Not long after that they pulled the last stretch of net on board. The rope, teeming with wet, came skipping across the water. The buoy came in. Immediately the men sat on the heaped nets with their heads lowered, and smoked. The skipper put the kettle on. He came out to check the loads of fish in the boxes. “Not bad,” he said. He drove the gear to forward. The boat headed back over the choppy sea to the salmon grounds.

Over the rail Catherine vomited profusely. Then, when the sea grew heavier, they tied a rope to her so that she would not fall overboard. Around her the men cleaned the insides of the fish. Out of the skate poured green fluid that smelt dank and heavy like fresh manure.

“How much longer?” she asked sadly.

“I told you,” said Jack, “once we go out we can’t go in.”

“This is the most awful day of my life,” she whispered.

“I told you.”

“Don’t keep saying that,” complained Catherine. “I would dearly love to do away with myself.”

“Keep looking at the horizon, Missus,” advised Thady. “Your brain is receiving the wrong signal, don’t you know. Your poor brain thinks you’ve eaten something wrong. You know and I know you haven’t. But your brain does not know that. It thinks you’re sick. But you see, you’re not sick.”

“I am sick.”

“No, you’re not,” said Thady, “your brain only thinks that. The thing to do is to dispute this with your brain. Just look at the horizon. Just keep looking at the horizon. That’s the girl.”

“Oh God.”

Catherine looked at the horizon. While the men worked among the boxes of floundering fish she held the rope that tied her to a metal spar on the foredeck, and looked at the horizon.

They dropped Catherine and the catch off at Blacksod. Jack walked her up the pier. She stood shivering and wet and pale. She had his yellow oilskin jacket on and old woollen gloves belonging to Thady.

“I’m sorry if I shamed you.”

“Here,” he said, “take these with you,” and he handed her a plastic bag of fish.

“What are these?”

“They’re monkfish.”

“Look,” she said, “at their little pudding hands joined over their wobbly breasts. In prayer, I suppose.”

“Hence their name.”

She looked at him.

“I have to go back out now.”

“I don’t believe it. Right away?”

“The salmon are running.”

“You mean you’re going to spend all night out there?”

“Aye. If the weather holds. And the next day maybe.”

She dropped the bag of fish and took his two hands in hers.

“Call and see me when you get ashore.”

“I will.”

She kissed him.

“I must smell dreadful.”

“Not at all.”

“Oh dear,” said Catherine, kissing him again, “I thought it might come to this.”