‘Oh, Joan,’ I sighed, ‘Ma likely has her hopes resting on you to carry on the Dickson line of proud fishing folk.’

‘Then she’ll be sorely disappointed,’ Joan retorted.

‘But you’re her favourite, you’ve always been her favourite and that means you must do the right thing by her,’ I warned.

Joan took a deep breath. ‘You are right,’ she said. ‘I knew Ma preferred me – Da too. And I was never nice to you. In fact I took full advantage and I was a right bitch about it sometimes, wasn’t I?’

‘You were a spoiled cow,’ I told her.

‘But I was feared, Maggie,’ she said, whispering as though they might hear. ‘I was feared they would start liking you more, and I would be the one getting into trouble. No chance of that now, not now you’ve married out.’

That took a lot from Joan, for she’s proud and not given to self-criticism. I respected her for that and we sat together a while longer, knitting needles clicking gently, saying little, but content in each other’s company.

Spencer came home not long after that and kissed me on the lips right in front of poor Joan and she looked away, embarrassed.

‘I shall be on my way then,’ she said, standing up and putting her needles in her creel.

‘Don’t suck the fun out of our evening, Joan,’ said Spencer, ‘it’s not bedtime yet. Stay and have a nightcap with us.’

She hesitated, but only for a moment, and Spencer dispensed rum into three clean cups.

‘Joan here is saying she will marry out of the fishing trade, just like I did,’ I told him. Joan went red, but Spencer looked unruffled.

‘No shame in that,’ he said. ‘Plenty of other things to do in life, and plenty of other ways to make a living. Besides, you’ll have your choice of young men, Joan.’ There was an awkward pause then and I thought Spencer ought not to say things like that. ‘But you will have to be a sight less lazy and a bit more ladylike, Joan Dickson. You come on a bit strong, if you want my opinion,’ he added.

‘You rude bugger,’ she shrieked.

‘But it’s true,’ he said. ‘When it comes to marrying, a fellow wants a wife who will look after him, like Maggie here. She looks after me good and proper. A fellow doesn’t want to be worrying about his wife’s moods or getting nagged, or having to cook his own bacon in the mornings, and I reckon you’d be a lazybones of a wife and ask too many questions as well.’

‘Spencer, I shall slap you if you don’t shut up,’ Joan squawked, looking mortified.