MORNING SERIAL

“I caught him watching her the other day,” he says then. He doesn’t even look up from the paper he’s reading to say it. He takes a swig of coffee, lets what he’s said rise through the room. Behind the door, I feel sick. Pigeon’s watching me? He’s following me. He’ll never let me go.

“Watching?” Efa’s hands hover a moment. She’s turned her face away from Dafydd, so that I can see her expression but he can’t. Even from up here I can see how her brow moves, sinking to make that dip between her eyes.

“Yep, from the garden, watching her window, little scumbag.”

What he’s saying sinks in. “Don’t call him that,” says Efa quickly. She’s always liked Pigeon, Efa. Doesn’t matter what he’s done, she likes him. When you say anything about him she gets that soft look in her eye, the look she used to keep for me.

Dafydd sighs. “Anyway, it’s a bit out of order. Want me to have a word?”

“No, just leave it, they’re teenagers that’s all.” Efa takes up another piece of cloth, lines it up with the first. Dafydd looks at her. He’s got this expression. He wants something.

“I know, I know, but he’s sneaky, y’know? Coming in and taking that book like that. And then, look at what he did. He’s criminal.” Dafydd’s put down the paper, his voice is whiny like a kid’s.

“It’s not that simple, Dafydd. Poor Pigeon. He had a hell of a time.”

Efa’s eyebrows twitch. “Well, he probably deserved it.” Dafydd says it just under his breath, but it’s that kind of whisper that even I can hear. “Dafydd!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” “Dafydd.” “Alright. Alright. I don’t trust him though.” He stands up, his dressing gown falling open so that I look away.

“Glass of wine? You off the detox?” he asks Efa.

“Nope, not til Friday.” Efa’s head moves for no. “And anyway you’re a big phoney: telling the whole class you were going to keep it up for a month!”

> Pigeon is the winner of the Wales Book of the Year and the Rhys Davies Fiction Prize. Published by Parthian

CONTINUES TOMORROW