MORNING SERIAL

SHE sat, looking over his shoulder as he wrote.

Eight years ago a boy was convicted for a crime…

The door to the office opened. “Come through,” said a young, female policewoman. She looked at them both. “Just one of you at a time,” she said. Maggie looked crestfallen. “You can make a statement later,” the woman said to her.

“It’s alright,” said Maggie “I’ve got nothing to say anyway.”

Gwyn was led through into the interview room.

“So,” said the woman. “What exactly is this about?”

“I’m not really sure,” said Gwyn.

“You’ll need to be a bit more specific,” she said laughing. She was pretty. She had blonde hair. A uniform. “It’s about a couple of kids who…” Gwyn stopped.

The woman looked at him. She looked at him long and hard.

Gwyn thought of him, Pigeon, when he was just a boy. That look of pride on his face in the tribunal, standing there, in the glass box, surrounded by adults, as he said the words. I did it. I killed him.

Could you take that away from the boy and leave him still standing?

“It’s nothing,” said Gwyn “I’m sorry. Just kid’s stuff. I’m wasting your time.”

Outside, Maggie couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe her ears. She went off down the street in a f***ing bad temper, and Gwyn, he felt once again a palpable, relief at being rid of another Hell of A Woman, at least for the rest of the afternoon.

...

Pigeon goes out with Elfyn every day. They go round building walls for people. Pigeon’s getting better at it, choosing the right stone for the right place, fitting them all together.

They don’t speak much, except to Nel, the frank-eyed collie, who watches them all day, sniffs around the stones, and comes to lean against Pigeon’s legs, scavenging for comfort, to be stroked.

“Dyna ti,” Pigeon says to her. “Gw’ gel.”

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

CONTINUES TOMORROW