The net suddenly drew fully taut, and the port outrigger bent alarmingly.

Jeff jumped to his feet and hastily leaned over the port side. He could hear the twang of nylon fibres stressing and snapping.

The net was beginning to tear.

‘Stop the boat! It’s ripping!’ he bellowed towards the pilothouse.

The trawler’s engine kept the same monotonous note. The outrigger looked like it was beginning to buckle.

‘Shit! Tom! Stop the goddamn boat!’

The trawler continued at a comfortable six knots.

The young lad at the helm turned wearily around, and raised his eyebrows questioningly at Jeff as he wrenched the door to the pilothouse open and stormed in. He angrily pulled the boy aside and immediately grabbed the throttle and threw it into neutral. Tom pulled his headphones down off his ears and Jeff could hear the irritating sibilant hiss of rock music played too loudly.

‘What’s up, Skip — ?’

‘Dammit, Tom! How many times have I said no music when you’re on the wheel?… Huh? How many?’

The young lad fumbled for his Walkman to turn it off. Jeff reached for it, tucked into the gathered swathe of the slicker tied up around the boy’s slender waist. He pulled it out and threw it on the floor. Its cheap plastic casing stayed in one piece, but from the internal rattling sound it made as it slid across the floor of the cabin Jeff didn’t think Tom would be getting much more rock music out of it.

Tom opened his mouth to complain.

‘I wouldn’t worry about your tape recorder if I were you. That’s the least of your worries.’

He grabbed the boy’s shoulder, turned him round and pointed at the buckling portside outrigger. ‘If the net’s screwed, I’ll fucking throw you over the side.’

‘I’m s-sorry, Skip… I — ’

He watched the young man’s mouth open and close silently as he struggled for something useful to say.