‘I’m not sure,’ Silva said. ‘Should I call Social Services to prewarn them?’

‘You’ll do fine,’ Sean said. ‘But kids are expensive – how’s the money?’

‘Tight.’ Itchy grimaced and reached for his pint. He glanced at Silva. ‘We were shafted, weren’t we? Cast off. No demob money, no pension to look forward to. I’ve got bits and pieces here and there, but nothing permanent. Still, I couldn’t be happier if I’d won the lottery.’

As Itchy turned to Caz and kissed her, Silva felt Sean’s hand under the table, reaching for her own hand. Squeezing.

Later, back on Silva’s boat and somewhat worse for drink, they kissed. For a few seconds Silva let herself go with the passion of the moment, but then she pulled away.

‘You don’t want this?’ Sean said.

‘I do and I don’t.’ Silva moved across to the galley area and filled the kettle. ‘I don’t want to go back to the way we were. A few days together and then weeks and months apart. It’s not good for either of us.’

‘Becca, you know how it is…’

‘Yes, I do know how it is. That kind of life ruined my parents’ marriage. Right now, considering all that’s happened, I need stability or nothing.’

‘Nothing?’

‘You’ll be gone tomorrow and I won’t know where you are or what you’re doing. I’ll have no idea of when I might see you again.’

Sean came over and stood next to Silva as she scraped some instant coffee from the bottom of a jar. ‘I wish things could be different.’

Silva leaned across and rested her head on Sean’s shoulder.

‘Me too,’ she said.

She took him to the train station the next morning, weaving through the traffic on her motorbike with Sean clinging on for grim death.

‘Jesus, woman,’ he said when Silva pulled up. ‘Dodging bullets in Afghanistan was preferable to that.’ Sean dismounted and took his helmet off. He handed it to Silva who put it in the rear pannier. He stood for a moment. ‘So is this goodbye or au revoir?’

‘Neither.’ Silva sighed. ‘Where’s the future in it, Sean? Being together wouldn’t be being with you. Most of the time you’d be away and that’s not what I want. Not at this point in my life at least.’

‘There’s hope, then.’ Sean said. ‘Years in the future. Decades. About the time when I’m in adult diapers and drooling.’

‘Stop it.’ Silva leaned across and hugged him. She hit the starter on the bike. ‘You’ll email this time? Phone, text, message. You know, like friends do?’

‘I might,’ Sean said. He looked as if he was about to make another quip. Then he reached out and touched Silva on the shoulder, all of a sudden serious. ‘No, I will. Promise.’

‘Good.’