‘I’ll help you,’ said Mickey, scrambling to his feet. His manner towards her hadn’t altered since their encounter on the bank. He was still eager, gallant, but slightly nonchalant at the same time. He didn’t really mind, she thought, as she followed him down the narrow steps into the living area; I’m simply a diversion. Katherine was scribbling ferociously all over her drawing book, a look of scowling intensity on her face as she randomly filled in any remaining white spaces.

‘That’s very bright,’ said Irene, pointing at the violet and red slashes. ‘What is it?’

‘Daddy tickling me.’

‘Oh, OK – which one is you then?’

‘There,’ said Katherine firmly.

‘Wonderful.’

‘And that’s your dad there?’

‘No.’ Her tone was scornful. ‘That’s the tickle.’

‘Aha! The tickle. Of course.’

She went to the fridge and opened the wine. Mickey found five glasses and a tin of pistachio nuts that he poured into a cracked white bowl.

‘Irene?’ he said, standing very close to her.

‘Mmmm?’

‘Everything all right?’

‘Of course.’

‘I just wanted to say – I’m here for you. You know that.’

‘Thanks,’ she replied, crackling with irritation. What a stupid phrase – ‘here for you’. What the fuck did that mean? Nothing. And what a stupid, smiling, handsome face.

‘Friends then?’

‘Friends,’ she said between clenched teeth.

He took one of her hands in his and carried it to his lips, and she made herself smile at him. Luke, barefooted, jumped down the last of the steps and landed in the boat’s interior a few feet from where they stood. He looked at the two of them, Irene’s hand still held to Mickey’s lips. His face was quite expressionless. Then he turned to Katherine, squatting beside her.

‘What’s that then?’ he asked.

‘It’s a tickle.’

‘Of course it is. Like this.’

Katherine squealed. Mickey waited before he dropped her hand. He gave her a giant wink. Irene glared. In a boat, you can’t storm off. She edged into her tiny cabin and hid behind its membranous walls.