The rain began again. Falling in heavy, glassy droplets around them. Nefyn turned her attention skywards and, as she did, they stopped in mid-air. Thousands upon thousands of droplets hung above them, defying gravity and the laws of the Earth herself. Hamza looked on in wonder as they glistened gold and silver in the marine-blue sky.

27

Confession ♦ Cyfaddefiad ♦ Aietiraf

EFA HAD DIALLED THE number that Hamza gave her. Hamza could not be moved from the cottage and they had agreed together that if the military were tracking calls, it would be safer to use Efa as an intermediary. She had listened to the long dial tone. The voice answering hundreds of miles away. Her accent. His accent. Their common words. The incredulity. The things that Hamza had told her to say to convince him that Hamza was still alive. His colleague’s silence. The sound of shouting names in a language she didn’t understand. A woman crying. Efa had listened, her hand on Emrys’s arm. The exchange of numbers. She had told them about the boat. She had tried to write everything down correctly.

This morning, she had left Emrys with Hamza. He was sleeping well these days, the exhaustion of working on the boat weighing heavily on his frail body. She had kept him at home the day before, fearing it was becoming too much for him. Hamza did all the heavy lifting, of course, but the effort of concentration was difficult for Emrys. Efa would keep out of the village until she collected Emrys at the end of the day in order not to arouse suspicions, particularly from Mary next door, who would surely notice he wasn’t with her and ask questions.

Today, she had called in at the church. She did not know why. She had pushed the door open. Felt for the keys in her pocket, wondering whether she should sweep out the sand once more, when she saw him in the front pew, his head bent over. He hadn’t moved when she approached, as she sat beside him. Waited. Listening to the sea far away. She saw a slight movement of his head. He knew it was her.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ he whispered. His voice clouded in the cold church. Efa didn’t answer until eventually he sat back, his face drawn, pale. Defeated. Joseph’s eyes were searching the cross above the altar.

‘Do you know what it’s like to live in …’ He paused. ‘To not understand the person you live with, the person you love? To wonder every day what they could do?’

Efa waited, seeing in Joseph’s eyes a deep sadness.

‘You should have seen the way our mother looked at her. It was like I was invisible.’