The two men turn to face one another, and it looks like the start of every pub brawl Mia has ever seen. Yasmin looks almost gleeful, as though her husband being beaten up by an actual champion boxer is the best thing ever. Whatever Rhys has done, it’s really pissed off Yasmin.
Ashleigh, of course, is oblivious. “You should get them to make a reality TV show about you, Rhys. It’s dead easy: they just follow you around for a few months, get shots of you at home with the kids, going to rehearsals, and that.”
“That would assume he had some rehearsals to go to,” Yasmin says acidly.
Something is seriously up with that lot. Mia’s glad when Clemmie and Dee arrive. Clemmie’s wearing a dress that, as she tells anyone who will listen, is made from recycled plastic bottles, complete with flattened bottle tops as buttons.
“Amazing,” Mia says, which isn’t exactly a lie. “And you look fabulous, Mrs. Huxley.”
Dee is wearing black velvet trousers and a white blouse with frills down the front. On her feet are shiny black dress shoes. “Fallen arches, dear,” she tells Mia when she sees her looking. “Besides, men’s shoes are so much more comfortable.”
Mia is supposed to hand food around, but none of the posh lot wants to eat, and the beautiful platters stay untouched until the locals arrive.
“Holy crap,” Eira says when she walks in. “This place…”
“I know, right?” Mia feels a weird sense of pride, as though she lives here. For a second, she imagines what it would be like if she did. If all this money, all thisstuffwere hers. Maybe it will be, one day.
It’s awkward, to begin with. Most of the locals don’t know anyone here, and so they stand in clusters talking to each other and looking around. On the other side of the lodge, The Shore owners talk too loudly and laugh too hard, and it reminds Mia of school discos: boys on one side, girls on the other. Only Clemmie and Dee make an effort to welcome their guests, and slowly the two groups begin to mix.
“…the same layout, yes, but really they’re quite different,” Yasmin says to a couple Mia knows full well don’t give a shit about interiors. “I’ll give you a tour, if you like?”
“That would be great,” the pair say, desperate for a poke around.
It’s the start of an endless stream of people traipsing from one end of The Shore to the other. Mia’s feet hurt, and she’d like to take off her shoes, but she knows he’s watching her. Just now, she offered him a top-up, and he whispered in her ear as she leaned forward. “I want you.”
He’ll find time for her later, she’s sure. She just has to be patient.
Someone has turned down the lights and turned up the music. The lodge throbs with heat and noise, bodies pressed against bodies. There’s an icy draft as the bifold doors are yanked open, the side of the tent left flapping by new arrivals. A load of lads from the pub stroll in and head straight for the drinks table.
“Who are these people?” Blythe says anxiously to Mia. “Were they invited?”
Mia can see a folded invite in one of the men’s back pockets. “I guess so,” she says. “That one’s Gruffydd.” Mia points. “And that’s Hari Roberts, Sion Williams…” But Blythe doesn’t care about their names. She doesn’t really meanWho are they?She meansWhat are they?What do they do? What kind of people are they?
“They drink in Y Llew Coch,” Mia adds. Blythe blinks rapidly, looking visibly pained as the group takes over a corner of the sitting room. There are eight of them, all in jeans and scuffed work boots, jackets thrown carelessly in a heap. The coats are shiny with spray, and Mia realizes they must have come in boats, almost certainly straight from the pub.
Caleb is trying to sneak unseen through the party. In the kitchen, he opens a cupboard, Mia intercepting him with his fingers on the bottle of brandy stashed behind the tins. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”
Caleb jumps. “Fucking hell, Mia, you shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”
Mia takes the brandy out of his hand. “There’s an icebox by the side of the lodge with a load of lager in it. They won’t miss a few cans.”
He grins. “Cheers.” And then he’s gone, off to wherever the rest of the teenagers are hanging out tonight. Mia follows, to make sure he hasn’t lifted the whole icebox, and the night air is a relief on her hot, aching limbs. She walks around the outside of the tent, hidden from view, and slips off her shoes. She presses her bare feet into the freezing grooves of the decking.
“I’m sorry!” she hears a man yell. “There, I’ve said it. Happy now?”
Mia blinks in the darkness. Dark clouds move slowly across the moon, disorienting her.
“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.” Dee Huxley’s voice is unmistakable, and Mia realizes the voices are coming from the deck next door. But who is Dee talking to? “What you did to that woman…”
Dee leaves the sentence hanging, and Mia holds her breath. Inside the tent, the doors to the lodge open, a burst of noise breaking over the quiet voices from next door.
What woman?
There’s a roar from the water—the throaty pull of a motorboat—and when the engine is cut a moment later, the silence is deafening. Young Seren Morgan appears at the top of the ladder, disappearing into the party before Mia can say a word. She wonders if Elen’s gone soft or if Seren’s spun her mam a tale.
Mia walks to the edge of the deck, just as Huw Ellis is pulling himself up the ladder from the pontoon.
“All right, Mia?”