Gone Fishing

by Susan Duncan

  After a while, when the sun has tainted her face with a layer of pink over her English pallor, she picks up her gear and heads across the Square to The Briny Café. At the last minute, she hesitates in the doorway. She knows she’s broken every Cook’s Basin code. She has no idea how Ettie will react to her return. She takes a deep breath and steps inside.

  ‘Kate!’ Ettie flies around the counter, leaving three tradies hanging out for their cappuccinos, and throws her arms around her partner. ‘You’re back. Well, of course, you’re back. Any fool can see that. Did you find what you were looking for? My god, you’ve lost weight. Come inside. Let me fatten you up until you’re back to your old self. My goodness, you look wan.’ She breaks off. Takes a long, apologetic breath. ‘Sorry. I’ll slow down. But lord, there’s a lot to tell you. So much has happened. What about a coffee, love? And a good brekky. What do you say?’

  ‘It’s good to be home and the old Briny looks terrific. Smells good too . . . something new on the menu?’ She slips her luggage on her desk under the stairs, turns back to Ettie.

  Behind the counter, Jenny casually waves a tea towel.

  ‘Pikelets. We’re making huge batches for the tradies to take for their smoko. They’ve been a hit,’ Ettie explains. ‘Blokes feel a bit wussy buying a slice of cream cake, but a blueberry pikelet spiced with a little orange or lemon zest has grunt.’

  ‘So how was it?’ Jenny asks, coming over after seeing to the tradies’ order and without a hint of warmth in her voice. ‘Worth high-tailing it out of here at a crucial time?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Kate feels the animosity, backs away a little. ‘I can’t thank you enough for filling in –’

  ‘Didn’t do it for you. Did it for Ettie. Had a ball, actually.’ She points to the Save Garrawi contribution jar on the counter. ‘The café has become the campaign headquarters. Have to empty it every night and there are more notes than coins. Hope you keep it going now you’re back.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I?’ Kate asks, puzzled.

  Ettie, who’s been silent, hastily grabs Kate’s arm and leads her onto the deck. ‘Come and sit down, love and I’ll tell you what’s been happening. Since you left, our tiny little cause has had so much attention it’s on the national map. It’s given us such heart we feel we’re unstoppable.’

  The two women settle into a corner table. Jenny brings out a couple of coffees. ‘Might’ve sounded a bit grumpy back there. Bad manners that I wouldn’t let my kids get away with. Sorry.’ She turns on her heel and leaves before Kate can respond.

  Ettie reaches across the table for Kate’s hand: ‘So did you find him?’

  ‘Yeah. I did.’

  ‘And was it all you expected?’

  ‘Better. But I don’t know, Ettie, I feel edgy. Not sure why. Just feel that something’s not quite right.’

  ‘Trust your instincts, love. But remember, you could be over-reacting because you’ve been dealing with fairly traumatic situations for a while now.’

  Kate shakes her head, dismissing the idea of trauma.

  Ettie pushes the point: ‘Think about it, love. In the last six months, you’ve quit your job, bought and renovated a house where the only way home is by boat, sunk your life savings in a crumbling café, your mum’s died and you’ve discovered you have a half-brother on the other side of the world. Not exactly low-key stuff, is it? And I’m not even going to mention Sam.’

  ‘Depends on how you look at it. Think of it this way: I escaped a job I’d begun to loathe, I found a glorious cheap piece of waterfront property and restored it to its former glory, learned the mostly joyous thrill of boating in even uncertain conditions, and landed in a bright new career as my own boss in a wonderfully vibrant community of stand-up anarchists. And while my mother may have died, I also gained a brother. And you. So tell me, Ettie, where’s the downside?’

  Ettie grins: ‘Is that what’s called spin, love? Now. I’ve got forty minutes until the morning-tea crowd arrives. Tell me every detail from the beginning.’

  ‘Ettie? You coming in soon?’ Jenny yells.

  Ettie jumps up. ‘Oh god, I lost track of time. I’ve got to run, but . . . it was all worth it, eh?’

  ‘It’s the not knowing that drives you nuts, Ettie.’

  ‘So it’s over then? You’re back for good?’

  ‘Ettie!’ Jenny sounds desperate.

  Ettie grins. ‘Better get going or she’ll fire me. Have a shower upstairs, love, and whack on an apron. We’ve been so busy lately three pairs of hands will make a huge difference. I’m afraid the paperwork is behind, too.’

  Ettie helps with the rush and then begins making hazelnut pastry for a strawberry, mascarpone and toffee tart. Jenny washes up with more force than absolutely necessary. She gives Ettie a hard look: ‘You’re a good woman. Never known anyone with your ability to forgive and forget.’

  ‘There’s an old saying – forgive but don’t forget. That’s me.’

  Jenny nods. ‘Hate to see you get burned over and over, that’s all.’

  ‘It’s so sad, you know. She could have it all if she’d give herself the chance.’

  ‘Maybe she doesn’t think she deserves it . . .’

  Ettie looks up from her pastry, eyes wide with surprise. ‘Yeah. You might just be right.’ The discussion ends with the sound of Kate’s footsteps on the stairs.

  An hour later, Kate takes a break from paperwork. She waits a little longer for the late-morning lull to set in and then suggests she and Ettie go over the figures upstairs on the deck where there’s more space.

  ‘The pikelets must have been a massive success,’ Kate says. ‘Revenue has more than doubled since I went away. Journalists have a saying: Never take a holiday because before you’re even out the door, someone else will be warming your seat.’

  Ettie glances up, not sure how to reassure her. ‘Jenny’s a wonderful asset but her skills are different from yours. Business is good because the fight to save Garrawi has brought people to the area. It’s really got nothing to do with the pikelets. Well, not much.’

  ‘Come on, Ettie. There’s no need to be diplomatic. Even with idyllic weather and the Garrawi interest, the increase is historic and, to be ruthlessly honest, disturbing. Jenny’s ideas and ability have made an impact. It would be unfair if I didn’t offer to step aside.’

  Ettie sighs, looks towards the drooping casuarinas in the Square – why do they always have to look so sad and hopeless and yet sing so beautifully when the wind flows through them? ‘You are an equal partner in the café, Kate. In the end, the choice is yours. But if you’re here, I expect you to work. I’d prefer it if you didn’t take a wage for the time you were away. Frankly, you haven’t earned it.’

  In the distance, the canary-yellow duckbill bow of the Mary Kay rounds the northern end of Cutter Island, far enough away to give it the size and fragility of a toy boat. Kate quickly stacks the spreadsheets. ‘Fair enough,’ she says.

  ‘I’d like to keep Jenny on staff for the time being, too,’ Ettie says. ‘For as long as business stays booming. Deal?’

  Kate hesitates for a fraction of a second. ‘Deal.’

  Chapter Twenty-one

  On the Mary Kay, Jimmy is sweeping dirt overboard from the mess made by a landscaping pick-up and delivery of twenty tonnes of rich black soil to Charlie Smithers, a city-based bloke with the heart of a genuine country boy. The dirt, stored in massive bags, is destined to be spread over the rocky shale of the shoreline at the nub of Kingfisher Bay. ‘First grandkid,’ Charlie explained, when Sam gently tried to point out the downside ahead for anyone who tried to twist Mother Nature into an unwilling new shape. ‘The missus wants a deep green lawn right down to the beach so the kid doesn’t hurt his tootsies when he dashes off for a swim. Never mind some years it forgets to rain. Never mind the salt in every high tide will kill it off. Never mind if by some miracle it takes hold, I’l
l have to bust my gut mowing it every weekend.’

  Sam grunted in sympathy. Charlie, on a roll and with a like-minded audience, continued, sounding sad: ‘The kid’s a boy. Named after me. If my wife, bless her, has her way, he’ll never know a moment’s grief. How’s he going to learn if he’s never tested? That’s what I want to know.’

  Sam saw anxious eyes and struggled to find something solid for Charlie to grab on to. ‘It’s a different battlefield out there, mate. Kids are tested every day in new ways that you and I never even dreamed of. Wouldn’t worry too much anyway, until he’s old enough to toddle. By then the grass will be dead, the rocks sticking up like needlepoints and your missus will be relieved ’cause the little bloke won’t be able to make a beeline for the ocean before he can swim without turning the soles of his feet into mincemeat.’

  Charlie’s face cleared. ‘What do I owe you? And add a hundred bucks for the fighting fund. OK?’

  ‘Too bloody right.’

  Sam watches Jimmy finish clearing up. Coiling ropes tight as grass mats, stowing hoses and checking the hook on the crane is secured good and fast so no unsuspecting pirate steps on board to do a runner with the Mary Kay and, instead, gets his head knocked off. Truthfully, if any outlaw tried to hijack his barge, Sam would prefer to do the decapitating himself.

  Charlie’s words swirl uncomfortably. In his pocket, he has the name and number of the producer of one of the more decent television current affairs shows who wants to interview Jimmy. They’ve offered a fee, which Sam thinks is astronomical, given they’re asking for just a day of Jimmy’s time. He’d have enough to buy the car of his dreams (within reason), a warehouse full of fabric for Amelia’s thriving patchwork quilt business, a rhinestone collar for the dog and a new tinny as long as he settled for a second-hand outboard. Sam knows he has to discuss it with the kid and let him make up his own mind but there are ways of presenting cases that can sway a person further one way than the other. Artie’s given fair warning about the evils of fame, even if the limelight is only temporary. But Jimmy’s eighteen. If ever there was a right time to muscle up for testing time, it’s now. He mulls the pros and cons in an internal conversation with Kate as adversary. What would she think? What would she advise? What does she know about the downsides? But he finds himself circling his and her arguments without any clear-headed result. He tries Delaney’s mobile for the tenth time and the call goes straight to message bank.

  ‘Jimmy!’ he yells out.

  The kid bounces up from his cross-legged position on the bow, Longfellow by his side, and tears along the deck to the cabin.

  ‘Aye, aye, Sam!’

  ‘How much money you got saved, son?’

  ‘I’m watchin’ the pennies, Sam, but the pounds are gettin’ slower and slower.’

  ‘What kind of a car are you after anyway?’

  ‘A ute, just like yours. But new. Me mum reckons rust kills a car, Sam, and you got rust all over.’

  ‘Yeah. Right. So how much would it cost? Have you done the sums or are you just dreaming?’

  ‘Single cab. Tray back. Diesel. Eighteen thousand if I go for one of them new China utes. Why you askin’, Sam? You got a deal goin’ or somethin’? I’d go second-hand as long as the seller was legit. Know what I mean?’

  Sam sighs. Has one last go: ‘What’s this damn ute for, Jimmy? You’re an ocean boy, mate, with the feel of swells, not potholes, under your two platforms called feet.’

  ‘I just want it, Sam. I want a car of me own.’ His tone is wistful, the yearning so palpable Sam feels he could reel it in with only a fly for bait.

  ‘When we get to The Briny, you and me are going to have a chat. Man to man . . .’

  Jimmy hippity-hops, fixes excited eyes on Sam. Sensing big news, Longfellow yips and chases his fluffy tail for two spins before realising it’s a loser’s game. ‘What about? About a ute?’

  ‘One step at a time, Jimmy. Now, fenders over the side. We’ll soon be alongside the glorious Briny to tie up. Smell that, mate? That’s the sweetly spicy scent of one of Ettie’s famous summer prawn curries. She’s the answer to –’

  ‘Aw, cool it, Sam. Ya done that line over like a dinner for too many years.’

  Sam grins. In the distance, he catches movement in Ettie’s penthouse. Gives a wave. Then sees there’s no one there. The shadow of a passing cloud, maybe. But the sky is big and empty.

  Inside the café, the lunchtime rush is on. Ettie and Jenny dodge and weave, their movements counter-intuitive as they load fillings on to fat slices of sourdough bread, plate the daily special of a coconut-rich red prawn curry, slam the on switches on the espresso machine, and deliver the goods without spilling or dropping a single morsel. From where Sam stands in the doorway, they look like dancers in a frantically modern pas de deux, as his mum, who was a ballet nut, would have said, although he’s not sure she ever got the pronunciation spot on.

  ‘Ya better hurry up,’ Jimmy says, craning his neck around Sam’s blocky body, ‘the curry’s goin’ faster than daytime.’

  ‘Eh?’ Sam says. Then he gets it. Jimmy’s in a bigger hurry than normal. He wants to settle the food issue immediately so they can find a spare table on the deck and focus on the ute that Sam’s dangled in front of his eyes like a lottery win. He wonders if he should have kept his big mouth shut. Too late now, he thinks. ‘OK, mate. Order me a curry and whatever you fancy long as it’s got green stuff in it somewhere. Water for you, coffee for me. No arguments, mate. You run on rocket fuel without any help from Mr Coffee Bean. No saying where you’d end up after an espresso. Other side of the world most probably.’

  ‘Ya lookin’ out for me, Sam?’

  ‘Always.’

  Sam picks his way through the crowd to the last empty table. Ever since Delaney’s coverage of the fight to save Garrawi, business has been booming. Good and bad, he thinks, remembering Ettie’s swollen feet and small groans of exhaustion. He leans back in his seat, gobsmacked as usual by the beauty of Cook’s Basin. Wonders idly if he’ll ever lose sight of the fluid details that weave the real magic. He stares through water that beats steadily as a heart to where the sun strikes golden sand. Starfish – he stops to count – seven of them splayed out as still as statues.

  ‘Sam!’ Ettie shrieks, loud enough to splinter the frail timber walls of the café.

  He leaps out of his chair, dashes inside. Ettie has Jimmy by the collar of his T-shirt. Her face is bright red, dripping with sweat. She’s a bundle of nerves, anger and anxiety. ‘Get him out,’ she hisses. ‘Right now.’

  Jimmy looks distraught. He holds out his hand, palm turned upwards for Sam to see. ‘Poo,’ he says. ‘Picked it up off the floor, Sam, to tidy up.’

  Ettie rolls her eyes, looks about to faint.

  Jenny rushes forward to shield her from a cluster of curious customers. ‘Er . . .’ she says, lost for words.

  ‘Out, out! Right now,’ Ettie orders, her voice louder, higher.

  ‘But we’ve gotta find the skink, Ettie. The skink’ll die if we don’t. They gotta have fresh water, ya see . . .’

  Ettie’s eyebrows shoot up as high as they’ll go; her vocal cords are twisted so tight her words come out in a long squeak: ‘We can talk about the er . . . skink, later, Jimmy. Jenny’s got your lunch ready. I’ll bring it out.’

  Jimmy, feeling he’s edging his way back onto more stable ground, holds out his palm again: ‘See, ya know it’s a skink from the white tip on the end of the poo . . .’

  ‘Enough!’ Ettie looks even fainter.

  Jenny holds her up, patting her soothingly at the same time. She only lets go to grab a bottle of water out of the fridge. She lies the ice-cold length of it on the back of Ettie’s fiery red neck. ‘Take a break, Ettie. I’ll get Kate to fill in for a while,’ she advises.

  ‘Kate?’ Sam says. ‘She’s back?’

  Before Ettie can reply, one of t
he customers, a nerdy-looking bloke with bloodhound eyes and large teeth, says: ‘Could I get a look at that scat, kid?’

  Jimmy holds his hand out proudly, a smile splitting his face.

  ‘He’s right,’ says the nerd, sounding surprised. ‘It’s a skink . . . odd place to find a skink. Thought it might be a rat, but it’s not.’

  ‘Kid’s a genius, no doubt about it,’ Sam mutters, pulling Jimmy away, figuring he’ll deal with one crisis at a time. Jeez, what’s he talking about? Kate doesn’t fall into the crisis category. But his pulse is thumping hard and fast, he feels short of breath and he’s fighting back a heap of contradictory emotions. He wants to rush upstairs and grab her in his arms so tightly neither of them can breathe. He wants to never lay eyes on her again. He wants to settle opposite her over a bowl of steaming hot spaghetti Bolognese but couldn’t bear to share a meal that ended in a polite cheerio instead of a sweaty night in tangled sheets.

  He’d like to ask her how she’d handle Jimmy’s sudden media desirability; the fight for Garrawi; flying mattresses and how anyone could think reciting a secret mantra – to be revealed sometime in the future – for extended periods of time with your eyes closed and your legs crossed, could end in unaided human flight; and then there’s the goons and a strategy to neutralise them.

  At the same time, he doesn’t want to start any conversation because he’s terrified he will bend the drift of it into another shape that includes love, marriage and a handful of kids. He tells himself to get a grip. He reminds himself he’s already made the decision to walk away, that he’s better off out of it. The fact brings him a degree of calm. He wonders how she got along with her brother. Ah jeez, who’s he kidding? He’s still besotted.