The Winter Sea

by Morrissey, Di

  Joe could not believe the severity of the sentence. He asked Mr Walker where they could go from here. Mr Walker said that usually there would be an appeal, but that Patrick had absolutely refused this option.

  ‘Patrick told me that as far as he is concerned he will serve out his sentence and that will be the end of the matter. He has no intention of appealing. I’m so sorry, Joe, the whole thing is such a terrible tragedy for your family.’

  *

  The Aquino family withdrew from the social life of Whitby Point, concentrating on their fishing business and supporting each other. Joe tried to visit Patrick as often as he could, but both of them were uncomfortable during Joe’s visits to Long Bay Gaol in Sydney. Patrick did not seem to want to talk about the family so, after a brief summary of what was happening to the Aquinos, Joe would turn the conversation to the business of fishing.

  Proudly he told Patrick about how he was using the new echo sounders on the trawlers, which enabled him to better chart the depth and elevations of the seabed and map the reefs. ‘A lot of the other vessels can’t work out where we go now. Their equipment isn’t up to it. Tell you what, we had a bit of fun the other night.’ Joe paused, and Patrick nodded for him to continue. ‘We found a really good patch of ground to the south-east. Brought in some good catches, which had certain people really curious.’ Joe grinned. ‘So next time we went out in the dark, really early, before there were any other boats about. We were heading south for about an hour when your brother looked back and saw a flicker of red light. He realised that it was the reflection in a window of someone lighting a cigarette! Buggers were following us – without their lights on!’

  Patrick raised an eyebrow and Joe went on. ‘It was still dark and we kept leading them on but knew we were heading towards the reef. When dawn came we set about pretending we were preparing to shoot the net and we changed direction. While the boat behind us was also setting up their nets, we took off in a hurry, like we were trawling, and when he tried to follow us he found he was jammed on the reef. So we set off for our real fishing ground and left him there.’

  ‘What happened when he got back?’ asked Patrick.

  ‘He was pretty cranky with us. We heard he ordered a sounder quick smart.’

  ‘But, Papà, if everyone gets a sounder, the fish won’t have a chance,’ said Patrick.

  Joe nodded. ‘That’s what I’ve been saying for years. Do you miss it, Pat? The fishing? Bloody hard locked up in here,’ said Joe, looking around the harsh surroundings and thinking of the fresh air and wide open sea. He knew he wouldn’t manage being deprived of being out in the freedom of the sea and the sky.

  Patrick held up his hand, ending the conversation. ‘I’m doing all right, Papà. I’m pleased you’re doing well.’

  *

  As the first Christmas without Carlo and Patrick approached, the rest of the town came together to celebrate the blessing of the fleet. All the fishing families had spent weeks preparing their costumes, decorating floats for the grand parade and making food for picnics. The Aquino family decided it was time to join in the town festivities again so they prepared a traditional Sicilian luncheon and invited a few of their friends. While every Italian province had their own patron saint, it was St Peter, the patron saint of fishermen, who always led the procession. A priest came down from Wollongong to help the parish priest deliver the blessing at the wharf where all the beautifully decorated fishing boats were moored. The day was filled with celebrations and in the evening the eating and the entertainment continued.

  As Joe listened to a singing competition between two local tenors, he was filled with sadness that so many of the people he loved were not there to enjoy this day with him.

  Ricardo was becoming restless as more and more Italians moved into the area to fish between Wollongong and Eden. The competition was becoming even more intense.

  ‘Papà, I think we should deal with the Sydney fish markets again, especially when we get really good tuna. The tuna-canning factories that have set up in South Australia have brought the price of tuna down, but I know that the Japanese are starting to pay big prices for the whole fish. What if we start to take tuna to Sydney to sell there for the Japanese market? We can drive up, like we used to years ago.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right. But we can still keep the local co-op going for the rest of our catch.’

  ‘And Papà, I was also thinking that I could fish out of Sydney. Just for a while. There are too many boats here now and not enough fish. Sydney might be better.’

  ‘Would you take your whole family?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’ll fish out of Blackwattle Bay, and we’ll rent some place around Balmain.’

  Joe sighed. He had a lot of memories of Balmain. He realised that he couldn’t deny Ricardo his plan, but now he was losing even more of his family. Thank heavens for little Greta. Gail was frequently around at Joe’s with Carlo’s daughter and the three of them had become very close.

  Ricardo and his family enjoyed being in Sydney. The city was certainly livelier than Whitby Point. Joe often came up for the weekend. Once he was sure of the route to Ricardo’s house, he was happy to drive all the way, instead of driving only as far as Wollongong before taking the train.

  On these visits, Joe usually went out to Long Bay Gaol to see Patrick but when he suggested Ricardo go with him, Ricardo shook his head.

  ‘No, I’ll go out another day. That way Patrick will have twice as many visits.’

  For Joe, the Sydney of the 1960s was a very different place from the Sydney he had first known all those years ago. Sometimes he and Ricardo would wander around Blackwattle Bay where ageing tramp steamers, old fishing boats, ferries, family boats and work boats were jumbled together in a graveyard of dying vessels. Joe told Ricardo how proud he’d been of his first boat.

  ‘Now I have them custom built. But that first little boat I had in Whitby Point – I could not believe that I had a boat of my own. Of course half of it belonged to your grandfather, Franco, but I was still my own boss.’

  ‘I always think of boats as having their own personalities,’ said Ricardo. ‘Strong and courageous, seeing us safely through turbulent seas and risky ventures, but each one has her own special quirk, her own peculiar trait.’

  Joe laughed. ‘I think that’s why we call boats “she”. They want to do their thing, their way.’

  One day as they wandered down to the foreshore at Balmain, Joe told Ricardo the story of Sophia. ‘I was very naive. I didn’t realise that she belonged to a local gangster, but it all worked out for the best. I had to leave Sydney, and that’s how I met Franco and married his lovely daughter Evalina, who gave me three wonderful sons.’ Then, as if remembering again that he now had only two of those sons, his eyes filled with tears.

  Ricardo put his arm around his father and said, ‘Papà, we love you so much. You have been a great father and you have achieved so much in the fishing industry by your determination and innovations. You came to this country with nothing and look where you are today. A pillar of your community and well respected within your industry.’

  Joe nodded and they walked on.

  *

  A few months later, Joe visited Patrick with sad news. Franco had died.

  ‘I suppose that feels like the end of an era for you, Papà.’

  ‘Everything feels like the end of an era. Fishing is now so competitive and our overheads are so high – I wonder where we’ll be in ten years time. Ricardo feels the same. I don’t think he’s very happy with the fishing around Sydney. We’re not much better off than we were in Whitby Point. But I had to let him have a go and find this out for himself.’

  ‘Papà, I’ve been doing a lot of reading about the fishing industry in South Australia. Getting the information hasn’t been easy, but I wrote to the CSIRO and because I’m your step-son, they have been very kind to me and sent me a lot of material. You know what I think? If you want the business to expand, maybe you should go over to Port Lincoln and fish fo
r bluefin tuna there. The Japanese pay big dollars for sashimi-quality tuna and, with the canning side of things as well, the South Australian fishermen are doing very nicely.’

  ‘That would be a big move. I’m too old for such a change,’ said Joe, shaking his head.

  ‘Papà, you’re still in your sixties and you’re very fit. Of course you could make the change,’ said Patrick.

  Joe smiled. ‘Thanks for that, but I don’t want to leave Whitby Point. Too much of my life is bound up in that place. But I will talk your idea over with Ricardo.’

  Next time Joe visited Patrick he told him that he and Ricardo had talked about Patrick’s idea.

  ‘Ricardo thinks you’re right. Fishing in the Spencer Gulf is the way forward. He’s prepared to go over for two or three years and get the business up and running. I’ll stay in Whitby Point. Now the only question that remains is where you’ll go when you’re out of here. Whitby Point or South Australia?’ said Joe enthusiastically.

  Patrick looked away. ‘Papà, I don’t think that my heart is in fishing anymore. It’s in the Aquino blood, but I’m not sure that it’s still in mine.’

  ‘What is this nonsense? Of course you’ll love fishing again, as soon as you go back out on one of the boats. It’s what we Aquinos do.’ He reached across the little table that lay between them and took Patrick’s hand.

  ‘Papà, I’m not an Aquino.’

  ‘You are to me,’ said Joe simply.

  ‘Thank you, Papà. Thank you for everything. You have been the best father to me.’ His words were said with such feeling that Joe couldn’t answer for a moment. Then the prison guard signalled that visiting time was done and Patrick got up, smiled at Joe and walked away. It was the last time Joe ever saw Patrick.

  Two weeks later Patrick was released. He never returned to Whitby Point or wrote to Joe to tell him where he was.

  Joe was devastated.

  ‘Why would he do that?’ he asked Ricardo. ‘Why would he not tell me he was getting out of gaol? It doesn’t make sense to me.’

  ‘Perhaps he just wanted to make a new start. Maybe he wanted to go somewhere where no one knew what had happened. Staying with us would mean that there would always be whispers and gossip,’ said Ricardo.

  Joe nodded. ‘But it is sad if he feels that way,’ he told Ricardo.

  *

  Years later, Joe sat on his favourite chair in the mellow afternoon sun on the verandah, staring at the ocean. His gnarled hands rested on his walking stick. He thought back over all that had happened in his life with pride and regret. He now knew that Patrick’s release from prison had been more the closing of a chapter than a new beginning. Every time he thought about Patrick it was with sadness that Bridie’s son had disappeared from their lives. He hoped that wherever he was, he was happy.

  His son Carlo was another huge loss. How does one ever get over the death of a beloved son? But even that now seemed such a long time ago. Carlo would have been pleased with the way Greta had turned out. Such a lovely girl and now married and expecting a baby of her own. Life goes on, Joe thought to himself.

  Ricardo, Joe thought with unabashed pride, had done very well for himself and the Aquinos. After three years away in South Australia, where he had established a successful tuna business, Ricardo had returned to Whitby Point to continue raising his family. They, in turn, were now also becoming involved in the business. Joe thought that Raimondo, whom everyone called Ray, was becoming as dependable as his father.

  Pietro had remained in Hollywood, winning many awards for his work as an art director, including two Oscars. Pietro had, over the years, frequently asked his father to visit him, but Joe had no interest in going to Los Angeles. In desperation at his father’s continual refusals, Pietro had suggested that they both go to Italy for a holiday. Joe had agreed to this, but only because it gave him the chance to comply with Emilia’s request that her ashes be returned to her island.

  He thought finally about his two wives. Evalina, good and dutiful, the mother of his sons, the daughter of his partner Franco. He had to admit that marrying her had set him up for life, but he knew that in his heart of hearts his feelings for her could never compare with his love for Bridie. He had so adored Bridie, and the greatest miracle was that she had loved him back. Perhaps God had planned it for a reason, two wonderful women, with whom he’d shared two different lives. But he chided his God for taking Bridie too soon.

  And sometimes, when he least expected it, he could still see her red curls bouncing ahead of him into the distance. Joe closed his eyes and a small smile softened his features and he heard, from across the space of time and memory, the lilting voice of Bridie as they’d journeyed across the sea to the place where they’d found their greatest happiness.

  Whitby Point, 2011

  The remaining tears began to dry on Cassie’s cheeks. She’d wept into Bill’s fur, pouring out her pain and frustration over the shock of hearing that her beloved father had killed Carlo Aquino, Michael’s grandfather. The patient dog’s coat was sticky and damp with her tears. Cassie had had no idea that her father had even known the Aquinos and now Ricardo Aquino had left her a lot of money in his will. None of it made any sense and it was all simply too hard to take in.

  When she had no more tears to shed, she went and washed her face, made herself a cup of strong coffee and dialled her mother’s mobile. There was no answer. Then Cassie realised that it was one of the days Jenny played bridge, so her phone would be switched off. She wouldn’t be able to reach her till early evening.

  As she slowly drank her coffee, she began to think that Jenny probably didn’t know anything about her father’s connection with the Aquinos either. Whitby Point would be the last place her mother would have encouraged her to visit and settle down in had she known about her husband’s history here. And Jenny, like Cassie, had been enthusiastic about the town as soon as she saw it. No, Cassie was sure that her mother was as ignorant of her father’s relationship with the Aquinos as she had been. Now she was going to have to tell her mother that the man they both loved, the sweet-natured, patient, gentle Patrick, had been to gaol for killing the grandfather of the man with whom she had fallen in love.

  Cassie took her coffee over to the computer and googled her father’s name. A lot of Patrick Sullivans came up. She began to scroll through them but after a few minutes of searching, she could tell that none of them referred to her father. She tried some more search options but found nothing useful. Frustrated, she went outside and began to pace up and down the old jetty. She had to find out what had happened between her father and the Aquinos.

  Frank was obviously as shocked as she was about the money Ricardo had bequeathed her. For both of them the reason for this gesture was a total mystery, but while Frank was so furious and aggressive, it was unlikely she’d get any answers from him, if indeed he had any. And Michael. How would Michael react to this revelation? Frank’s angry words rang in her head: Your father killed Michael’s grandfather Carlo.

  Perhaps it was some awful, silly mistake. Maybe there was another Patrick Sullivan. But then Frank had said that it was Cassandra Sullivan who’d been named in Ricardo’s will. Maybe that was another Cassandra Sullivan, too. Her mind was spinning. It was crazy. She tried to get her head around the fact that, according to Frank, her father had been in prison. That didn’t make sense. She had always thought people who had been to gaol as being hard and brutal, but her father was a lovely man, whom everybody adored and respected. There had to be a sensible explanation somewhere. She would simply have to find it. Of course the person she must speak to was Michael, but she dreaded having to do so. She couldn’t bear it if what Frank had told her was to come between them. She took a deep breath and tried to put herself in Michael’s shoes. How would he feel? Would he want to have anything more to do with her? Would he think that she had only used him as a way of contacting Ricardo? Surely he wouldn’t think that she was a gold-digger?

  Cassie walked down the jetty and then went u
p onto the deck. Bill was stretched out, his head on his paws, watching her with concerned eyes. He seemed to know she was distressed but he was unsure of how to help her. When she slumped into a chair he padded over to her and laid his head in her lap. Cassie sat there, scratching the dog’s neck until he lifted his head, his ears alert.

  She heard a car door slam and her name being called.

  ‘I’m on the deck!’ she called out.

  ‘Hey, Cassie.’ Trixie and Geoff came around the side, smiling as Bill went to welcome them.

  ‘Hi, fella, you’re looking fit and happy,’ said Geoff, rubbing Bill’s ears. ‘Hi, Cass. Hope you don’t mind us dropping in. We know you’re closed tonight. Trixie made a new concoction for you to try.’

  ‘Hi, Geoff. Hi, Trixie. This is a lovely surprise. Do you want a tea, coffee?’

  ‘Never say no to a cuppa,’ grinned Geoff. Then he asked, ‘Hey, is something wrong? You look a bit down in the mouth.’

  ‘You might say that.’ Suddenly tears streamed down Cassie’s face again.

  Trixie rushed to her and put her arms around her. ‘Cassie dear, can we help? What’s up?’ When Cassie didn’t answer, giving her friend a stricken look instead, Trixie said, ‘Geoff, go and put the kettle on. You look as though you could do with a cuppa, too, Cassie luv?’

  Cassie nodded and straightened up, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘Sorry. I just heard some really shocking news. I’m trying to take it in.’

  ‘Can we help? Do you want to tell us? I mean if it’s personal, we’ll understand. But I hate to see you so upset.’ Trixie pulled up a deckchair.

  Cassie drew a deep breath. ‘It’s something to do with my family, something I’ve just found out, and it’s so hard to believe . . . I’m just . . .’