But Seimon’s hard words began to echo around him and Eurig wondered how long it would be before they’d be able to talk it all through, without tantrums and abuse. Damn the golden haired boy for reminding him so vividly of Seimon! Had it been Hefin who’d responded with such hostility, Eurig would have been less surprised and perhaps not even cared too much; after all, Hefin had always been a bit of a Mammy’s boy and taken Fflur’s side in everything. But no… Hefin had shown an understanding of the human condition’s curiously fickle nature that seemed beyond his fifteen years. Fflur had suggested that perhaps Seimon’s disappointment was the greater because he and Eurig had been so close – and that his feeling of betrayal, therefore, was that much deeper. In that sense, Eurig could see how Seimon had, perhaps, lost considerably more than Hefin had, and that was why he needed to try to talk with him again.

After vehemently beating the dust of many months from the rug, releasing within its cloud some of the upset and frustration that had built up in the days since the row with his head-strong seventeen year-old, Eurig rolled it back over the living room floor and moved the table and dining chairs back to their place. He took in the new layout and was pleased. Now that ‘The Warren’ was no longer just for the odd weekend and summer holidays he needed to put his own stamp on the cottage. After much hassle he’d had the phone connected, and in time he’d replace the eccentric remnants that had accumulated over the year: curtains no longer matching changes of wallpaper in the family home and chairs too dated or loose-springed for everyday comfort. Eurig knew that when he came to chop them into sticks for the stove, each piece of furniture would surrender its bittersweet memories.

Eurig

With the grandfather clock’s choked mid-day chime, you consider the promise of the dunes and relish the afternoon’s possibilities. You strip. Rubbing the factor twenty sun block into your thighs and up into your groin, you become aroused at the prospect of meeting Dylan again. Catching sight of yourself in the cracked mirror of the wardrobe door you wonder whether to smear your pidyn with sunscreen; you certainly don’t want to get burnt there. You lick your forearm, already covered with sun lotion; it tastes unpleasantly chemical. You’ll just have to risk sunburn if you take off your trunks!