Day 500

Aye. I'll take a look when I'm done here. Might need sistering or a wrap.

tighten engine mount bolts on dinghy to 35Nm with torque wrench, checking for play after each turn

I'll get to the pilings after this. Just need to confirm the mount's true.

finish torquing the last engine mount bolt, then grab the crowbar and walk to the south pilings to probe for rot with the tip and listen for hollow sound

I'll tap first, listen. No prying unless I have to. Keep my weight spread.

walk to the south pilings, tap each with the crowbar tip starting at the waterline, listening for solid ring vs dull thud, feeling for give under light pressure

Understood. I'll focus on the ones by the ring first—see how far the damage runs.

continue tapping the pilings near the mooring ring with the crowbar tip, moving upward from the tide line, marking any soft spots with chalk for later assessment

I’ll be back in ten. Don’t move that ankle.

Grab crowbar, mallet, oak wedges, and epoxy from the workshop; walk to the dock and start clearing rotten debris from the mooring ring mortise.

On it. I’ll mark the salt line while I’m down there.

Kneel at the mooring ring, clear loose debris with the crowbar, then test the timber around the mortise for softness by probing with the bar’s tip.

Easy. I’m just feeling for the sweet spot.

Use the crowbar tip to gently tap and probe the dock piling adjacent to the mooring ring mortise, listening for hollow sounds and feeling for give, then clear any loose fibers from the mortise edge.

It’s soft. I’m stopping. Going to wedge and seal it now.

Stop probing, clear the mortise of loose debris with gloved hands, then drive two oak wedges into the mortise using the mallet, seating them flush with the dock surface.

They’re in. Gonna seat them now.

Strike the oak wedges firmly with the mallet to drive them deeper into the mortise, then test the mooring ring for lateral movement by trying to wiggle it by hand.

I'm going to plant the seed potatoes now. You want any?

walk to the garden, open the seed potato crate, take out a handful of chitted tubers, and begin planting them in the prepared rows, spacing them about 30 cm apart and covering lightly with soil.

Aye. Pressure's still falling slow. I'll wait till it lifts. What are you sketching?

stop planting, wipe my hands on my trousers, and walk back to the cottage porch to sit beside Jenny, leaning slightly to see her notebook without touching it.

That's impressive. You're seeing how it holds together when everything else wants to leak out. Like the mooring ring — only works when the pressure's balanced.

sit quietly beside Jenny on the porch step, watching her draw, and wait for the barometer to rise.

Aye. And when it does, it takes more than just that one with it. (I pause, choosing the next words carefully.) You don't have to carry it alone, Jenny.

reach over slowly and place my calloused hand over hers on her knee, not gripping, just there — warm and steady — and leave it there until she moves it or I feel the tension in her shoulder ease.

You want me to take the dinghy out? Try for limpets or sea beet? Fresh food might help the headache.

Walk to the pantry, pull open the door, and start taking stock of what’s left—tins, sacks, anything dry—so I can tell her what we actually have.

Six tins of corned beef left. Four of mackerel. Three of beans. That’s protein. We’ve got flour, sugar, coffee—basics hold. Seed potatoes are half-planted, but we can dig a few if we need to stretch. Nothing spoiled, nothing stolen by rats—yet.

Line up the tins on the counter so she can see them, then wipe my hands on my trousers and turn to face her, keeping my voice low and steady.

I’ll make it rich. Brown the beef first, sweat the onion, then simmer it low with the beans and a splash of vinegar to cut the tinny taste. Should be ready in forty minutes. You keep that ankle up.

Pull out the cast iron skillet, put it on the stove, and start heating it with a spoonful of corned beef fat. Open the tins and set them nearby.

Just a splash. I’ll save the rest for the seed trays if they need it. You keep sketching—I like seeing you work.

Add the corned beef to the hot skillet, press it down to brown, then chop the onion and toss it in. Stir once, then let it sit to sear. Keep the heat medium-low so it doesn’t burn.

Kevin — finish the last of the limpet broth, set the tin mug down, and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Then I stand, take the empty skillet to the sink, and rinse it with seawater before hanging it to dry.

Let me see.

I move to the table, not waiting for permission, and gently take her wrist to still her hand. I lift the cloth just enough to see the edge of the infection—angry, swollen, tracing up toward the calf. I don’t flinch. I meet her eyes.

We need to start the antibiotics again. Full course. Now.

I rise, go to the shelf where the medical kit is kept, and pull out the blister packs. I tear open the next doxycycline and metronidazole, place two pills in my palm, and walk back to the table. I hold them out to her, waiting.

I’ll stay up with you. We’ll take them together, on time. I’ll set the alarm on the radio.

I pull the chair out and sit beside her, not too close, but close enough that our shoulders almost touch. I take out my own dose—doxycycline and metronidazole—and swallow them with water from the jug.