Simon looked at him, flabbergasted. Was this guy just messing with him? "I wouldn't take the trouble, ser. His good opinion is hard to earn." Simon knew this like no other. Old useless bastard.

“Oh,” he frowned, but thought upon it for a moment.

His father did not approve of anything Zechariah did, and so he probably would have started with him since there would be the least to lose.

“What about your mother?” he piped up hopefully.

Perhaps his mother cared less!

"Died last winter when the flu came to town." A bad flu it had been. And apparently it hadn't only hit Whitby. "No offence or owt ser, but why do you want my parents to like you. If you need owt from my father, you need but ask..." he looked at Zech puzzled, and then added a quiet: "Or from me..."

“... Need what?” he said with a scrunch of the nose, only partly from the fish smell.

Simon started and blushed. Had he misunderstood again? "I don't know ser." He said, embarrassed, and he bit the inside of his cheek and looked down at his plate.

Awkward silence.

Simon stared down, and then around the room, and then back down again, desperate to find something to say to lift the awkward silence. He thought he knew what Mr. Meijer might need from him, and yet he was afraid to be the first to bring it up.

And then, just to fill the silence, he blurted out:

"Ye should come over for dinner at our place sometime."

No he shouldn't. No he absolutely should not!

“Yes!”

Dinner to meet the family – they were as good as married! Right?

… A ring! He would need to get a ring. Or maybe something subtler, but quality metal seemed mandatory either way.

Simon looked miserable. "Great!"