THAT MORNING NEFYN HAD placed her hand on his forehead. He still felt far away. Aching, she had pulled herself up and edged open the boathouse door. For the first time that she could remember, she turned her back to the sea and walked up the path to the cottage without searching the strandline. She drank some water, buttered some bread, ate and washed, the cuts on her arms and under her feet stinging in the lukewarm water. She pulled on a clean dress and the cardigan left for her, and set about collecting the specimens one after the other, placing them in an old shoebox. Then she started sweeping the floor, the shattered glass scratching the slabs beneath the broom.
As she worked, her mind was back in the boatshed. Perhaps it was the effect of the storm or her exertions in dragging his body up the beach, but she had slept deeply last night. A dark, dreamless sleep without the nightmares that usually plagued her. She had woken early as the curlews cried, listening to his breathing as a new day opened around them.
She leant the broom on the wall before going to count the tablets that were left on the kitchen sill. She hadn’t taken any since Joseph had left but she calculated that he would be away at least another fourteen days. Perhaps the man would have gone by then and her brother needn’t know anything about him.
The knock on the door caught her breath.
Nefyn’s heart set to beating a chaotic rhythm, her throat tightened. She hurried into the kitchen, stepped behind the door, listened to the sound of the front door being pushed open.
‘Nefyn? Nefyn, it’s me.’
She had come in. Footsteps on broken glass. A silence. She held her breath. She could still sense her near. A moment. Then, the sound of Efa sweeping the last of the glass on the living-room floor. Nefyn stood, frozen, willing Efa anywhere else but here.
Her brother had always told her never to trust Efa. They needed her, yes, but Nefyn should never talk to her. Never confide in her. Never let her in. And they had argued, Joseph and Nefyn. Nefyn had always sensed Efa’s loyalty, the attentions that would have petered out over the years if they had not been genuine. The slights and continued exclusion that Efa had endured should have given her ample excuse to desist, but Joseph was adamant.
Nefyn had watched Efa too, from afar. Followed her back from a distance in the summer when she came on foot, just to the outskirts of the village. Sat in the zinc shed by the front door looking out through the cracks in the panels, so she could get a closer look at her face, her clothes. Watched as she knocked and patiently waited, a certain expectation in her face that Nefyn had grown to feel sorry for.
Now Nefyn listened to her sweep the glass, her footsteps getting fainter as they moved towards the front door. Nefyn thought that she might leave, strained to hear, but then she was back again, standing in the middle of the living room, her hands clasped together. Pale face, a restlessness.
‘Nefyn? Are you there? I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.’
Efa stood waiting for an answer.
‘Please, Nefyn? I worry about you.’
She started walking towards the kitchen. Nefyn’s heart leapt.
‘Stop,’ she said instinctively. ‘I’m all right.’
Efa stopped, Nefyn’s voice startling her.
‘Are you sure?’
Nefyn edged forward a little. Forcing herself to move. It was the only way to get rid of her. She inched her foot forward, pushed herself to lean until she stepped into the doorway, the light finding the redder shades in her hair. Efa gasped. Drank her in, like someone who had thirsted for a long time. She hadn’t seen her face properly in so long, only her back, her hair. Glimpses. Efa smiled softly, Nefyn’s face a reward in itself.
‘It’s like looking at your mother,’ she said under her breath. Her eyes wandered, until she registered Nefyn’s discomfort. She looked away, not wanting to cause her pain. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I can see you’re well.’ She moved to turn before looking up at her again as if knowing that this might be her only opportunity. ‘I want you to know that coming to look after you is not … work for me …’ She frowned. She shook her head, tilted it to make the words fall into place. ‘That I have been glad to be a help.’
Nefyn noticed that her fingers wound around her coat buttons.
‘That it has brought me a lot of joy.’ Efa’s face flushed, the words laid out bare between them. Nefyn studied her as Efa brought her senses back to the present. ‘Right, well, then. I’ll go now. You know where I am if you need me.’ Efa smiled again, Nefyn’s youth making her ache for her own. She turned to walk to the door.
‘I didn’t know you knew my mother.’ Nefyn’s words came despite herself. Efa stopped. Turned.
‘Yes … she used to come to the church sometimes,’ Efa chose her words carefully, ‘when she needed to. I think she felt at peace there.’
The church was slowly being buried in the swirling dunes now, its ageing congregation dwindling. Long-buried memories stirred in Nefyn. Her mother’s anger at the Church.
‘I liked her very much,’ Efa said again, ‘and I can see that you’re like her.’
Nefyn studied her and for the first time they stood, two women opposite each other, and Efa could feel time turning around them both. Efa smiled once more, and moved to leave.
Nefyn followed Efa to the door and stood for a moment, watching her go, a strange heaviness in her body, before the boathouse brought her back to the present.
Nefyn found the brandy her brother hid in his room and a hot-water bottle. She boiled the kettle and placed everything in a basket before hurrying down the path to the cove. She looked around once more. There would always be more people wandering the coast after a storm. It seemed to draw them. Bring them together as if nature’s impetuousness, its unpredictability, was a common enemy. But there was no one visible. The cliff-tops empty. Perhaps it was too early. She slipped into the boatshed and waited as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She stood, her pupils widening, her eyes scanning. The boat was empty. She put down the basket, walked slowly towards it. Listening. Her eyes straining. Then, she reached out for the corner of the tarpaulin and snatched it away. There was no one here. She stood, let out a disbelieving laugh. She had been seeing things. She must have been. A panic was starting to rise in her. Her brother was right. When in piques of frustration, he’d talk of her madness. This was proof. Her stomach clenched. Quivered.
‘Who are you?’
The voice came from behind her. Faltering. Deep. She turned. He was clutching his side. His eyes scanning her face. Nefyn shook her head. His solidity. His animation startling.
‘What happened?’ he asked again. There was nothing but the sound of the sea.
‘There was a storm,’ Nefyn ventured. ‘You came in on the tide.’
He tried to take in her words, studied her mouth trying to fathom what she was saying, but the pain was all-consuming. His eyes rolled and he coughed so violently he brought up sputum coloured pink with blood. Nefyn watched him in fear, crouched down, tipped out the contents of the basket and picked up the bottle of brandy. She offered it up to him.
‘Please, take it.’
He looked at it.
‘It will help with the pain.’
He nodded, gasping. She shakily unscrewed the cap and helped hold the bottle to his mouth. He gulped, the sting of spices filling his senses. Then he leant back against the door. He was breathing hard, his breastbone concave. He drank some more, and as he did, she came into focus. His left eye still swollen, his vision unbalanced. She was thin, sullen-eyed. She was watching him steadily.
‘I don’t know what happened.’ He pushed out the words through the pain.
Nefyn looked at him.
‘I think you’ve broken your side … your ribs. You need to be careful. You need to rest.’ Hamza listened to her voice as her face came in and out of focus. He hadn’t known physical pain like it. Each breath an ordeal. A piercing, brilliant sliver of pain shooting to his lungs whenever he inhaled.
‘Please, sit,’ Nefyn said, watching the way the pain changed his breathing. He held out his arm behind him, lowered himself.
‘These clothes …’ he muttered.
‘I’m sorry, you were wet, cold.’ He nodded. Nefyn crouched, took some bread from the basket. Offered it to him.
‘I don’t know if you should eat? If you want to?’ He shook his head. His eyes were glazing over now, his breathing becoming more laboured.
‘Have you … have you anything …’ he gasped, ‘anything more for the pain?’
Nefyn shook her head and then remembered the tablets on the sill.
‘Maybe,’ she said, listening to the rasping of his lungs. ‘I’ll be back soon.’
He was unable to nod. He sat, immobile, as Nefyn pushed past him and ran back to the cottage through the thickening light.