Then the skipper shouted down: “Hi Jack! Wake the boys. We’re there.”

They let the first salmon buoy out, the rope snapped after it and, flicking off rainwater, the net followed. Catherine, a hand curved round a rail, watched from the cabin door. The men stood either side of the unrolling net, with Jack on the lead line and Thady on the light, each with red plastic gloves on, for fear, as Thady explained, “of losing a digit, don’t you know.” If the net snagged they hauled frantically till the lines loosened themselves.

When they’d dropped the salmon nets, Hugh began frying breakfast. The smell of liver drove her astray. She stayed on deck till they were finished, then they set off again around the island. They tossed out the first turbot net. When Thady threw the buoy Jack stood with the weight in his hands till the rope had run out far enough.

“Let the fucker go!” shouted Thady.

The minute Jack let the weight go the rope went under with sufficient speed to take a man overboard. He leapt out of the way of the net flying after it. The two men stood watching the net as it ran through their hands until they came to the rope again, then came the second weight, which Jack held till the last moment to straighten the net. The rope rose out of the sea shedding water. He steadied the weight against the prow. He held it till the full force of the taut bristling rope grabbed him.

“Will you let the fucker go!” shouted Thady.

He dropped it into the sea.

“One of these days you’ll go with it,” said Hugh.

Finally the end buoy, with its black flag toppling wildly, sloughed overboard to mark the drop. The boat revved forward. They pulled away from the shot, and went beyond Inishglora to haul in the turbot nets that they’d lowered to the floor of the ocean the day before. They stood on the bouncing deck without speaking as they searched for sight of the buoys.

“It never ends,” said Hugh to Catherine.

She went below but could not sleep. She stood aft and looked into the heaving blue and felt miserable. Each wave turned her stomach a little more. She was shocked to find that a boat at sea is more cramped than an underground tunnel. Although there was that infinite space around, the deck could be crossed in four paces. The bunks below were cramped together in a cabin that was only a few feet wide. If she stood to starboard she inhaled diesel fumes. If she went below the boat was plunging as the net was winched in.