36

Hebrwng ♦ Escort ♦ Murafaq

AFTER NEFYN LEFT, EFA had continued to nurse Emrys. When she had gone to him, his eyes had seemed clearer. His voice stronger. He had held her hand tightly, pulled her near. She had lain then by his side, until he had whispered his thanks for all the things she had done for him. She had asked Mary to come and sit with him now, and walked the coast path towards the church. She did not know why she had come, but something about the coolness of that interior had lured her. She pushed the door open, and rather than reach for the broom as she usually would, she left the sand that had blown in, preferring to listen instead to the sound of the sea breathing against the church walls.

We always want more, that’s what the old Doctor had told her. However blessed and happy our lives have been, however thankful we know we should feel, we always want more. She had seen it in the Doctor’s widow’s face as she fell into the arms of her sons. The sudden loneliness. The going home without him.

When she was younger, Efa had thought that time would prepare her, that the years would wear away the fear that she felt, but they hadn’t, of course. He was all she had known. The first man she had been with. They had moved through the years from young lovers to friends and back to lovers again, as most couples did. She had watched him age, watched his cheeks redden with veins, his skin wear thin. The softening of his face and his smile. And he had witnessed her thickening waist, her stubborn hair, the lumpy veins of her legs. He had placed a hand on her waist in the dead of night when they had gone to bed in silence after an argument. A gentle reminder that they shouldn’t fight. He had been the one who sat with her in the hospital waiting room when the baby they had lost wouldn’t come away. He was the one who had taken her to the café afterwards, and talked to her about the caravan holiday he had booked and how he wanted to buy her a new flask, bringing a gentle smile to her face though it was ruddy and blotchy with crying. And it was with him that she had laughed and talked of getting old as they danced barefoot along the harbour wall when they were young, and it was with him that she had talked about being young when in old age they had looked out at the same wall, with the dark sea breathing beyond.

She heard the bare feet on the tiles and knew instinctively it was Nefyn. She came to sit beside her in the pew. Laid her head on her shoulder.

‘I knew you were here,’ she whispered.

Efa nodded silently. Her vision blurring.

‘I’m looking for strength,’ she said simply.

‘He’ll have a safe passage,’ said Nefyn.

Efa felt her body relax. She swallowed down her tears.

‘He’s a little better today.’

Nefyn knew that already.

‘I know.’

Efa looked at her hands. Nefyn placed hers over them. Efa didn’t know whether or not to pray.

‘I wish I had listened to myself earlier,’ Nefyn said. ‘I wish I had opened the door years ago.’

Efa smiled. Felt Nefyn’s hair on her cheek.

‘I wish you had, too.’

They sat in silence for a moment, Efa struggling with the burning of tears in her throat.

‘I wanted you to know something about my mother.’ Efa listened, Nefyn’s voice seamless and smooth. ‘I think she’d like you to know.’ Nefyn’s skin was startlingly white and soft against her own. She opened her hand, held Nefyn’s palm on hers. Tried to memorize the picture it made. ‘She left us. She went back to the sea.’

Efa nodded.

‘I was scared about your father … that maybe he’d done something …’

Nefyn shook her head.

‘No.’

Nefyn smoothed out Efa’s skin in her fingers.

‘She wanted to go. But …’

Efa listened as Nefyn’s voice became even softer, delicate, nebulous almost.

‘She sent a storm for him.’ Efa’s eyes turned. Nefyn continued. ‘She waited until we were old enough to be without him.’

Efa had often wondered about the ferocity of the storm that took Nefyn’s father. Such an experienced sailor would never have ventured forth in such conditions.

‘That storm that came from nowhere?’ Efa asked.

Nefyn nodded.

‘It was for him. For taking her, for forcing her to have children, for beating her …’ Nefyn quietened. ‘I watched her go.’ Her eyes were far away now. ‘My father thought it was sudden, but it wasn’t. It took months.’ She smiled sadly. ‘The quietness, the walks she took in the night, the praying.’ Efa thought of Arianell in the church. ‘It was killing her. I could see it. And then, she waited until my father was fishing, sent Joseph on an errand.’ Efa listened, the silence around them pressing on each word. ‘It was like she’d found something … she always said it was a cloak, but it was something more than that. She wasn’t handed her freedom, she took it. She had no choice. It was life or death.’

Efa thought of Nefyn’s father. The boy she had known in school. The way he had grown. The way Efa had felt when his body had been found. The nothingness.

‘I think it was harder for Joseph to understand.’

Efa thought about leaving a child. Thought of the desperation that that would take.

‘Anyway,’ said Nefyn quietly, ‘I think she would have liked you to know.’

Efa turned to her.

‘And what about you?’ Efa asked, still holding her hand. ‘The storm that brought you Hamza?’ Efa paused for a moment. ‘Did she send that, too?’

Nefyn shrugged.

‘Perhaps.’

Efa let her head tilt against Nefyn’s and they sat together, the tableau of the Crucifixion on the stained-glass window glowing above them.

Hamza was always restless before a journey. It was as if he left days before he departed. When Hussein was small and work used to take him away, he would be absent in his head long before his departure, and too present physically, hugging Hussein until it irritated him, and arguing with Fatima. Part of preparing for any journey involved the possibility of not coming back.

He had borrowed a bag from Joseph, packed some clothes and some food. He had the sextant and the maps, which he had tried to memorize. He had the old phone too, given to him by Joseph with strict instructions not to turn it on until they were way out of The Range. He had filled it with a list of numbers from Joseph’s contacts.

When Nefyn came back from the church, she found him walking the floor agitatedly. She closed the door quietly behind her, watched him a moment.

‘What if he’s dead? What if Hussein is dead? When I didn’t know, I could … I could hope. I don’t know what to do if …’ His voice faded away. Nefyn stood, her back to the door.

‘What if he’s alive?’ she countered. ‘What if he’s waiting for you?’ There was a fear in his eyes that Nefyn had not seen before.

‘I don’t know what I’m going back to.’

He stopped walking. Surrendered. He moved towards her and they held each other quietly. Then he leant her backwards, looked at her closely.

‘Why won’t you come?’ He was searching her face now. ‘You could come with me.’

Nefyn shook her head.

‘I’ve told you.’

‘You said you can’t come, that’s all.’

‘I can’t leave here, Hamza.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I can’t.’ Nefyn shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I …’

‘Please. Tell me why. Help me understand.’

Nefyn tried to find the words.

‘I’ve told you, we could go and find Hussein, we could find a place for the two of us by the sea.’

Nefyn had tears in her eyes. She shook her head again. ‘No.’

‘You can’t love me … not like I love you.’ He let her go. His anger souring. He studied her. ‘You’re scared. But you don’t belong here, Nefyn. Not like this. You could come, you could be free. Free of all of this. This thing you hide behind.’ He was angry again now. His eyes flitting. ‘What I found here, what we have … you can’t throw it away!’

‘Stop it.’

‘Is it so cheap to you? What we have?’ Nefyn’s face grew paler. ‘Or are you not brave enough?’

‘I am brave enough.’

‘Then come with me.’

Nefyn’s anger flared with an unexpected heat.

‘I said NO!’

He could tell she was wounded, became aware of her breathing. She was pulling away from him again.

‘They’re looking for you; you have to go as soon as possible,’ she said evenly.

‘Who’s looking for me?’

‘A man came here, when you were with the boat. You have to go. You have no choice. They’re closing in.’ Then she turned. Opened the door, walked out. Hamza thought of following her, but decided against it. He picked up a cup from the table and threw it against the wall.

Outside, Nefyn heard the smashing of ceramic. She tried to block it out as she walked. He was angry. She knew that. He was lashing out. She knew that too, but it hurt. It hurt, and the two days they had left were so brief already. She walked to Porth y Wrach, to the edge of the cliff, and without looking around, she slid down the cliff-top, and into the water. She let herself drop like a stone to the bottom of the sea. And she sat there, her eyes darkening in the grey water, her back to the cliff wall.