A short, stout, florid man, George’s skipper stood at the foot of the bed twirling his flat cap in his hands. ‘I’m devilish sorry, Missus Buchan, it was a terrible thing to happen, and the other lassie said you lost the baby, and all. I ken it doesna help, like, but for what it’s worth, you’ve my deepest sympathy, for he was a fine man. I wouldna intrude on you, but … well, George would have been due …’ He paused before ending uncomfortably, ‘The thing is, I didna even cover my expenses this trip seeing we’d to turn back so early …’ Having told the widow a deliberate lie – they had come back because the catch was so poor – his lined, weather-beaten face took on a redder tinge. Then, clearing his throat as well as his embarrassment, he went on, ‘I thought you’d be needing some cash, so here’s something, for … compensation, like.’ He laid an envelope down on the bed. ‘What would you like done wi’ his seabag?’ Unable to speak, Lizann shook her head helplessly, and it was Jenny who said decisively, ‘Give it to Mick.
