2I took the wheel of the Kestrel in nineteen ninety-four. I was twenty-six, and the old skipper told me she'd teach me more than he ever could.

What did he mean by that?

The boat has moods. In a north-easterly she pulls to port and you let her, you don't fight her. Fight her and you'll be sick for a week.

Every morning at six forty I'd see the same faces. The baker's van, the nurse, the kids going over to the high school.

You know who's had a bad night. You know who's pregnant before their mother does. That's the job nobody writes down.

When did you hear the route was ending?

3A letter. A letter, after thirty years. It said the crossing was no longer viable. I had to look up viable, if I'm honest.

I wasn't angry at first. Angry came later, in the car park, when I saw the brochure for the bridge.

People say a bridge is progress. Maybe. But nobody ever waved at a bridge.

On the last run I'm going to blow the horn three times. Once for the boat, once for the island, and once for me.

Then I'll tie her up, and I'll sit in the wheelhouse until somebody makes me leave.