Epilogue: Linda Booth

Linda can hear Gelert softly whining.

‘You want to go out, boy?’ she whispers, opening the back door. Stepping outside, she closes it behind her to keep the night air from rushing into the house.

She tries to wrap her dressing-gown around her. Nowadays it won’t fasten. She places her palms over the mound of her stomach. The baby has been a little quiet for the last few days: not long now. And spring is on the way. She feels a thrill of excitement.

Sometimes she worries what he or she will face without a father on the scene. A wave of protectiveness washes over her. It will be all right. She supposes the apprehension must be similar to what Mary and Peter went through with the twins, so soon after the war. And, just like Richard and Victoria, her baby would be okay. She’d make sure of that.

Looking back, the cottage is in darkness.

Mary is asleep; lately she’s been sleeping a little better, crying less in her sleep. But there’s no doubt in Linda’s mind that Mary will always miss Peter.

She walks along the garden path, looking towards the village; the whole of Llamroth is a muted pattern of shadows in the low light of the crescent moon.

The dog is snuffling and whining around the hedge at the top of the garden. Linda hopes he hasn’t found the hedgehog she saw venturing out from the field last evening. She tiptoes towards him, but before she’s even passed the greenhouse Gelert trots toward her and sits by her side.

Resting her hand on his head she gazes upwards, trying to identify the constellation of flickering stars against the blackness.

Clouds move across the sky, first leaving only a thin white streak of light around the edges and then covering the moon completely.

The dog pads away to the house.

Linda is alone in the darkness of the night. But she isn’t afraid.