Nine
I opened the doors of the restaurant which was packed for open mic night. Some of the long-term marina residents, many of whom I’d met, were already up on stage. Guitars were being tuned, and musical instruments had been stacked up against the wall: guitar cases and a saxophone stand. A woman stood nearby with a bagpipe.
I spotted the crew of Eik in the corner and waved, but I made my way to the bar first. I found one of the last free stools and sat before ordering my beer.
A throat cleared into the microphone, and Donny, a Scottish sailor two slips down from Silver Lining who’d been here nearly as long as Edith and Peter, stood at the mic, holding a guitar.
“Testing, testing . . . all right, everyone! Welcome to open mic night at the marina. We have a few new faces and instrument
