Page 35 of Catch of a Lifetime
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Itook my morning coffee outside to drink in the garden. The hammock hadn’t survived its brief stint as a stretcher and I’d ordered a new one. Until it arrived next week, the sun lounger was perfectly adequate. I checked the news on my phone—always the wrong move—replied to a text from Marcy, skimmed a couple of articles inThe Economist—about as good an idea as checking the news—finished my coffee, and then I did it.
I brushed my fingers over the scar to check in on Dave.
I’ll admit that my mood deflated when the brief flash showed him out at sea. Part of me had hoped that I’d find him watching me, as he had been at the rock pool. Failing that, I’d hoped that he was at least nearby.
No.
He was…?
It looked as if…?
My heart plunged, rebounded, and tried to escape my throat as he crept up on a large, dark shadow.
When I realised he was sneaking up on the hull of a boat and not, in fact, a kraken, I collapsed back in the sun lounger with a wheeze of relief and a hand to my fluttery chest.
Goddammit.
The next flash I got of him, he’d cruised off to one side of the boat and was cheerfully ripping a hole in a net.
Uh-oh.
He shoved an arm in, snagged what looked like a huge bass, and thrust upward to the surface. I got a very quick glimpse of daylight as he broke through.
Daylight, and Jerry’s bug-eyed, outraged face, which quickly scrunched up as Dave slapped a fin full of water up over the side of theMary Jane.
Filtered through Dave’s hearing, Jerry’s bellow of rage sounded more like a lowing cow than human speech.
Make that an angry bull, I thought five hours later. Jerry whacked the garden gate open, making it squeal on its hinges before it ricocheted to a pistol-shot close, and stomped down the garden path to stand in front of me, hands on his hips and steam coming out his ears.
“Good day at work, dear?” I asked, and sipped my beer.
Jerry pointed a stiff arm in a seaward direction and growled out, “Do you know what yourarseholeboyfriend has been doing all day?”
Stealing Jerry’s catch and scoffing every last fish.
I’d checked on him multiple times, absolutely fascinated. Every single time, he was helping himself to a new snack.
“No,” I said. “What has he been doing?”
“Stealing my catch, that’s what! Don’t you dare go laughing at me, Joe McKenzie. It’s not funny!”
“It’s a little funny.”
“No, it’s not. He fucking tracked theMary Janeall day, and when we pulled the net up, do you know how much we caught?”
“No.”
“Neither do I, becausehe ate it all.”
I laughed.
“I’m offended,” Jerry said, and sat heavily on the lounger next to mine. “Get me a damn beer.”
I was ahead of him. I’d brought a couple of bottles out in my little Yeti cooler. I snagged one, popped the lid off for him, and handed it over.
Jerry glared at me and took a good long pull before throwing himself sulkily back in the lounger. It was a sturdy, solid steamer chair, and I’d had it made by the same guy who’d made my bed frame. The loungers I’d bought from B&Q had very quickly become matchsticks once Dave had a go on them. And had me on them.
