“I see you brought some help, excellent. Good help at that! How’re you doing, Fearchar?” he greeted.
“Pretty good, Romney. How’s fishing?” he shook the man’s hand.
“Would be better if Daleroch wasn’t over fishing our bay,” the man groused. He walked off to the end of the hill cargo.
“Don’t remind me. Just saw ‘im down in the market with ‘is lad. Gonna take the long way round,” Fearchar commiserated.
“Haw, Fear!” the captain’s son waved him down. He pulled a sack out of the cold box in the decking and approached Fearchar, his face going crimson. “Well, here’s a sack of cockles for the missus for last time,” he stuttered.
“Good man. She’ll be right giddy,” Fearchar smiled, taking the sack.
“I have leave in two weeks, I’d – I’d like to come visit that Sunday,” he tried hard to get his words out. Eoin hadn’t noticed the young man to be this shy when on the boat. Did Fearchar really have a reputation in town?
“I’ll ‘ave ta’ ask ‘er ’bout it, but she can get ye a message, or I can if she’s the time,” Fearchar reassured the man. The captain’s son nodded with a small smile before vanishing into the nether of the boat.
They seemed like a nice couple if everyone knew them. This may complicate matters if they are so well known around town, Eoin realized. The captain came back up to them with a large box slung across his shoulder and a waxed canvas duffel. He set them down in front of Eoin. The doctor pulled a coin out of his pocket.
“When you need me, send a pigeon,” the captain handed him a scrap of paper. Eoin nodded his head, pocketing the scrap.