He grumbles in a way I suppose is a response as he leads me down the hill and towards the dock. Red seeps between the gaps in my fingers. The ocean wobbles.

‘You not good with blood or something?’

I sway as though at sea.

‘Whoa, all right, pull it together for a few more steps.’

I follow him down the dock, into the small shack labelled with a nautical sign reading TICKETS. This is where we’d docked, the first day. He’s talking but I’m still thinking of the life spurting from my chin and I need to sit down. ‘Where the hell are you from that you don’t know not to work yourself that hard in the heat? And you’re a skinny little thing. Ain’t safe.’

I absent-mindedly correct my posture, though even beside him I barely reach his shoulders. He’s a tall man, old but sturdy. ‘Yeah,’ I say, sweet, agreeable. ‘I guess I learned my lesson.’

The door to the station creaks when it opens. Inside, it smells like the salty must of fish in here, and dust. I itch my nose. It’s barely the size of a shed. I sit on a rickety chair in the corner. A radio is mounted on the far wall, beeping. Frank pulls open a mini-fridge – one tray is full of bottles of water, the other a six-pack of Bud Light. I think for a second he’s getting me a beer but he doesn’t, and I shiver when I wrap my fingers round the cool sweating skin of the plastic. ‘Thank you.’

‘Yeah, that’s all right. And here, er, for your chin.’ He deals me a napkin, dotted already at the side with the sweat from his hand. I take it politely, avoid his stain, hand still shivering with adrenaline, and press.

He’s old enough to remember something and it’s now or never. ‘Your name’s Frank, right?’

‘Yes’m.’ He uses another napkin to dab at the glistening expanse of his forehead.

‘How long have you been running the ferry?’

He chuckles, and it’s a throaty, ragged sound, full-bodied enough to hold in my hand. ‘Well, wasn’t always captain but I’ve been hauling people over this side of the Atlantic for close to forty years now.’

I blot my chin, pushing in too hard, the sting striking all the way up through my jaw. I grind my teeth as if to steady myself. I don’t love what I’m about to do but I’m not sure how else to do it. ‘Do you know a kid called Ellis?’ I ask. ‘I think he lives on the island full-time.’

I don’t expect his discomfort to be quite so obvious, but Frank visibly shifts, his jaw tensing. He grunts in affirmation.