Chapter NineteenLight floods through the pub windows, revealing rafters and old beams of wood. Dust floats like clouds of sediment on the air, reminding Felix of hulking wrecks, long lost to the bottom of the sea. He finds a table near the back of the room while Michael places an order at the bar. Most of the other Monday patrons are lunching outside, basking in the sun, and there are many tables to choose from.
Michael is not long at the bar. When he returns, he is carrying two cups and saucers. He moves stiffly as he sits opposite Felix and slides one of the saucers towards him. His face is several shades paler than usual, his eyes bruised but bright. They study Felix across the table.
“Coffee,” he says, indicating the cup.
“Coffee?”
“Like I used to make. Hopefully better.” Reaching
