Inside, Hamza and Nefyn lay in front of the fire, fast asleep and entwined in each other. The prospect of being separated had exhausted them. Hamza’s sense of home had been complicated by Nefyn. He had lain as she slept in his arms knowing that he could not leave her to her brother. That he could not leave her to live under siege.

By the time the policemen knocked on the cottage door, it was late. Nefyn and Hamza awoke to their shouting. He placed a hand on her mouth. They froze, wide-eyed. They both knew the door wasn’t locked. Male voices. They lay still, knowing that they would be shielded from view under the window. They listened as someone tested the door. Tried the handle. Felt it move. Fear prickled through them both. Then, a third voice joined the conversation. The door handle sprang back up. Nefyn knew the voice immediately. He asked them what they were doing. Where their papers were. Hamza turned towards Nefyn. One word. That’s all it would take. Nefyn pressed her face into the crook of Hamza’s neck. A conversation. It was his boat. Yes. He was a fisherman. Yes. What had it to do with them? Only his sister. They could take a look if they wanted to. No. He hadn’t seen anyone around. The front door opened. She wasn’t right. He was her carer. He was calling her. Nefyn looked up sharply. Hamza urged her to go. Go. She got up. Walked towards the doorway. A muffled conversation.

‘Nefyn?’ His voice impatient now. The officers reassuring him that it wasn’t necessary to see her. ‘Nefyn!’

She stood in the doorway. They hardly looked at her they were so embarrassed.

‘It’s OK,’ they said.

She looked at the floor.

‘Are you happy now?’ Joseph asked. They apologized for taking up so much of his time, and Nefyn stood watching them leave. Joseph nodded his head to them before closing the door behind them. He held his palm against it a moment, before turning to look at his sister and Hamza.

29

Llwybr ♦ Route ♦ Tariq

JOSEPH STOOD BY THE door, his eyes averted, as if simultaneously caught and surrendering. His denim jacket looked too big for him. The bluster he had shown the policemen dissipated. His shoulders tight and high. His face thin.

‘Don’t look at me like that, Joseph,’ Nefyn said.

‘Like what?’

‘You’re scared.’

‘I’m not scared, I—’

‘You’re scared,’ she interjected.

His jaw tightened. He turned his eyes towards her. His voice small and tight. He waited a moment.

‘I saw what you did.’

Nefyn’s voice was steady. ‘I know you did.’

‘It was me,’ he said. ‘I was the one who told him where he was.’

Nefyn watched him.

‘I know,’ she said.

‘It was my fault.’

Nefyn shook her head. ‘It was no one’s fault.’

‘So what are you going to do?’