Was the ferry late? She checked her watch. It should be coming around the head by now. That sense of foreboding again, as if her body were being gripped by a huge fist.

            She’d been calmer across at the Tesco mini-store, looking for cars with Irish number plates, reading which county each was from. One or two accents floated over: your man was from Cork, your other, might that be Kerry? What’d brought them to Wales? Had any of them had to flee like her?