MORNING SERIAL

I KICK him in the stomach, and perhaps it’s that, cos he gets up and he leaves the room. The room is still full of his breath even when he’s gone. And then that’s it. Just a kiss. Just a kiss that breaks it all.

On the floor in the living room, a couple of cushions from the sofa, strewn. There’s the smell of Efa’s breadmaker, making cinnamon loaves. The homey smell. Cinnamon is all wrong. Cinnamon is all wrong. And Cher was right about Dafydd; Pigeon was right again, Pigeon was right.

I walk outside. The street’s empty, and it’s dark, and on the street, it’s bright with stars, like in pictures of heaven. Just the sound of cars in the distance, like a Welsh R. And it was a kiss. Just a kiss.

I’m outside the shed. “Cher.”

I’m stood outside the shed in the dark.

“Cher.”

“Cher.”

I’m calling her, and I’m crying. And she won’t come out.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Cher. Cher, help me.”

“Why did you do that, Iola?” Cher’s asking from inside.

“I don’t know, I don’t know why. Cher, it was me. I did it. I did it,” and Cher’s looking at me, standing in the door now, and all I can say is, “Cher it was me. I killed Him. Cher it was me.”

But Cher just shakes her head. She shakes her head slowly, in that way Cher does when something is too much for her, when she just can’t put all the pieces together again, and closes the door.

Later I know Efa’s home because I hear the door and hear Dafydd’s voice saying, “Hello, Darling. Hello,” and Efa and him going quiet. I know they’re kissing, and I don’t know how Efa bear to.

I could tell Efa. “Dafydd kissed me,” I should say. But I can’t. Because it was me. It was me all along. Later Efa calls me down for supper, and I don’t go.

“Dwi’m yn teimlo’n ry dda,” I say. And I don’t. It’s true. I’m not feeling well, and I get into bed, and then Efa comes up, comes into the room, sits on my bed, and strokes my hair. She touches me for the first time in a long while, strokes my hair, my forehead, and she says to get some rest.

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