He knew he’d done well but doubted the goodness of it. He stood, knees covered in a mix of gore and mud, and groaned.

Under his garden tap he washed the axe head clean, massaging it with his fingers, making sure not even a speck of muck remained to corrode it over time. He replaced it in the shed and padlocked the door. Then he resumed his seat, gazing out at the carcass of the bird. From this distance, the separation of head and body difficult to see. Maybe he’d done well.

Penelope arrived home. He heard her clomping through the house, dumping her handbag on the dining-room table, getting the kettle on. No lights on Snake Island yet. Rarely were nowadays. Kids had no sense of adventure. Nobody camped out there anymore.

‘How was bowls?’ he asked when she came out.

‘Yeah, you know,’ she said. ‘What’re you doing?’

‘Just sitting,’ he said, and nodded towards the pelican out on the flats. By now the tide had started to turn and there was water all around it. ‘Had to kill a pelican.’

‘Why?’

‘It was dying out there. Choking on a plastic thing, from a six-pack.’

She leaned against the doorframe. ‘It’s the nineties. Haven’t people seen the ads about littering?’ She shifted her weight. ‘So, did you shoot it?’

‘I didn’t shoot it. I used the axe.’

‘And you’re just going to leave it out there?’

He looked at it again, surrounded by the now floating seaweed.

‘Well, what do you think, sweetheart?’ he said.

‘It’ll attract sharks, won’t it?’

He laughed at this. Looked at her for the first time. She was dressed in her bowling whites, sweating through her blouse. Nothing comical in her expression.

‘You’re not serious?’

‘Won’t it?’

‘It won’t attract bloody sharks.’

‘You shouldn’t just leave it, though. It’s not proper.’

‘No sharks down here anyway.’

‘Yeah, there are. Old Paulie Westbrook caught one just the other day.’

‘Oh, bullshit. Who said that?’

‘Margie said. And watch your mouth.’

‘Where, at bowls?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Paulie wouldn’t’ve caught anything. Would’ve just said he did.’

‘No, she said she saw it.’

‘Lot of rubbish,’ he said, and added a laugh for good measure. ‘Where’d he say he caught it?’

‘I don’t know where. Nearby.’

He grunted. ‘Paulie couldn’t catch a cold without a jumper on.’

‘So clever,’ she said, folding her arms. ‘You should’ve taken up comedy. Missed your calling in life teaching woodwork.’

He stood. Brushed at his muddied knees. ‘Maybe out to sea there’s gummies. But nothing comes down here. And who gives a damn anyway? They’re not going to jump the rock wall and have a snap at you, are they?’

‘Vernie . . .’ she said.

She’d taken on that tone she had. He’d learned it well over the years. And knew, also, that were he to argue he’d be faced with her silence the remainder of the week. She had a way of needling him with it he couldn’t shrug off. Probably because he should listen to her more often, and felt guilty for ignoring her.