Jack stands looking down at her, smiling a little, unable to resist the tease.

‘Cosmo, eh?’

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘That’s right. Cosmo. That’s his name. Get over it, Dad.’

‘Get over what?’ he says, pretending indignation. ‘So when am I going to meet him?’

Amy shrugs. ‘When I know you’ll behave yourself and stop pretending that you think he’s posh. It’s no big deal, OK? He’s just doing this house-and-dog-sitting thing up in Batson Creek. He’s only here for a couple of months and then he’s going back to London.’

Jack watches her. He knows his girl and he can see that she’s not quite as casual as she makes out. He wants to protect her – to make sure she’s happy – and he knows that this is quite out of his power. Still, he’d like to meet this Cosmo and get his measure.

‘Well, perhaps we can all meet up for a drink sometime,’ he says casually. ‘Or bring him here for supper.’

She looks up at him again. ‘Perhaps,’ she agrees. ‘I’ll mention it when I see him.’

‘See you later then,’ he says, and lets himself out into the dusk.

Mist drifts in from the sea, slicking the streets, obscuring the harbour, diffusing lamplight. There is the hint of autumn in the soft air and he is glad to go down the steps and into the bar, to the light and warmth and the clink of glasses and the sound of laughter. He’s even more pleased to see Max and Cara standing at the bar with a lad of about twenty-two or -three, and he remembers Max mentioning something about his godson visiting. Jack raises a hand to them. He likes Cara, though he’s met her only twice. There’s no side to her and she has an unexpected sense of humour. He can empathize with the pain of bereavement, with what it means to lose your own special person, and he can sense her struggle and respect her courage. As for Max: he’s done quite a bit of work for Max but they also sail together and enjoy a pint on quiz evenings. Max is an old mate. He joins them, smiling at Cara, shaking Sam’s hand as Max introduces them.

‘Max tells me that you’re going into the navy,’ he says. ‘Not another engineer, I hope?’

Sam shakes his head. ‘No, not me. Much too complicated. I’m useless at anything mechanical.’

Jack claps him on the shoulder. He likes the look of this young fellow: quiet, self-contained, but not awkward or shy – and at least he’s not called Cosmo. An idea begins to form in his mind. The barman pushes Jack’s pint across the bar and he lifts it in the direction of the other three and then takes a pull at it.

‘We’re having supper here,’ Max is saying. ‘Want to join us?’