by Cat Hogan
‘Wow, that’s amazing – I was there once. It’s a stunning property.’ She had been there at a business event about six months previously. ‘Actually, I think I met your mother – Livia?’
‘That’s her, the Lady of the Manor!’
She was surprised by the sarcasm in his voice, but didn’t comment.
‘And how did you end up getting involved in the Opera scene?’ She was really curious and couldn’t help herself when it came to getting the lowdown on someone.
‘My father was a board member years ago – that’s how he met my mother. She was an opera singer, travelling with a troupe from Teatro di San Carlo. They were based in Ireland for the season, before travelling to Europe. She was young, beautiful and very gifted. My father fell in love on the spot, and I guess the rest is history. When he died, I was given his position on the board.’
‘What a lovely story! The romance of it all, eh?’ Tess was visualising all the glamour and romance, both of which were lacking in her life at that moment. She knew his father was dead, but couldn’t comment.
‘Hmm, well, I don’t know about the romance part, but they had a great life travelling and partying. I was in boarding school and didn’t see much of them. Anyway, that’s a story for another day.’ He stood up, and went to pay the bill at the bar.
They walked outside. The weather had improved slightly, a mere drizzle rather than the earlier monsoon.
‘Tess, I will probably see you tonight. In the meantime, I would ask you to keep our discussion completely private. Until everything is finalised, I would prefer it that way.’
‘OK, that’s understandable. We can discuss it further soon enough.’
‘Great. See you tonight.’ He turned and walked down the street.
Tess was excited. She would consider the offer but, in her heart, the decision was already made.
The Gale was occupied by the usual suspects when Tess returned from her afternoon jaunt.
‘Do you want me to get the order from the wholesalers out of the car, Tess?’ Doc asked as she threw her bag in the cupboard under the till.
She had told the bar staff she was going to pick up supplies – no one would question that excuse, but now she was caught on the back foot.
‘No, it’s grand, thanks. I got side-tracked and never made it there.’ Changing the subject, she planted a kiss on his cheek. ‘I was thinking, Doc. Maybe if you got back from the gig tonight, I could take tomorrow off and we could do something nice? You, me and Hugh. Have a family day? What do you think?’
He was totally sideswiped by the suggestion, and the kiss. It made him smile. Things will be OK, he thought. I’m going to make this right for her. I love her.
‘That sounds like a plan to me, but I had arranged to meet a couple of music promoters after the gig tonight.’ He was bent over the glass-washer, filling the tray with Guinness-stained glasses.
‘So does that mean you’re not coming home then?’ Her tone was short – she was instantly pissed off.
He didn’t look at her as he continued on with the cleaning. ‘Look, I’ll text them and try to blow them off. I’ll be up there again in a couple of weeks, I can rearrange. I’ll come back after the gig and we can have a nice day together, as a family. I meant it when I told you I was going to put you and Hugh first, Tess.’
Tess was delighted. She would find someone to cover in the bar for lunch, they would have a lovely day together, and she would tell him about the baby when Hugh went to bed.
‘Yay! Happy days, Doc. Will I book somewhere for lunch tomorrow? How about that place we like in town?’ She was scanning the bar for her bag.
He opened the cupboard where she had thrown it five minutes before. ‘Scatterbrain.’
She smiled at him and dialled the number.
He was surprised about her taking the day off. She always worked Sunday, and if she wasn’t working she was here with her parents having lunch. Always on duty. He heard her in the background, confirming the booking for half one. He would come home tonight but he had to come up with an excuse for the other one. They had booked a hotel for the night. It was time to knock it on the head with her. Tonight was the night to do just that. Enough was enough.
Tess hung up, having booked for lunch. ‘Did you text the promoters? Are they OK with rearranging?’
‘I will do. I’m going to shoot off home for a shower and then I’d better hit the road. I’ll see you tonight, babe.’
She watched him as he walked out the door. For the first time in ages she started to feel positive about things. Scott had thrown her a lifeline – he had the means to do so after all – and maybe, with financial pressures gone, she could concentrate more on her now growing family.
‘Tess, will you get me a bleedin’ pint before I die of the drought!’ her best, and grumpiest, customer roared at her.
‘Oh, hold your whisht, Paddy! No fear of you dying on me anyway. I’m not that lucky.’
‘And, if I did, shur I’d be back to feckin’ haunt ya anyway!’
‘I’ve no doubt, Paddy, me old darlin’. I’ve no doubt. Now give me your feckin’ money so I can get this dump ready for another mad night.’
She handed over the pint, and got a smile out of him, as always.
‘What has you in such good form, eh, Tess? Do ya have a fancy man or somethin’?’
‘Not a bit of it, Paddy – sure you know I’m saving myself for you.’
‘All ould talk out of ya! Whisht now, woman, and leave me be to drink me pint in peace.’
She laughed out loud at this response. He loved the banter really, the grumpy old git.
‘Well, whatever has ya in the good mood, Tess, I’m happy for ya. Shur you’ve been a right bitch over the last few weeks.’
The way Paddy looked at her, and the way he called her a bitch was too much for her. She couldn’t stop laughing. Rounding the bar, she hugged him and planted a kiss on the top of his little wrinkled head.
‘Paddy, me old darlin’, today has been a good day. A fortunate one. But if you call me a bitch again, I’ll bar you.’
He chuckled to himself as she went to clear the empty plates from in front of the tourists. He had known her grandmother when she was young. He had also watched her mother grow up in the village, and drank at the bar every night since her father had bought the place. He watched her grow up, from a little girl in pigtails to the now beautiful woman she was. Never in all his born days could he understand how she ended up marrying that layabout. She could have had her pick of any fine suitable man, and she married that eejit.
He will break her little heart one of these days, he thought. There’s no bit of good in him. Then I’ll break his bleedin’ neck.
He shook his head, took a swig of his pint, and roared at her for a Jameson.
Chapter 12
The feeling of the throttle easing back woke Andy from his slumber. The perks of being the skipper allowed him the first sleep on board as they steamed to the Smalls. They had arrived. The slowing of the Mary Rose indicated it was time to shoot the net.
He made his way up to the wheelhouse. The weather forecast hadn’t lied. It was a cracking day with a slight sea and a warm breeze dancing over the deck. He loved the freedom of being out here, and never tired of the feeing he got in his legs with the roll of the boat.
‘We reckon this is the spot, Skip.’ His shipmate pointed to the sonar screen, as the other three did the final visual checks on the gear before they fired it into the depths.
All was well, and they were ready to go. Try as he might to get out of it, this was in his blood. No time for small talk, no messing about, then the few moments of trepidation as the 27 metres of net snaked its way out to sea, no glitches, no snags.
‘Prep to trawl and shoot away!’ The command came from his lips, and was repeated by his mate.
The other two on deck acknowledged the instruction by feeding the net off the back of the Mary Rose, and watching as the swell swallowed it. One misplaced foot or moment
of daydreaming could cost a man his life. In the wheelhouse, Andy pushed down on the lever, as the beams woke up and got to work.
‘Here, Liam, stop that fucking whistling and watch those winch brakes!’ yelled Fran, one of the men on deck, at the new guy. ‘The ropes need to be clear!’
Two big strong fisherman – one of the pair, the new guy, oblivious to the superstition of whistling on deck. Well, technically speaking, it only applied to the wheelhouse, but Fran wasn’t taking any chances. Andy tried to deny that he too believed in the old tales, but he was relieved when his whistling shipmate shut up.
So far so good – the propeller was clear and the clump and trawler doors were doing what they were supposed to. No alarms in the wheelhouse, and it wouldn’t be long before the net started trapping the haul. Although she could take a crew of eight, there were four on board for the trip. They were used to working with each other and, bar the new crew member, they knew each other inside out.
Fran gave him the thumbs-up, before the monitors indicated the net was in place.
Time to breathe. Andy would stay in the wheelhouse, Liam the new guy would go to the galley and the other two would take it in turn to get some shuteye before hauling in the net. This process would be repeated every four hours or so.
‘All right, mate?’ Fran entered the wheelhouse with a brew for his skipper. ‘Cup o’ cha for you there.’
‘Ah cheers, man.’ Andy was sitting with his back to Fran, watching the screens and keeping an eye on the rig. ‘Did you check the pounds?’
‘Yep. Everything is the way it should be and all temps are reading right. Thank Jesus for that. How have you been doing, man? Not like you to sleep on the way out?’
Andy laughed. ‘Ah sure, Fran, I’m a wrecked man. I had a bit of a late one over the last few nights. Party in the house Friday and I was out with my mate Scott for a few in the Gale last night. Half five wasn’t long coming around, I tell ya!’
‘You durty dog, Andy! What about your new landlady, what’s her name, Jen? Is it all right living with her and the little fella?’
‘Yeah, she’s nice. Weird living with a woman again though – well, you know what I mean, having a woman in the same house. Little Danny is grand – funny little guy – full of mischief.’
Fran was one of the few people that Andy felt comfortable talking to. He had worked alongside him since coming back to the harbour, and as a shipmate, and a friend, he trusted him with his life.
‘I like her, man.’
‘Well, it’s about fucking time, Andy. For fear of sounding too blunt, you need to get over Sharon. She was beautiful and yes, you loved her, but she’s gone, man. And her death wasn’t your fault. It was a horrible accident.’
Andy looked out the window of the wheelhouse and focused on nothing in particular. Trust Fran to be so straight about it, he thought. No one ever mentioned Sharon to him. It was nice for a change to hear her name coming from someone else.
‘Sorry, skip, I didn’t mean to speak out of turn like that.’
‘Nah, man, you’re grand. It’s been two years. It’s about time I let her go. It’s just hard, ya know? Jen is a nice girl, and she’s pretty hot. I just don’t want to get involved what with leaving at the end of the year.’
‘Andy, she’s a big girl – nothing wrong with a bit of fun over the few months while you’re here. Anyway, I’d better get back to it. I need to check the rig.’
Typical Fran – drop a bombshell into the equation, and then leave him be with his thoughts. He did like Jen, there was no denying it, but every time he thought about her the thought of the first night he and Sharon met haunted him.
Scott had called over to his apartment. Andy had just finished a big project for college, and he was in the mood for some live music and a few pints. Scott was always up for a laugh, and he always managed to get into the best clubs.
They hit the town and the first stop was the Twisted Lemon to hear a new band. The place was packed but they managed to pull a couple of seats at the bar. The place was hopping, the music was loud and the beer was flowing.
Andy was deep in conversation with a couple of girls he knew from the course when she arrived on the scene. She was the tallest and the most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes on. He’d had his fair share of girlfriends over the years, but this one was way out of his league.
Scott was on the stool beside him, and she made a beeline for him. Andy was so conscious of her presence he couldn’t follow the conversation with his classmates.
What felt like an eternity later, Scott tapped him on the shoulder and Andy turned to face him.
When Scott introduced Sharon to him, all he could manage was a ‘Hey’.
‘Hay is for horses,’ she replied. ‘Now scooch over, Scott, and let me in at the counter. I’m dying for a pint. Would you like one, Andy?’
And that was it. With the good grace of a gentleman, he paid for her drink, and from that moment they were inseparable. They didn’t waste any time that night. After the gig, they went back to her apartment, and had drunken sex all night. They bunked off college the following day, went out that night again, and repeated the process. Before he knew what was happening, they had been together for a year.
As corny as he thought the whole idea of love at first sight was, he knew this was exactly what had happened. They both did. Made for each other. He loved her with all his heart, and he knew he wanted to marry her. It was all crazy – here he was, the quiet sensible college kind, thinking about marriage a year into their relationship. They decided to wait until they finished college, and three months after graduation they got hitched.
And now she was dead. He couldn’t get away from the guilt. If he had followed her that night, the accident would never have happened, but his stubborn streak had got in the way, and he let her go.
‘Andy, looks like we’re good to go, man – we’re ready on deck.’
‘Thanks, man. I’ll turn her now and we can haul.’
‘All hands on deck!’ Fran roared. He didn’t have to say that of course, the turn of the trawler was indication enough, but it always made the lads laugh, as he did it in his best pirate voice.
Andy eased back on the throttle and brought her port-side into the wind. The net came up, steady and slow. All crew were present for the task, dressed in oilskins and heavy gloves. Fran and Liam guided the cod end over the pound, and the process of unloading and sorting would begin as soon as the net was emptied, checked and relaunched.
The conversation would start as soon as the fish hit the belt. The usual talk, about quotas and the ridiculous strain on the industry.
Andy liked the focus that came with sorting and gutting. Small fish back out to sea, guts out to sea, fish in the basket. It was a good catch, and they worked well together as a crew. No big surprises in there today.
Fran started on the story about the day he nearly lost his hand to a small shark still alive and hidden in the haul. He exaggerated as usual, and Andy wondered how long it would take for his tale to turn into one about the day they caught a great white. It didn’t matter that they were in the wrong part of the world for Jaws – if anyone could spin that story, it would be Fran.
They all seemed to be impressed with the work of the newest crew member. He didn’t talk much, but he had a fast hand and knew how to use a knife. When the banter and the humour started at his expense, it was clear he had been accepted.
The afternoon passed like this, and a few hours later the first catch was gutted, cleaned, packed on ice, and stored away. The last of the water from the deck scrub was running out the scuppers, and Mary Rose was ready for the next drag.
Time for someone else to grab some shuteye, and for the other three to take up their posts as cook, coxswain and skipper. It took some getting used to, sleeping in a bed that was roughly the same size as a coffin, but after a long haul and an early start, the newbie deserved a rest. Fran went in the direction of the kettle and Andy and his mate went back to the wheelhouse to
check equipment.
Fran came back into the wheelhouse with more tea.
‘I’ll take over here, Andy. You go below and get some grub. Won’t be long before we’re hauling that bitch up again.’
‘Sound, thanks, Fran. I’m starving now.’
‘Don’t get too excited, man – the new fella can’t cook for shit. I think it’s supposed to be curry. No idea, but there could be a queue for the jacks later.’
Andy laughed and made his way down to the galley. He would eat it regardless, he was so hungry. He fired on the heat under the pot of curry. Pot of sludge more like, he thought. It’s smell only vaguely resembled curry but on the plate it looked palatable enough. He sat down at the table.
The galley was the one place he made a point of bringing the landlubbers to if they wanted a look at the trawler. They were always surprised it was equipped with all the mod cons, down to a washing machine. It confused them: a home away from home.
Home, he thought, and he began to think about Jen. He had been so tempted to grab her in the kitchen on Friday night. He wasn’t stupid – there was chemistry between them for sure, and if Sal had her way they would have been making out on the table between courses. Subtlety was not Sal’s strong suit, and the impression he got from her with her one-liners and winks was that Jen might have a thing for him as well. He just couldn’t do it, and he didn’t want things to get messy. He would stick to the plan and be gone for Christmas.