He realized now, as he watched the same coastline recede from view, that perhaps the voice had been true. He’d gone home and, indeed, his father had become sick and he’d been there with him until the end. His mother had followed not long after. He’d met Ann in school one day when she was in as a visiting speaker. She might not have had the passion of Karen, but then, by that stage, his own passion had waned.

They’d been happy, he decided; happier than he deserved to be. And she’d been loyal to him, and funny, and silly at times, and balanced, and calm and insightful. And he missed her, he realized. Karen had been right; they had their own lives now and they owed it to the dead to live them as best they could.

He took a deep breath, holding the sea air in his lungs. His chest hurt, a heaviness sitting on his breastbone and with the inhalation, a sharpness ran up his neckline and across his jaw. He felt a cold sweat break on his brow and decided he’d best move indoors again.

It was quiet inside, most people content to sit on their phones, or dozing before the final drive home. The lounge at the front was busy, but subdued, save for the raucousness of that same group of old women in the corner he’d seen earlier on the morning crossing over. They’d been there all day, laughing, drinking, living as they crossed between Ireland and Scotland over and over. This was the last crossing of the day, and they seemed determined to make the most of it. Even the man behind the bar was laughing at their abandon.

Tony thought for a moment of Duggan, sitting here this morning, drinking his whiskey. And then in the pub in Howwood, his savouring of each mouthful. Duggan had never intended leaving those woods. He’d known all along that he would not be returning, had chosen that ending to his story, had known even this morning that that early ferry was his last crossing.

Tony went to the bar and ordered a Southern Comfort and Coke. Handing over a £10 note to pay, he waited for the change as he emptied the cola into the spirit and returned the bottle to the bar man. He picked a coin from his change and palmed it to the man, who took it with a quizzical ‘Thank you.’

‘Just paying the ferryman,’ Tony joked.

He moved back down through the ship again, taking a seat at one of the tables, on the starboard side. He rested his head against the window, staring out into the gloom. Somewhere, a lighthouse flashed, guiding the ferry past the ragged coastline.