‘She was pretty fucking hot in Athens, you know, but she seems to have got better with time!’ And he delivered another punch.

Gareth cried out in agony, ‘FUCK!’ and the builder took aim again, only to be caught out by a blow to the back from Lana, who was brandishing a golfing umbrella she’d grabbed from inside the front door.

It wasn’t so much that it hurt, but it knocked him to the ground, giving Gareth the chance to scramble to his feet.

Lana stood in front of him, watching Damian Magill get up, his energy slightly diminished. He wiped the blood from his mouth and checked his head. ‘Right, well, good to meet you, Gareth,’ he said. ‘I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, Lana.’

‘Fuck off, Damo!’ she screamed.

‘Ah, you’ll be back,’ he replied, and swaggered off down the street.

Gareth made to follow him but Lana pulled him away.

‘Let me see to your eye,’ she said quietly.

But he brushed her off and stared at her for what felt like a full five minutes. So much information was running round his brain and he tried desperately to make sense of it all: the job over Christmas, the moodiness, not wanting him to visit her in Guildford … All of it made sense, apart from one thing.

‘Athens?’ he said. ‘You met him in Athens?’

She didn’t try to deny it. She didn’t try to stop him leaving either.

Three hours later, back in Coed Celyn, when he let himself into the flat Judith was still awake, sat in her pyjamas reading.

‘Jesus, Gar, what happened to you?’ she said, looking terrified and going to him.

And only then, when he was home and safe, could he finally give his body permission to acknowledge what had happened. Every limb ached and his head throbbed. But it was his dignity and heart that hurt the most. No physical injury could be worse than that pain.

‘Oh Jude,’ he whispered.

‘Hey! Come here!’ she said softly, and she wrapped her arms around her friend, letting him crumple and silently cry. ‘It’s all right,’ she soothed. ‘It’s gonna be all right.’

25

Catrin

‘The whole thing’s getting out of hand,’ she said. ‘We’re not getting married till December, but the way my mother’s behaving you’d swear it was next week!’

On the other end of the phone, Sol was laughing at her. It was the Easter holidays and he’d gone home to Bayfield to revise. ‘She won’t leave me alone,’ Catrin moaned. ‘Follows me round the house with questions about serviettes or Uncle Glan or sugared bloody almonds! I’m meant to be studying undisturbed, for God’s sake. This morning she barged into my room with a picture of this horrible wedding dress she likes. Honestly, it’d make me look like a lampshade.’

‘Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m getting exactly the same thing at my end. Be thankful you don’t have to deal with a whole load of relatives in Jamaica and all their travel arrangements. My father’s losing his marbles trying to book flights, and then my mother keeps ringing Montgomery Hall every five minutes to check the hotel rooms have got face flannels or tea-making facilities.’