joseph unsure whether she had tried to save him or drown him. His father had bragged about the hours he and the shipwright had put into her. To perfect her. How he had smoothed his rough hands over her, elevated her to perfection. Joseph only ever saw her as a boat, a beautiful one, yes, but she didn’t sing in his mind the way she did for his father. They had had to cut the ropes, cut his body from her in death – not that he could remember much about that day, except that he had lain awake during the storm, watching the waves thunder in. He had prayed, too. At sixteen years old, he’d stayed there until his back ached, his knees numb on the wooden floor, but his father had still died. Death, it seemed to Joseph, had come to him slowly. With the leaving of his wife, the reincarnation of her face in Nefyn’s, and his separation from the boat.

He remembered looking at the boat last night, drawing the tarpaulin away before walking back towards the village. Towards The Ship. He had talked to some old acquaintances there, heard about the Doctor’s funeral. The theories circulating. Talk of some plain-clothed officers going door to door. Something was going on. Joseph kept quiet. Held on to his whiskey glass a little tighter. Feigned ignorance. After all, he had only just come home. The usual teasing over his ‘fishing trip’. A distraction at least. Then there was a man, by the bar. Fair-haired. Big talk in his drink. Bitterness in his words. He said there was more to all this than they could ever imagine. Joseph had watched him down his drink and smirk as he walked away.

18

Gofyn ♦ Enquiry ♦ Tahqiq