‘What you’re doing is undermining everything I’ve worked for. There’ll be a full investigation into the workings of this barracks, so I’d make pretty sure if I were you that my nose was clean too.’

The Captain raised one eyebrow.

‘Are you threatening me?’

‘Of course not.’

The Captain’s face hardened.

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He got up. ‘I understand you’ll be on a little gardening leave whilst some enquiries are made.’

‘It seems so.’

‘Then I’ll look forward to seeing you back when all this is … resolved.’

Joseph sat at the bar, waiting. It was an old pub, ramshackle. Cheap beer for men who worked at the docks. Cardboard neon stars displaying prices. His friend arrived, and he got up wordlessly to buy him a drink before they came back to sit down. This man would be the first in a chain. He worked at the shipping yard, loading containers on to ships. In order to get what Joseph needed, he would need him to make a deal with his friends who worked the ships. The ones who stayed at the same low-end B&Bs by the quayside, away from their families for weeks on end. They would have to coordinate timings and tides, and stopping a container ship was nigh on impossible. All this would cost. And there were no guarantees. No one would want to take too many risks either; work was scarce and any of this reaching management would be a disaster. They wouldn’t put him into a container, but would have to pass him off as crew on the other side, all of which would take some doing.

He laughed at him to begin with. Shook his head. Then Joseph told him a little about his story, how they’d get one over on the authorities if they helped him.

‘How much you got?’

Joseph had expected the question. Knew it would come sooner rather than later.

‘I haven’t got any money.’

He laughed again. Got up as if to leave.

‘But I do have a boat.’

He looked back.

‘A boat?’

Joseph nodded. ‘It’s the one he’ll sail out on. I’ll bring it back afterwards, sail it north. It’s yours.’

Joseph had thought about collateral. He had nothing else to offer. He had thought that perhaps when he said the words, he would feel something. A pang of regret. Something; but there was nothing.

‘She’s beautiful. Twenty-eight foot. You could make a living from her.’

He looked down at Joseph before pulling a packet of cigarettes from his jeans pocket and moving towards the door. Joseph watched him smoke through the salt-smeared window as he looked out at the industrialized sea. After a while, he blew the grey smoke away, flicked the cigarette butt, and came back in again.