‘I’m down to pick up Catrin and Romy,’ she said, as if small talk between them was the most natural thing in the world. ‘Heading to Portsmouth, y’know. For the cruise.’

He nodded, taking in the sight of her. Wisps of highlighted hair peeped out from beneath the faux fur brim of her Russian-style hat. She wore a thick layer of foundation, sealed in with fine powder that had settled in the crevices around her mouth and crow’s feet. The hazel eyes he remembered were less vibrant now, but augmented with dark brown eyeshadow and heavy mascara. Her lips, thinner than in her younger days, were painted – they literally did look painted, he thought – with a deep red gloss, a little of which he noted had seeped on to her front teeth. He didn’t find her attractive, but nor did he find her repulsive. If anything, he was surprised by how gentle she seemed; her manner, despite the heavy defences of make-up and glamorous clothes, was quite ordinary. Timid, even.

‘Coffee?’ she said.

56

Lana

She’d gone to pay her respects to Sol before calling in on Liz and Huw Kelly, to reassure them that the Christmas cruise with Catrin and Romy really was a good idea. And there he was. By his beloved baby girl’s final resting place, marked by a headstone she couldn’t bear to look at. She’d stood behind him for a few moments, just watching, unsure whether to make him aware of her presence or just to creep away undetected.

Gareth Metcalf.

Although she’d seen him from a distance over the years and in June at the funeral, this was the first time she could properly take a look. His broad shoulders of long ago were less confident with age, but still prominent as he stood there in his biker’s jacket. It felt intrusive to be there, at such a private place, in such a private moment, and she said his name in a bid to end what felt like something akin to voyeurism. When he turned around she’d instantly wanted to cry, but had swallowed down the urge and waffled on as she always did when she was nervous.

Twenty minutes later they were sitting in Milza’s café on Coed Celyn high street, drinking coffee, with the buzz of Christmas shoppers all around them, and the hiss and steam of the espresso machine accompanying the good-natured shouts between Giovanni and his customers. They were in the window seat.

‘Amazing this place is still going!’ said Lana as she stirred in three sugar lumps.

‘Still using the same cups and saucers,’ said Gareth.

They were making awkward small talk, both looking out of the window on to the high street, distracting themselves and delaying the subject they knew they’d eventually have to address.

Across the road from Milza’s was the launderette. ‘Looks busy as ever, doesn’t it?’ said Lana, as they watched a man take two bin-liners full of washing inside. ‘I wonder who lives upstairs these days?’ she ventured, aware that she was on dangerous old-relationship territory now. We had so much sex in that place, she thought. The things we did! And she blushed at the memory.