Will takes a long pull on it, fighting to hold the hot smoke down. When he exhales, it leaves his mouth in jerks and puffs.

‘Saw you getting with that guy earlier,’ Alfie says.

‘Yeah, that.’ Will grabs the joint back, a taste for it all of a sudden. ‘What was that all about?’

‘Don’t sweat it.’

‘I’m not gay. I’m pretty sure I’m not gay.’

‘Who cares? Try shit out. See what fits.’

Will smiles into the darkness. It’s creeping up on him. That way he feels when he’s with April, where time doesn’t count, where nowhere else matters. He looks at Alfie’s profile as he gazes out to sea. Am I in love with this guy? Will wonders. Do I fancy him? These questions don’t scratch at him like they usually do. For a moment, he feels cheated that duty dragged him away from the steam room; who knows what he might have learned about himself with those two beautiful people? But he knows Alfie’s right: who cares? Who gives a fuck? ‘I’m glad we’re friends,’ he says.

‘Me too, Parks. Everything’s more fun with you.’

‘Really?’

‘Fucking hell, look at us! On a nicked boat, out at sea, in the middle of the night, getting wrecked on skunk!’

‘I think that was pretty much all you.’

‘I only do this shit because you’re here, Parks. You dig my shenanigans. Is something funny if no one’s there to laugh?’

‘Important philosophical discussion, that.’

‘You make shit fun. That’s what I’m saying.’

‘It is fun.’

‘Love you, Parks.’

‘Love you too.’ Will laughs. ‘But I’m not gay, honest.’

‘And I’m not a drug dealer.’

They both find this statement hilarious, close to a minute passing before they compose themselves.

‘You’re always earning,’ Will says, straight-faced now. ‘Where does it all go?’

‘Where’s the flash car and bevy of groupies, you mean? Keep asking myself that.’

‘Serious, though.’

Cigarette paper crackles as Alfie takes a drag. ‘My life ain’t simple, cuz.’

‘I sort of know that.’ Will thinks of that messy, noisy house on Patten’s Island.

‘Got five little brothers and sisters. Gotta provide.’

‘Surely that’s not your job?’

‘Who else is gonna do it, cuz?’

‘Where’s your dad?’

Alfie huffs as he jets thick smoke skyward. ‘Cancer,’ he says quietly.

‘Sorry, you don’t –’

‘Had a bad back. Worked two jobs, three sometimes, all physical stuff. Keeps going to the doc’s. Doc keeps saying he’s pulled a muscle. Could hardly move sometimes, but he was in work every day all the same, shit-scared of getting the sack.’

‘Wasn’t a bad back?’

‘Leukaemia. Got diagnosed in the end. Inside nine weeks he’s …’

‘You don’t have to say the word.’

‘I was twelve, Parks.’

Will holds Alfie’s hand in his and borrows the joint. ‘Sorry, Alfie. Really sorry.’