In the distance, the nosy British boat changed direction and chugged off to the far end of the bay. It rounded the corner and moved up the coast, out of sight. As it disappeared, a sense of relief came over Cheung, deepening his ability to think. But was it really necessary to have the conversation today? There would be no getting around the awkwardness of it. Really, he’d prefer to fish, enjoy the sea breeze, and not think about anything.

Cheung and Tak-Tam, who worked as a helper in Cheung’s kitchen at the HKCC, had Wednesday off so they could work the other six days of the week. Though nominally Cheung and Lee were fishing, this was a rare day for just taking it easy and enjoying the gentle waters of the South China Sea on a summer morning. The sea was rich with all kinds of underwater life. They didn’t have to try that hard to catch something good. A couple of croakers, three groupers, and a sea bream gazed balefully up at them from the bucket of water that held their live catch for a feast of fresh fish with Cheung’s family at Tai Hang Village on Hong Kong Island later in the day.

In the meantime, Tak-Tam and Ting-Yan were steaming a pot of salt fish and rice for their lunch. These days Ting-Yan was often quiet in her sorrowful recognition that Tak-Wing was moving away from her, but she chattered vivaciously about her two favourite village dogs, and Tak-Tam listened attentively, asking the occasional question about cuteness of face, sharpness of teeth, speed of chase.

The men had been doing this since they were teenagers, when the boat was home to Lee and his mother. She’d passed several years ago, but when Lee was young, she had come fishing with them.