Welsh Journals

wilder, especially that night she told me she was pregnant and was glad it could only be mine. I was glad too. But more than once my jealousy would start again and I told her of the night I'd seen her hide against the gate. Her eyes were puckered and puzzled and she couldn't remember, couldn't remember ever standing by that gate. It must have been someone else, she said, for she couldn't remember, even though I once took her to the gate to show her. When she saw doubt in my mind she went cold again and said: 'Williams Top Shop. I'd like to kill him for the evil he's done me. But for him you'd believe me.' Then she turned on me and grabbed my face and kissed it all over. 'I need your love,' she said, just as though she was angry. 'I need your love. I need it. Forget him and all he said!' But I kept on having doubts and I don't know why. Perhaps I couldn't believe that any woman could love as she seemed to love me: it was too good to be real, and therefore I thought it acted and false. So the more loving she became the more suspicious was I, and the more angry with Williams Top Shop for ever having made me listen to his talk, especially because of what he'd done to her. The night I killed her she'd made an excuse not to come out with me: she said she was ill and the doctor had told her to be careful. I agreed reluctantly because we han't been together for some days and I was hungry to hold her. But I said nothing, except that I understood, and went away. But I came to my watching place that evening and watched her house. At about eight o'clock she came out with a coat on and slipped quickly from the light of the house into the lane. But it was moonlight and I could follow her easily. Obviously she didn't want to be seen, and when cars passed she hid in the hedge just like she'd done that night I'd seen her from my van. I hid too, of course. I soon realized she was going down that lane which had that gate in it where I'd seen her hide. Then she came to that gate and stopped there. I waited and she made no move. She was waiting for someone, I knew. I turned back, my heart pounding, my mouth dry and hatred pulsing through my temples with little cries coming from me as I walked away. Soon I was running, and sobbing for her, and sobbing to get my breath. I ran, I stumbled and fell, picked myself up and ran again, and soon I got to where the van was hidden. I was sobbing and crying and I remember the silly noises I made as I searched frantically for my old commando knife. When I found it I put it on the seat beside me and