The spring breeze blowing up the Mawddach from Cardigan Bay, seven miles away, has soured the promise of a mild evening. The George III at Penmaen Pool on the estuary echoes with Bristolian accents, all the rooms having been booked by Chris’ family and friends months in advance. After ten minutes Seth begins to feel out of place. These are Chris and Naomi’s family, not mine, he thinks. With a deepening anxiety about his need to censor whatever he might say, in case he causes some upset, Seth begins to wish he’d stayed home in the village. Regretting that he hadn’t come in his own car he begins to feel trapped. He looks into his pint of Guinness… out at the river… thinks about Jude… looks into his pint again. Then Chris breaks into Seth’s longing to leave and introduces his best man, Robert.

Alone together at a window overlooking the toll bridge that crosses the river, Seth and Robert become instantly easy with one another. Seth can’t work out why neither Chris nor his sister have ever mentioned Robert before.

‘Call me Robby,’ he says, and before long they’ve progressed to scoring the two barmen. ‘I reckon they’re both trade, what d’you think?’

‘Maybe… I hadn’t given it much thought,’ Seth responds with a coy smile.

‘You can have the one with curly hair,’ Robby gestures with a wink. ‘I’ve only scored him a seven on the bed-able scale. Now that dark rugby player type… he gets a nine in my book!’

Not being that interested in scoring with either of the barmen, Seth asks him, ‘How do you know Chris and Naomi?’ Robby’s life history spans the next half hour and another pint of Guinness.

While Robby’s taking a pee Seth realises that he’s cheered up. The alcohol has eased the tension that had tied knots across his shoulders as the day wore on, and meeting Robby has made him feel less a stranger in his own land. He watches the cars as they drive parallel to the river’s edge and turn to cross the toll bridge, their headlights catching the bats in flight. He loves this river and its valley; he knows every mile of it from cycle rides, walks and childhood explorations, from the wide estuary with its railway bridge at Barmouth to its trickling source in the wild hills of Meirionnydd above Coed y Brenin. He remembers expeditions to the Clogau and Gwynfynydd gold mines and the adventures…. Robby returns, all smiles: ‘The bar man’s name is something unpronounceable in Welsh – no vowels! He does play rugby and he lives in. We’re meeting up later on. Wish me luck!’

Much later, Seth is sitting at the kitchen table with Naomi.