Page 42 of Catch of a Lifetime
I quickly brushed my magic button.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” Jerry said with satisfaction, celebrating with another Hobnob. “Stuffing his face, isn’t he?” He brushed at the crumbs that landed on his jumper.
“Yes. He is.”
“Where is he?”
“In the sea.”
Jerry made a go-on gesture at me with both hands.
I stared at him. “Jerry, he’s underwater. I don’t exactly recognise any landmarks.”
He shrugged and reached for another Hobnob.
Maybe Jerry was the one who had worms.
I connected with Dave again, shuddered when he caught something, and decided to leave him alone for now. “Feels like he’s pretty far out,” I said, scowling at the tremble in my voice.
“Good. Means he’ll stop snitching my catch.”
Far out, and deep. Heading away from land.
Jerry must have read my thoughts on my face. “He’s coming back, Joe.”
God, I hoped so.
12
That hope took a battering as the days ticked by.
My faith that Dave would come back this year stretched thin as I sensed him swim farther and farther away from the coast.
It stretched and it frayed, but I kept a firm hold of it and it didn’t break.
Even when we were well into June, it didn’t break.
Although I didn’t stop checking on him entirely, I did stop doing it as often. I saw the same thing, every time: Dave, somewhere in the crushing deep, ever on the hunt.
All in all, I had only myself to blame for what happened. If I’d been checking more often, I’d have noticed that he’d changed direction. I’d have noticed the distance between us closing. I’d have noticed that his intense focus was aimed at a different target.
And I wouldn’t have opened my front door on a Wednesday morning to pick up the paper, and shrieked when I slid on the enormous brown octopus that someone had deposited on the doorstep.
I was wearingflip-flops.
There was a scant five millimetres of rubber sole between me and the wet octopus, and that only lasted half a second, because the moment I applied downward pressure, the sides bulged up and over my bare foot.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if I’d calmly lifted my foot up and stepped to the side, but that’s not what I did. Of course it’s not what I did. It was seven o’clock in the morning! I’d had one coffee! I was surprised!
By the time I was done dancing around, I’d had tentacles slapping my ankles, something made a hideous wheezing sound—it wasn’t me, I was still busy shrieking—and for the grand finale, I all but dribbled the poor thing like a football down the garden path as I attempted to boot it into the flowerbed.
“Holy shit,” I said, bent over at the waist with my hands on my thighs as I caught my breath. “Oh my god.”
I couldn’t stop smiling.
Not because any of that was amusing. It wasn’t. If I never touched another octopus in my life, that would be great, thanks.
Dave was back.
