She was warmer now, her hair still thick with salt. The act of kindness that almost killed her. Hamza had considered himself blessed. His mother had believed that kindness was a child’s best teacher. That scolding would only work temporarily. Fatima was the same with Hussein. She would see things through his eyes, kneel close to him. A certain softness in her that she reserved for him only. And when she was tired, overcome, she would place him in Hamza’s arms, go for a walk. She believed that shouting at a child was beneath her, that it was the same as becoming a child again yourself. Her quiet, instinctive understanding of Hussein’s needs – he recognized it in Nefyn, something achingly familiar.

His mind returned to the crackly voice on the other end of the phone. The first time he had heard his language for years. Its cadences, its rhythms. The fact that his colleague might somehow know by now that he was alive. A growing resolve inside him as the glimpse of home made him hunger for more. He watched as she started to stir. Her green eyes staring before looking around, disorientated. She stayed a moment in his arms, in complete stillness, before pulling herself away from him and going to her room, looking back at him as she closed the door. He lay and listened as she washed and dressed.

They ate breakfast in silence, the compass rotating between them on the table. Tramontana. Greco. Levante. Scirocco. Osto. Libeccio. Ponente. Maestro. Both watching as the pin turned, restlessly, from one direction to another and another. He looked up.

‘Nefyn?’ He waited for her to look at him. ‘When you were gone, your brother came, I … I took his phone …’

Nefyn’s gaze didn’t waver. Her face pale.

‘I called home.’

Nefyn smiled, her eyes unreadable.

‘I hope, I think, that maybe my friend knows I’m alive … But then someone called here, I was seen. I’ll have to leave,’ he said.

Her face became troubled.

‘Who saw you?’ Her voice was even.

‘An old woman came. I’m sure she saw me.’

‘What did she look like?’

‘She was older, skirt, a scarf around her neck … heavy coat.’

Nefyn nodded as he described Efa.

‘You don’t need to worry about her. She won’t have told anyone.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I know …’ Nefyn thought for a moment. ‘Efa, she brings me food when Joseph is away. He always told me that she couldn’t be trusted but she can.’

Hamza took this in.

‘I wish I’d never listened to him. Those tablets he gave me. I couldn’t think.’

‘Your brother said they’re looking for me.’

Nefyn studied him, her strength returning to her body. Her senses. He was scared, Nefyn could see that. His breath had become short, his chest tightening. Her eyes dropped to the spinning compass once more.