‘We’re finished,’ she says. ‘You’re pathetic, Rhys.’
Yasmin walks away without looking back. She doesn’t care, now, what people think. She doesn’t even care what – or who – has prompted this extreme reaction from Rhys. She only cares – as she has for most of her life – about herself.
SIXTEEN
JANUARY 4TH | FFION
‘I’m guessing this isn’t a social call.’ Huw Ellis leans over the scaffolding, a hi-vis tabard stretched over so many layers he looks twice the size. He’s small but wiry – the sort of man you might underestimate in a pub fight.
‘I need a word with you – can you come down?’
Ffion had driven around town until she’d found Huw’s white van parked in a cul-de-sac. He’s working on a two-storey extension with three other guys, one of whom gave a wolf-whistle he turned into a cough when he realised who the gaffer’s visitor was.
‘You want me, you come up.’
‘Stop playing games, you tosser. This is a serious—’ A hard hat drops at her feet. Ffion sighs and squashes it over her hair, before clambering up the ladder with neither speed nor grace.
At the top, Huw props one foot against a stack of slate tiles. ‘Haven’t seen you for a while.’
‘Been busy,’ Ffion says, looking out across the rooftops. Llyn Drych is spectacular from up here. The water sparkles in the winter sun, clouds scudding towards the village as though hurrying from the mountainous dragon looming above it. At the far end of the lake, smoke curls from the tiny cottage in which Angharad Evans lives with her rescue animals. All Ffion’s life is here, laid out in a patchwork of forest green and grey slate, and the silvery-mirror blue of Llyn Drych.
‘The murder investigation, is it?’ Huw seeks out Ffion’s gaze. ‘How are you keeping?’
‘You were at the New Year’s Eve party at The Shore.’
‘Me and half of Cwm Coed. You’re looking well.’
‘Why did you go?’
Huw puts a hand on the scaffolding. His skin is tanned and rough, his fingers scarred by years of work. He never wears gloves at work, even in the depths of winter. ‘Come home, Ffi,’ he says softly. ‘I miss you.’
‘You hate that sort of party.’ Ffion blinks hard. The cold is making her eyes water. ‘Small talk and champagne. Poncey canapés. Why did you go?’
‘Don’t be like this.’
‘Did you go to try and get back the thirty grand Rhys owed you?’ Ffion examines her husband’s face for signs she’s hit the mark, but he’s looking at her with such intensity she has to turn away.
‘Ffi.’
‘We’ve been through this.’
‘I love you,’ Huw says, quietly but forcefully, and Ffion stares at the lake and wishes she were out on the water, racing the wind. ‘I’d do anything for things to be back the way they were.’
‘Please don’t make this any harder than it is already.’ Ffion doesn’t mean to sound angry, but her words come out clipped and hard. ‘I only came because it looks bad for you. Thirty grand, Huw! Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Bit hard to do that, when you’ve gone out of your way to avoid bumping into me.’
Ffion flushes. She didn’t realise it had been so obvious. ‘You should know that we’re processing the prints from the crime scene. If yours are found in Rhys’s office—’
‘Of course they’ll be there!’ Huw laughs. ‘Ffi, I worked there. Fitted windows, finished the flooring. I dealt with the snags after they’d all moved in. I’ve still got keys to the place.’
‘Should you still have keys, if you’re not working at The Shore?’
‘They can have them back when I’m paid my thirty grand. And, since I hear Yasmin Lloyd’s due a bit of a windfall, that shouldn’t be a problem now.’
‘Where did you hear that?’
Huw, the one person in Cwm Coed who can match Ffion for stubbornness, taps the side of his nose. They stare at each other, and for once it’s Ffion who looks away first.
‘I’d better go.’
‘I’ve been thinking.’
‘You’re supposed to check with a doctor before taking up new activities.’
‘We could have a drink some time. Like before we got married. No pressure, no baby talk, just a drink. See how things go.’
The wind whips Ffion’s hair across her eyes and Huw reaches up to push it back, a gesture which a year ago Ffion would hardly have noticed. She steps back hurriedly, forgetting where they are, and sees the alarm in his face as she clutches at the scaffolding.