Gareth spat out spongy slivers of wood, pulpy and rotten. Time ceased as he picked a beetle from his pubic hair, the fragmented episode becoming only gradually animated in his daze. When the sequence of events began to flow with some coherence, he remained entirely still and imagined the whole of his body, sensing for the damaged and broken parts. The only soreness was around his right shoulder and over onto his chest. Almost imperceptibly he began to move the muscles and then rotate the whole joint. Only when certain that neither the clavicle nor scapula were broken did he look, and saw the reddish weal where the blow had struck. A small spider rooted amongst the fine, debris-strewn hairs on his chest.

Gareth heard the whispers and giggles from Beth-Ann’s room and he wondered about disturbing them because he needed to talk. Cycling back from Llangollen, the encounter with Dan had been re-wound and played over and over. His first thought, still in the depth of the thicket as he’d dressed, avoiding the soreness in his shoulder, was that he’d provoked Dan. He’d tried to remember exactly what he’d said to the boy as he’d pulled away… how threatening had he seemed? Later, as he cycled, more sinister interpretations took shape in his mind. He needed to get another viewpoint, to put a check on his paranoia. He hesitated before knocking on Beth-Ann’s door. Did he really want her to know he’d been so casual? Perplexed in his hesitation, he decided to shower. Under the jets of water that soothed his bruised shoulder, Gareth thought of Rhodri, an old lover. His training as a police officer would surely help to untangle the embellishments of his imagination and see the event for real. He felt sure, too, that Rhodri would be able to offer him consolation in ways that Beth-Ann might not consider.

They sat at a small table in a bay window with a view of the river. Rhodri, dark and thick set, drank his coffee, his left hand cradling his weekend stubbled chin. He flicked his left earlobe unconsciously, his index finger nicely manicured but crooked. Gareth smiled, remembering the endearing habit, and slurped the last of the Ferry Inn’s house red from the over-large wine glass.

‘I’d really like it if you’d come home with me,’ Rhodri ventured.

‘That would be nice,’ Gareth said, still attracted to him and moved by the concern he’d shown. The stirring in his groin made him remember how good they’d once been together.