They listened to the Soca, Ray moving her shoulders despite herself. He didn’t say anything else. Something had shifted. He was dredging up courage, his eyes and the way he watched her said it. The way he looked at her before always filled her with unease. Now it made her feel wanted. Nothing like desire, in fact, far from it. More like reverence. As if she were a relic he’d dived long and deep for, searching wrecks and unseen places but surfaced without, only to find it washed up on the beach, as though the ocean had presented it just for him. She felt bathed clean with saltwater, scrubbed by brine and rough contact until she was smooth and polished, restored. She smiled at the thought, her body turned from Richie, knees pointed at the wooden dance floor. She sipped hard, grimacing.

‘Him all right?’

‘Who?’

‘Fari.’ He frowned. Who else? ‘Him say anyting bout me?’

‘No. But he forgives you.’

‘Him say that?’

‘No.’ Richie’s expression collapsed. Ray felt terrible. She sipped again, embarrassed, the straw barking emptiness. ‘I know he doesn’t blame you. It’s me he’s angry with. I’m to blame.’

‘You not going?’

‘Yes. I am.’

His head was down, stirring ice with his straw. She was glad she didn’t have to see his eyes.

‘Male and female work best. Try convince him.’

‘Is that why you never went? Because you don’t have a partner?’

He kept stirring, taking test sips, stirring again. Nothing more than melted ice and tequila fumes in his glass. Bass throbbed through her ribcage, warming her insides. She waited, willing herself not to move to the beat.

‘Try convince him, do.’

‘You can tell me. It’s OK.’

His head lifted. His eyes were piercing, like sunlight on sea. The hurt was all his, blazing to the back of her skull. It made her lose grip. The glass squeaked from her fingers, almost toppling until she strengthened her hold.

‘I caan conceive. I would go otherwise, honestly. I would.’

She held on despite the intensity, seeing him and clutching tighter, feeling cold against her palm, welcome chill. She released the glass, grasped his hand.

‘Richie, I’m sorry.’

He nodded, not stopping, head moving like a marionette, the smile returning after a while.

‘Me know. Otherwise you wouldn’t go, right?’

Ray grinned across the table. Of course not. She hadn’t thought of it like that.