Catch of The Day: Destiny Romance

by Carla Caruso

  ‘I’m fascinated,’ Bruna murmured, sounding anything but.

  ‘Anyway, where are you?’ Winnie pushed on. ‘It seems kind of loud too.’

  ‘Oh, this quirky little Portuguese-Chinese fusion place, actually,’ Bruna gushed. ‘It’s called Tony’s. The chef’s invited a few of his nearest and dearest to sample his latest menu and I’m Jaharn’s plus-one. We’re just waiting for things to get started. The dishes going past look to die for, though.’

  The place sounded as exotic a blend as Bruna herself.

  ‘Way cool,’ Winnie said, trying to ooze enthusiasm rather than envy. It was a losing battle, though. She couldn’t believe there was already a Sydney food haunt she hadn’t heard of. She was so out of the loop and needed to get back ASAP.

  ‘So,’ Bruna continued, ‘met any country hunks yet? Someone who’s more of a yahoo than the website? I’ve been reading all these rural romances on the train into work lately. There was a special on a bunch of ebooks. Anyway, they’re like crack. I can’t put them down.’

  Winnie laughed weakly, scuffing the toe of her ballet flat on the bitumen. ‘Sadly, no. None that take my fancy anyway.’ There was no denying Alex was good-looking, in a coarse, dishevelled sort of way. She just couldn’t imagine Bruna taking a shine to someone like him, someone who didn’t care what vintage a wine was or about having the latest luxury car. With Bruna, she knew the reality of country life wouldn’t live up to the fantasy. It was all well and good to dream, though, when you were far away and had trendy bars and cafés in abundance.

  ‘Well, I quite fancy a brooding, strong, silent type, if you fall over any,’ Bruna continued. ‘In fact, I’d love to come and visit one weekend and check out the talent for myself.’

  It felt like the air had been knocked out of Winnie’s lungs. Having Bruna visit would be like a lifeline to the real world, a reason for keeping on. She couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice. ‘You so have to come. I can scout out some hunks for you before then! And introduce you to all the quirky characters and show you the sights.’ The latter of which, she didn’t add, would take her all of five minutes. ‘When would you be free?’

  ‘Oh, um, I don’t have my diary with me.’ Bruna could be heard sipping noisily from a drink. Probably sangria. ‘I don’t know. What would be good for you?’

  ‘Well, next weekend I should probably visit my mum,’ Winnie said. Under sufferance. ‘But how about the next one – maybe Friday to Sunday, so you get some decent time here?’ Maybe Winnie could almost forget where she really was in Bruna’s company. She flicked through her phone calendar and named the date. ‘Actually Friday’s my birthday, too,’ she added shyly, ‘so it’d be a celebration of sorts.’ Her twenty-eighth birthday. She’d almost forgotten with everything else going on. The milestone was meant to coincide with her Saturn return, or quarter-life crisis, if you believed that sort of thing. It seemed to suit.

  ‘Perfect,’ Bruna enthused. ‘That’ll make it extra special then.’

  ‘Yay!’ Winnie sped up her next words, hoping by doing so it wouldn’t give her friend enough time to change her mind. ‘Um, it’s a little bit of a trek, though. You’d have to catch a plane to Adelaide first, then a Premier Stateliner bus up here the Friday night.’

  Bruna didn’t have a car – in Sydney, it was optional – and Winnie imagined she’d bristle at pressing her frame against the bright Ken Done-style bus seats for long. Still, Winnie held her breath.

  ‘Well, should give me oodles of free time to catch up on all my saucy reading then.’

  Phew. Crisis averted. For the moment.

  Bruna lowered her voice. ‘Ooh, Laura Dundovic’s just walked in, wearing a totally amazeballs aubergine trench. I’d so mug her for it. I’d better go, but it’s been great catching up.’

  ‘It has. Ta for calling – see you soon,’ Winnie squeaked before Bruna hung up.

  Typical. Her housemate was rubbing shoulders with a Dundovic while Winnie mingled with shoppers favouring dungarees. Shoving her phone in her handbag, Winnie headed back to the bridal boutique, though her feet were leaden. Once inside, it didn’t take long to be accosted by Eden.

  The bridezilla flashed a mouthful of pearly whites at Winnie, while Honey and Cyndi could be heard nattering in the change rooms. ‘This is yours to try on. Lucky you and my friend from Adelaide look to be about the same size.’

  Like a matador presenting a flag, Eden unveiled from behind her back a traffic-light-red dress with a massive Fergie bow at the waist. Dear Lord. It also had an ankle-skimming tulle skirt. It couldn’t scream ‘princess’ any more if it were a pair of sequinned hot pants at the Sydney Mardi Gras parade.

  Winnie reached for the hanger, trying to keep the corners of her mouth from turning down. ‘Wow, words fail me.’

  On closer inspection the shade of red seemed to glare at her even more and would do nothing for her strawberry-blonde locks. She gulped at the price tag hanging from the neckline. It was more than she wanted to pay for a gown she didn’t want.

  Wrenching her gaze from the hideous dress to Eden, Winnie took in the pink, sparkly number with fringing the bride wore. ‘Gosh, I hadn’t expected you to wear something so different for your bridal gown.’

  ‘This? No, this is just for when I’m doing the choreographed dance for our wedding song. Remember, I’m having three dress changes.’ She dropped her voice a few decibels. ‘The first formal gown for the ceremony is by a top Adelaide designer whose dresses start at five thousand dollars. It’s a little different to this place.’

  ‘Oh, that’s right. You are lucky.’

  Eden winked spiky lashes at her. ‘I’m also having two honeymoons – a mini-moon in Port Douglas and then onto New York.’ She nudged Winnie sharply in the ribs. ‘A girl only marries her prince once, after all.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Alex warily eyed Winnie as they stood opposite one another on the kerbside in the early hours. It was Monday, the morning of their fishing trip together, and already his patience felt tested. She was wearing a flimsy grey top and sneakers – spotlessly clean, fluoro-yellow ones. The only saving grace was that she’d worn jeans, not a skirt.

  ‘You didn’t think to bring a jacket?’ he attempted.

  ‘Nope.’ She shrugged, displaying all the petulance of a small child. ‘You’re not wearing one either.’

  Alex clamped his teeth around a sigh. ‘Yeah, but I’m going to be physically working.’ Stepping back, he reached through his ute’s open window, tugged his waterproof jacket from behind the seat, and extended it towards her. ‘We’re going to be a long way out. It’ll be cold.’

  She eyed the garment, the distaste evident in her eyes even in the dim light. Relenting, though, she shrugged it on. ‘I heard it was going to be a warm day.’

  ‘Once the sun comes up,’ Alex muttered.

  Admittedly, it looked like she was drowning in the jacket, but it wasn’t as if she were going to a ball. Seriously. He climbed back into the driver’s seat and directed a ‘Let’s go’ at her via the passenger window. She reached for the door handle and followed his lead.

  ‘You know, my alarm was a bit of a rude shock this morning,’ she remarked as they whizzed along the darkened streets, heading for the turn-off to Cape Jaffa, where the marina was. ‘But getting up wasn’t as tough as I thought. I feel fine now. In fact, I could get used to a few extra hours’ time in the morning. Maybe I’ll even take up running or something.’

  Alex barely concealed a grunt. She’d learn.

  Moments later, he swung the ute into a park out the front of a small tin shed near the anchorage. ‘Just getting some fresh bait,’ he said, jumping out. It took a few trips to load up the back tray with plastic crates, before he slid behind the steering wheel again.

  Winnie peered at him in the gloom. ‘So the sellers just leave the bait in the shed for you to help yourself to?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘That seems very trusting of them. What’s the bait?’

 
; He shrugged. ‘Salmon, barracuda, carp – sometimes kangaroo. It has to be good-quality stuff to entice the crays.’

  Nodding, she plucked a notepad from her handbag and scribbled down some notes, like he’d just recited from the Old Testament. It was going to be a long morning if she kept that up.

  ‘I hope you’re not quoting me,’ he said. ‘I prefer to document a story, not be in it.’

  ‘Don’t flatter yourself. It’s just for background. I’ll get some words from your boss later.’

  Walker was already at the water’s edge when they arrived. He’d been a fisherman since he was twenty, like Alex’s grandfather had. He was the quintessential boatie, with tanned, weathered skin, silver hair and his usual uniform of a stained windcheater, shorts and white gumboots.

  Alex nodded between the skipper and journalist. ‘This is Winnie, who’ll be joining us today, like I told you earlier. Winnie, meet Walker – or the Lobster Mobster, as I like to refer to him as.’

  The corners of Walker’s eyes crinkled like cracks in a dry creek bed. ‘G’day, Winnie.’

  She beamed back at him. ‘Thanks so much for letting me tag along today. I’m so excited about the trip.’

  ‘It’s good to have you on board.’

  Winnie turned, peering past Alex’s shoulder. ‘Are we waiting for the rest of the crew?’

  Alex smiled. ‘Nope, it’s just Walker and me.’

  ‘Wow, I was expecting a heap of people, like, I don’t know, on a fishing trawler.’

  ‘Well, it’s definitely not that.’

  Alex moved away with Walker to load up the small boat with fishing equipment, leaving Winnie on the dock for the moment. Finally, he called her over, extending his hand her way. She took it, her fingers feeling petite and warm in his.

  ‘I just wanted to say again how much I appreciate you teeing this up.’

  ‘Let’s see if you’re still thanking me later,’ he grunted, helping to hoist her over the side of the vessel. ‘You’ve been on a boat before, right?’

  Her mouth twisted, her hand falling back to her side, taking the warmth with it. ‘A yacht once – for a fashion launch.’

  ‘This is a little different from cruising in the harbour, quaffing champagne. Had any Kwells?’ Her face looked blank. ‘You know, motion-sickness tablets?’

  She shook her head. ‘Uh-uh.’

  Oh, brother. ‘Well, if you get queasy, just remember to look at the horizon. It’ll make you feel better. But if you are sick, do it over the side of the boat. I’m the one who has to clean the decks.’

  ‘Okay.’ She looked green at the very thought.

  ‘And hold on.’ He winked. ‘Don’t want you becoming shark bait.’

  ‘Right,’ she said in a small voice.

  Alex knew he sounded mean, but he couldn’t help it. There was work to do and no room for a prima donna onboard. He’d had his fill of that sort.

  Before long, Walker had disappeared into the cabin and started the motor, the boat beginning its lurching journey over the waves. Alex rested against a side rail, enjoying the feel of the wind on his neck and the salty air filling his lungs. The water around the boat had grown white and frothy, some spraying onto the rear deck.

  He glanced over at Winnie. She was gripping the bait crates in the centre, struggling to stay upright. And this was a calm day at sea.

  She wiped a hand over her forehead. ‘Uh, might make a quick trip to the ladies,’ she said over the sound of the throbbing motor, ‘if you can point me in the right direction.’

  Alex suppressed a smile. ‘There’s no ladies, sorry. It’s either doing it over the side rail or in a bucket.’

  The tightness around her mouth was clearly visible. ‘Think I’ll hold on – to the crates and for the toilet.’

  ‘As you like. We won’t be back until about ten-thirty, though, and it’s only just gone five.’

  ‘I’ll be right,’ she breathed. But her face belied her words by turning an ashen colour.

  Roughly forty minutes later, Walker had guided the boat by GPS to the first pot for checking. Other boats bobbed in the distance. Alex grabbed his gaff to hook the rope of a buoy, marking the baited trap’s location. Placing the rope over a roller on the boat’s side, he tugged on it to haul up the heavy pot from the bottom of the ocean.

  Apart from seaweed, though, it was empty. Even the bait was missing – some sea creature had obviously taken off with it. Or maybe there had been a cray in there and someone else had gotten to it first. It happened all the time. You could take your pick between the amateur fishermen, scuba divers and sea lions. Alex picked the seaweed off the wire, baited and reset the trap, and threw the pot back into the water for next time – and hopefully, better luck.

  ‘No money yet,’ he called out to Walker, who merely grunted in response.

  ‘So you check each pot individually, every day? No net, no nothing?’ she pressed. She’d so far fought off any seasickness.

  ‘Yup, all sixty of them. Plus, the lobsters have to be of a legal size and a certain quota per pot or we throw them back.’

  ‘Wow, I didn’t realise how time-consuming it is or how little is taken from the ocean each time. It almost seems . . . old-fashioned. And actually sustainable.’

  ‘Mostly it’s still done the same way as the old days – with a bit of modern technology thrown in to make things easier.’ He shrugged. ‘There has to be a balance between conservation and making a living, because ultimately the latter depends on the former.’

  ‘Too true. So how do you know which pots are yours?’

  ‘The different buoy colours. And by the locations we’ve marked on the GPS.’

  Nodding, Winnie scribbled in her notepad some more.

  Not long after, sunrise set the sky ablaze in shades of red, orange, pink and purple. Winnie held onto the railing, gazing out at the view, her face a picture of awe. ‘Wow, it’s hard to believe such a spectacle happens daily – and you get to see it every time. All while I’m dead to the world!’ She shook her head. ‘It’s not a bad office to work from at all. You’re lucky. The closest I usually get to nature is when I tear myself away from the computer long enough to get out in the fresh air and do an interview.’

  ‘Fishing has its perks,’ Alex agreed.

  Winnie bent over the railing, as though wanting to get closer to the water.

  ‘It really makes you realise what a tiny speck you are in the whole scheme of things when you’re out here, in the middle of the ocean, under the big, blue sky.’ Peering into the distance, she clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘Look! Look!’

  He stared in the direction she pointed, catching two dolphins mid-flight, leaping out of the water, their finned frames silhouetted against the sun. It was a picture-postcard scenario, and with Winnie there, he felt like he was seeing it for the first time.

  ‘Not a bad sight, huh? If only they weren’t so quick,’ Alex offered, surprised to feel a little pleased at Winnie’s delight. ‘Would have made a good photo.’

  By the fifth pot, Alex’s luck began to improve, along with the size of his cut. Three generously sized crays crawled behind the pot’s wire. Reaching in, he pulled one of the knobbly, blood-orange critters out from the central hole by its antennae and grinned at Winnie. ‘Want a photo holding one, seeing as I’ve got all my camera gear here?’

  Sadly, she shook her head, her eyes on the crustacean’s beady ones. ‘No, no. I’d be too inclined to throw it back. Reminds me of one I saw in a tank once at a Chinese restaurant, the poor thing.’

  She looked almost on the verge of tears as he chucked the lobster into a live tank below the deck via the designated hole. Its mates were lobbed in next.

  ‘So, uh, how long can lobsters live for?’ Winnie pushed on. Her voice wavered slightly, but she appeared to be trying to maintain her professionalism. He had to give her kudos for that.

  ‘A hundred years, if they’re lucky.’

  She let out a low whistle. ‘Wow, imagine crawling along the ocean fl
oor for that long and then getting unceremoniously pulled out of the water – and eaten.’

  ‘Ah, it would have had a good, long life. Besides, lobsters are also carnivores, so what goes around, comes around’ he teased, tossing a pearlescent snapper, which had inadvertently wound up in the pot, into a nearby bucket. The fish flipped about, its whitish-pink scales glowing against the rising sun.

  Winnie’s eyes grew round, looking from him to the fish and back again. ‘You’re just going to leave it like that?’ she shrieked. ‘To suffocate to death?’

  Alex felt his features morph into a frown. ‘I thought you were going to keep your vegetarian tendencies out of this. You know, do your job. Not interrupt mine.’

  Winnie bit her bottom lip, her eyes back on the flipping fish. ‘What do you want it for anyway?’

  ‘Our breakfast.’

  She reached a hand up to her throat.

  ‘Just kidding. It’s for bait. If you’re hungry, though, there’s a sandwich grill inside for cheese toasties. We’ve got bread and everything.’ She still looked pale. He exhaled in frustration. Obviously the live lobster trade didn’t bother her half as much as a single fish. ‘Fine, I’ll throw it back.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the cabin. ‘Just don’t tell the boss.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she breathed, only seeming relieved once a splash signalled the deed was done. Stepping forwards, she reached for the cabin door, her legs shaky. ‘Um, I might go sit inside for a while.’

  ‘Sure, no probs.’

  Minutes later, when Alex ducked into the cabin to check in with Walker, he found Winnie curled up on the lounge seat, fast asleep. Her auburn hair was fanned across the ripped Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles pillow he used for naps back to shore whenever he’d pulled an all-nighter. The sight of her, like some kind of Sleeping Beauty, did funny things to his insides that it shouldn’t have.