Twenty-One
On the way back from the mine, I stopped at Gregory’s cottage. Light shone out of the tiny window buried in the thick stone walls so I was sure he was home. I knocked and shouted his name through the letterbox. Just as I was about to give up, he walked round the outside of the cottage clutching an armful of logs. I took them from him and followed him into a low-ceilinged room that doubled as living room and kitchen. I’d seen bathrooms that were bigger. The hair on my scalp tightened again.
‘You all right, Jenifry?’ Gregory settled himself into a high-backed wooden chair covered with old rugs and stretched his feet towards a tiny wood burning stove. Everything was as old as he was, and as battered. ‘You never did like coming in here.’
‘I can cope. Anyway, I want to talk to you
