DAN (catching her eye): Carry on!
He studies his outspread hands.
OLIVIA (crisply): Are you sure you were ever a sailor? Are you sure you weren't a butcher?
A pause. He looks at her, slowly, then breaks the look abruptly.
DAN (rising with a smile and standing against the mantelpiece):
Aw, talkin's daft! Doin's the thing!
OLIVIA: You can talk too.
DAN: Aw, yes! D'you hear me just now? She's right, you know, I should ha' been a preacher. I remember, when I was a kid, sittin' in Sunday school—catching my mother's eye where she was sitting by the door, with the sea behind her; and she pointed to the pulpit, and then to me, as if to say, that's the place for you…. (Far away, pensive) I never forgot that.
A pause.
OLIVIA: I don't believe a word of it.
DAN: Neither do I, but it sounds wonderful. (Leaning over her, confidentially) I never saw my mam, and I never had a dad, and the first thing I remember is … Cardiff Docks. And you're the first 'oman I ever told that, so you can compliment yourself. Or the drink. (Laughing) I think it's the drink.