Gwen puts her foot down, taking her chances on the treacherous bends in the steep cliff road. Her white Audi A5 convertible is totally impractical on these bloody village roads. She’s lost count of the times she’s clipped her wing mirrors on some overgrown hedgerow. When Gareth told her to choose a new car for her fiftieth birthday, vanity got the better of her. She saw herself driving to St Davids, the roof down, and the salty sea air ruffling her hair. The gasps of envy she would draw from the residents of Morlan Village. Truth is, Pembrokeshire weather is erratic at the best of times and in the last six months, she’s only had the top down once and her hair ended up like a particularly unkempt Bearded Collie.
Up ahead, Gwen can see a tractor trundling up the hill, Gwion Morgan at the wheel with his ruddy cheeks and flat cap. He is turning into the lower field and, if she’s lucky, she’ll miss the back of his tractor by a whisker. The post office is closing in ten minutes and Lydia has a pile of her trashy clothes to send back. With the Easter Bank holiday weekend looming, Gwen is determined to get these sent off. As if she doesn’t have enough to do. She feels like Lydia’s personal assistant sometimes rather than her mother. Never mind, this time next year Lydia will be in uni. God willing! She barely did any work for her GCSE or AS levels, pleading how tough it was on her generation with Covid. Tough? Gwen thought back to Lydia lying in bed until midday and then joining her surfer friends mid-afternoon, her exams the very last thing on her mind.
Gwion draws into the field, blissfully unaware of how close he’s avoided a collision. Gwen glances at the sea to her left, grey and sullen today. When she and Gareth first found the plot of land above the village of Morlan, they’d been enchanted, gasping every time they caught a glimpse of the coastline, marvelling at their good
