‘Where is she?’ The woman stood in front of Peter, hatred etched on her face under a broad-brimmed brown hat, which had darkened on one side from the earlier rain. ‘What have you done with her?’ He tried to sidestep her but she thrust her furled umbrella across his path. ‘I’ve known Mary from the first week they moved here and I’m not shifting until you tell me where she is.’ She stood toe to toe with him, her mud-caked wellingtons pushed against his own.
Peter looked around, helplessly aware they had attracted some attention from a few passers-by. He wished he’d gone straight back to the cottage instead of offering to wait for Gwyneth, to carry her shopping for her. ‘I am sorry—’ he began.
‘You will be.’ In the light from the shop window, her weather-beaten cheeks developed an unsightly red flush.
‘What’s all this, Mair Bevans?’ Gwyneth came out of the butcher’s shop. ‘Bullying again? What’s the matter? Had another row with your Ryan, is it?’
‘I just want to know what this one has done with Mary. Not seen her for months on my rounds.’
‘Just because he cancelled the milk doesn’t mean anything. Don’t be so bloody twp, woman. Mary’s looking after her family in England, see? Now, if you don’t mind?’ Gwyneth handed her shopping bags to Peter, who took them in one hand. ‘We’ll be on our way.’ She glanced around at the small group of people who had gathered, fixing them with a scathing glare. She linked arms with Peter as they walked away.
‘You know, Peter, that sister of hers must be better by now. She’s one for always wanting attention, see,’ she said. ‘I knew it from the minute I saw her years ago. Not bad, just spoiled. And, from what I saw, nobody has babied her more than Mary.’
He didn’t answer. He didn’t feel he had the right to judge Ellen but he couldn’t help the resentment. If it wasn’t for her he and Mary wouldn’t have quarrelled. Instantly he was fiercely ashamed of himself. If he’d told the truth as soon as he arrived in Llamroth they might have had a chance of happiness. As it was he’d been ein Feigling – a coward. It wasn’t Ellen’s fault. It wasn’t anybody else’s fault but his own.
Gwyneth was watching him. ‘Mary’s grieving,’ she said eventually, ‘that’s what it is. She and Tom were very close. They looked after one another and it’s only a few months since he went … and in such a horrible way.’ Her voice choked. ‘No,’ she said as Peter stopped walking. ‘I’m all right, keep going.’ She gave a small cough before saying, ‘She’s grieving for him. It’s all part of life. So she’s gone away from where it happened, just for the time being.’ She gave his arm a little shake. ‘But not for too long, see. Now, I know there’s something you’ve not told me … and that’s fine. But I also know how much you mean to one another. So, when you think the time is right, will you go after her?’
Peter thought for a moment. He couldn’t tell her the truth; what he’d done, how he’d hidden behind the lies, how he’d ruined Mary’s life by coming back to find her. He shook his head. ‘She does not want me to go there. I must wait for her here.’
Other than making a small noise of exasperation, Gwyneth was quiet as they walked along the road. In the gathering darkness Peter heard the sea moving sluggishly between tides, a damp film of mist glistened in the gas street lights, hovering above the beach. His pressed his thumb and forefinger against his eyes, ashamed to show that tears threatened. His skin was cold and clammy.
‘Oh!’ Gwyneth gave a shudder. ‘Someone’s just walked over my grave.’
‘What is it?’ Peter was concerned. She looked frightened for a moment.
She gave him a small smile. ‘Just a shiver,’ she said, still looking at him pensively. They’d reached the cottages. Peter walked with her to her front door.
‘Come in for a cup of tea?’
‘No, thank you, no.’ He gestured to his clothes and boots. ‘I have had a long day working with Alun and Alwyn in their garden. They are putting a new shed there,’ he said, by way of explanation.
‘Have you eaten today?’ Gwyneth studied him.
‘I have.’ He hadn’t. But all he wanted was to go into the cottage next door. All he wanted was to lie down on the bed; the bed where he and Mary had slept and made love. To wrap himself in the covers and sleep, to escape the misery that walked alongside him all the time.