“I did.” Ffion counted the petals on something that looked like a daisy but probably wasn’t.He loves me, he loves me not…
“And the job’s finished. Isn’t it?”
“It is.”He loves me.
“Ah, come on! Will you have a drink with me or not?”
Ffion looked at Huw’s furrowed brow and thought about what it must take to keep asking.
“I miss you.”
Everything was there, waiting for her. A husband. A house. Even children, if she ever decided she could, and for the first time in sixteen years, she wasn’t ruling it out. All she had to do was take a step.
“It’s just a drink, Ffi. Yes or no?”
“Oh, go on, then.”
She worried it would be awkward—how did you date someone you’d already married?—but she’d forgotten what easy company Huw was. He talked about the lads at work, his jokes old and new at the same time, and Ffion felt the warmth of familiarity, security.
“I’ve got something for you,” she says now. She pushes an envelope across the table. Huw frowns as he opens it, then his eyes widen as he pulls out a check for thirty thousand pounds. “The prison finally gave Glynis authorization to access her bank accounts.”
“I’ll get the chips in.” Huw taps the check. “Make it a real celebration.”
“Proper class, you are.” Ffion grins. “How’s your mam doing?” Ffion’s mother-in-law had taken their separation badly, asking Ffion what was wrong with her for not wanting a babylike a normal woman.
Huw grimaces. “Same old. Yours?”
“Driving me nuts. She treats me like I’m still a teenager.”
“You know”—Huw stares into his pint—“you could always come home.”
Home.The three-bedroom house Huw built with his own hands, with its open-plan kitchen-diner and neat garden. The little spare room, painted lemon yellow by Huw one Sunday, as though seeing the space would change Ffion’s mind about wanting to fill it.
“I don’t mind being at Mam’s.” Ffion tries to gloss over the offer. “I’m mostly at work, so—”
“I decorated the bedrooms,” Huw says suddenly, and Ffion realizes he’s read her thoughts. “Ours is blue now, and the…” He stumbles. “The spare room’s gray. I’ve got the computer in there, so it’s just an office, not…” He looks at her. “Come home, Ffi.”
Ffion’s breath catches.Home.
Sixty-Three
June
Leo
“Bedtime,” Leo calls.
“Come see!”
Leo dries his hands on a tea towel and walks to his son’s bedroom. On the floor, by the bed that Elen Morgan gave them, is a rug Leo bought online, with a racetrack printed on the weave. Harris has made a series of buildings out of Legos, placing each one carefully around the track.
“Hey, good construction skills, mate!”
“This one is our house.” Harris holds up a house made from yellow bricks, with a red roof.
“Fingers crossed, yeah?” The offer had been accepted a month ago, and with any luck, they’ll be in by the end of the summer.
Leo sits on the carpet next to Harris, picking a car from his son’s vast collection, then idly pushing it along the track. The new house is nothing special—a two-bed in a quiet street—but it has a garage, a garden, and neighbors with kids who play outside while it’s light. It’s the sort of house Leo wishes he’d grown up in, the sort of house he wants Harris to grow up in.