Fishing (and two wives waiting)

HIS FIST HIT SKIN and bone and old Euan screamed
out like a banshee: ‘How could you try to hold my
hand?’ But then, careful not to tip over their little
tinny dinghy, he stretched his beer-drunk arms out
into the dusk. His fingers reached a fan of red hair
lolling in the ocean water. He caught hold and began
to pull it in, begging, pleading for old Teddy’s pulse.