Pearly regarded this man sitting at his dining table: tall, deep-chested, a stack of blond hair still unruly from the bed. He was a separate adult with a life no more open to his father than that of a neighbour or a client. Pearly felt a surge of sorrow and loss. Where was his son? The small boy who would come running joyously into their room early in the mornings to join them in bed, wade hand-in-hand with Pearly into the small, froth-skirted beach waves, open his Christmas presents with the pleasure commensurate with far greater gifts, share grievous disappointment that he hadn’t been invited to a birthday party.

Later father and son shook hands beside Kevin’s rental, and he and Helen hugged and kissed. ‘Let us know how you get on,’ said Pearly. ‘Keep us in the loop. Good to see you.’

‘Will do,’ said Kevin. Pearly felt regret as his son drove away. Regret that another rare visit had ended without any expression of closeness or love.

When Pearly had heard nothing for five days, he rang. Kevin said he’d missed out. The yacht had attracted big money. ‘Anyway, I’ve got more on my mind. There was a fire on our sightseeing launch. It’s a hell of a knock ’cause it’s our regular earner, and we can’t do much about getting it back in service until the insurance payout.’

‘Anybody hurt?’

‘No. Some bugger broke in at night and set it alight. Who knows whether on purpose or not.’

‘Bloody bad luck,’ said Pearly. ‘I hope it’s soon sorted.’ Neither father nor son made any reference to Kevin’s request for a loan. ‘Come down again when you can,’ said Pearly when the conversation soon lagged.

‘I’ll let you know,’ said Kevin. ‘I’m pretty tied-up most of the time.’

‘And I’ll let you know how the 125th goes. Do you think there’ll be many from your year?’

‘I wouldn’t think so. It’s mainly the older guys that go, I reckon. When their school days seem rosy in retrospect, and they’ve forgotten the boredom and the crap teaching.’

Pearly didn’t argue. He wanted the call to end well, and maybe his son was right. There’s always the tendency to burnish the highlights of experience, overlook tedium and disappointment. It’s a form of vanity. Better not to acknowledge how much of the past is unexceptional, how many drab, head-down days have trooped by.

‘Anyway, it was great to see you,’ said Pearly, and wished it were true.