EMRYS HAD BEEN UNSETTLED today. Pacing. Caged in the house. He had taken all his old books down from the shelves and put them back in a different order. He’d done it over and over, unwilling to stop to eat or drink, as if he were arranging and rearranging the stories in his mind. He had shouted at her, too. Raised his arm sharply when she touched him so she had just retreated, sat and watched. Waited for him to exhaust himself. After that, he had sat by the window overlooking the sea, his mind preoccupied by the passing clouds, the shape of the coast, asking her over and over what he was seeing, the relationships between objects and their names loosening, the references of colour and form slipping away. He was asleep now in his chair and Efa had decided to leave him there.

She had asked a man to come and put some new locks on the outside door and she had started keeping the keys in her pocket at all times, but still she couldn’t sleep. Every time she’d close her eyes, she’d see a dark figure framed in a whitewashed window. It was a man, she was sure of it, and they were looking for someone. The police. They must be looking for someone, and it wasn’t Joseph.

Efa kicked back the covers; there was no point trying any more. She walked softly downstairs to make herself some tea. If she had noticed, how long would it be before someone else did? She waited for the kettle to boil, measured herself a spoonful of strong loose leaves. Nefyn and Joseph didn’t keep company and Joseph’s friends were mainly acquaintances on the boats, from what she could gather. They had no family left. She took her mug to her favourite chair at the window, overlooking the harbour in the distance, her thoughts running backwards like the tide receding. Back to Nefyn’s mother, Arianell.

Arianell had refused to be baptized, but still wanted to take Holy Communion. The vicar had not allowed it, saying she would have to be cleansed with holy water first. She had wanted to receive His body and His blood, but could not bring herself to see herself as dirty. To admit sin. Efa had taken her side, tried to talk to the congregation, but they had turned their backs. The place where Nefyn’s mother came to find peace became a place of judgement. She would still see her there, though. The church remained unlocked and Efa would clean it regularly as per the rota. She would sometimes find Arianell weeping quietly in the back pew. She tolerated Efa, not because she showed her compassion perhaps, but because she allowed her to feel her rage without trying to sympathize or cajole. Efa had seen the bruises on her body, the rolled-down sleeve of her blouse. Everyone knew about Nefyn’s father.