Irene’s cabin was at the front left-hand side of the lozenge-shaped boat. It had a small bunk, with a white sheet and a beige blanket on it and a shallow drawer underneath to hold her clothes, its own hand-pumped lavatory and shower, and a narrow strip of shelf. The tiny window, which opened only a few inches, was frosted except for its upper strip. When anyone walked on deck, their feet thumped over her head. Lorrie, Neil and Katherine took the largest cabin, adjacent to hers, with a double bed for them, and a fold-out single bed for Katherine. She could hear them talking together in low, conspiratorial voices; could hear when they pissed or brushed their teeth. Mickey and Luke took the two cabins at the back that looked more like cupboards with bunk beds in them than rooms, and that shared a lavatory and shower.

‘Are you sure this is all right?’

‘Fine,’ said Mickey. ‘I can put all my stuff on the top bunk and sleep on the bottom one.’

‘But I thought you two would have more …’

‘It’s fine, Irene,’ repeated Mickey. ‘It’s just for sleeping in, after all. We wanted you here.’ He smiled at her and she blushed and looked away.

There was a sitting area with a collapsible table and seats that could be opened out into extra beds, and a galley kitchen with a box-like fridge and a two-ring gas hob.

‘Cosy,’ said Lorrie, putting milk and peaches into the fridge.

‘We steer from the top,’ said Neil. ‘Unless it’s raining, then we can do it from the sheltered lower deck.’

‘But it’s not going to rain, is it? It feels like it’s never going to rain again. It’s boiling already.’

‘Make the most of it. Soon it will be November and Ireland.’

‘Do we know how to steer it?’

‘Luke’s looking at the manual. He’s good at things like that. He’s the practical one.’

‘I’m glad you decided to come,’ said Lorrie.