Malcolm looked exasperated. ‘No, Biddy, that’s what Captain Conor says in his telegram – he’s sending Jerry a wink. My bet is that this is going to be a good haul and just in time for the carnival too.’

Biddy smiled as she took a sip of her rum. ‘Right, well, I’ll drink this and then I’ll go and find Ena and tell her, put her out of her misery – and you never know, she might walk home sober tonight.’

‘Oh, I doubt it,’ said Malcolm, ‘but at least she’ll be happy.’

*

Cindy cursed at the hot water that hit the back of her hand just as she tipped the Aunt Sally cleaning fluid into the bucket of steaming water. ‘Damnation,’ she said as she rubbed at the skin and before she continued, fanned out her long and elegant fingers and checked her nails for chips. It was the end of the day and she was ready for an evening spent sitting in front of the fire in the Anchor with Reg.

She thought about Reg now. Maybe she should say yes the next time he asked her to marry him. She looked around her. But who would take over the salon? She doubted if anyone would: there just wasn’t enough money in it. She heaved the metal bucket out of the sink, ready to wheel it into the front and mop the floor, when she heard the bell above the door ring. Cindy took a deep breath; the salon was closed and she was in no mood for a delay right now. She wanted to spend some time on her own hair before she and Reg went to the Anchor. The bell rang again.

‘Hang on, I’m coming, keep your knickers on!’ she called out and screwed the top back on the bottle of Aunt Sally then walked out into the shop.

*

The men down on the docks had knocked off over an hour since, but Jerry had been tipped off by the gaffer and he and a few of the men hung about on the steps.

‘A ship is out on the bar, waiting on the bore; due in over a week ago, they said. It has a bad list, been struggling, and needs to come in as soon as possible. The harbour master wants it to go straight into the dry dock, but the captain is said to be insisting on docking here to unload first. He’s asked for it to be brought down to berth for two weeks, emptied, checked, and then go up into dry dock for repairs. And the gaffer said it would be of interest to all of us.’

Seamus had punched the air. ‘Yes! It has to be Conor, doesn’t it? Who else would it be insisting on docking here.’