The bar was full of drunks in their darkest finery, black blazers and suit jackets hung on the backs of chairs like the saddest of skins shed for the purpose of drinking and remembering. Black ties sat askew against throats that were hoarse from singing and shouting as they reminisced about the man they loved and had lost. The windows were steamed up and the floor sticky with booze slopped from unsteady hands. One such pair of hands now made their way to the little corner table where Ben had held court on many a night. The oak tabletop still pulsed with the touch of his hand and the legs were scuffed where his steel-toed boot had kicked as his leg jumped in excitement, as the fisherman’s tales grew more elaborate and the jokes more raucous with each sip.

Jarvis felt a bit third party – here but not here; everything had a dream-like quality. When he found himself to be having a good time he’d look around for Ben and his brain would remind him sharply that this was his wake, the news landing like a jab to his gut.

‘Here we go, mate.’ Robin placed the full pint of beer in front of him on the table.

‘Cheers.’ Jarvis took a sip. ‘It don’t seem real.’

‘It don’t.’ Robin stared at him.

There they were, the two survivors of the glorious trio who had sailed the seas, propped up this table and sat for more hours than they cared to recall in the loft of the Old Boat Shed.

‘I’m worried about Ruby. It’s a lot for her to deal with, what with the babby on the way.’

Robin smiled. ‘You have a lot to look forward to, Jarv.’ He sipped his pint. ‘And I remember your face on the day Merrin was supposed to marry that waste of space – what’s his name?’

‘Mortimer.’

‘That’s the one. Good lord, you looked like a ghost of yourself. Ben and I were worried about you.’

‘’S funny, Robin, I remember how I felt.’ He shook his head. ‘Like my heart had been pulled out through my chest and replaced with a rock. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat.’

‘I know what that feels like.’ His friend nodded. ‘You was in a bad way, that’s for sure.’