Chapter 8 #4
‘If he’s even sick, that is,’ Jeff said, tossing the craypot overboard and throwing the rest of the line in after it.
‘Here’s hoping he isn’t racking up a drug debt or locked up in a police cell in Robe.
I want a clean boat, is that too much to ask?
But stop deflecting. What’s shaking with Madam Brewington-Major? ’
Spencer watched his friend tap at the GPS and power the boat forward.
‘Nothing, it just wasn’t a good fit. I should’ve listened to my gut instead of going through with the whole kit and caboodle. I’m glad it’s over, honestly. Give me a swarm of bees or a drug-hungry deckhand over TV cameras and fast-tracked relationships any day.’
There was something about the vastness of the ocean, being on a single boat bobbing around on the waves with no land in sight and only the occasional albatross for company, that felt more poignant than any counsellor’s room or confessional box.
‘That sucks, Hawkie.’
‘Half the cast were having it off with people they weren’t even matched with, and the other half you probably wouldn’t want to touch with a ten-foot barge pole.
If the agriculture industry was relying on any of those people to produce our country’s food and fibres, we’d be up the creek.
Maybe I’ve had my chance at true love, and anything else would be greedy. ’
Jeff pulled back on the horsepower and they slowed as the next buoys came into sight. ‘I don’t think it’s greedy. Mia doesn’t either, and I bet if you asked Addison, or Ian and Louisa, or your folks, they’d say you deserve it.’
Spencer felt his friend’s laser focus, but he kept his gaze trained on the fluorescent orange buoys and the rope he needed to hook to bring them on board. They were halfway through the eighty pots Jeff was licensed for, if he didn’t broach the subject now, he never would.
‘Have you seen Clem recently?’
Jeff washed his hands in the bucket of running seawater beside the bait station and nodded.
‘I missed her at the hospital the other day, but she dropped around a couple of nights later for tea with her kids. Should have invited you too, mate. You missed a good night, I slow-roasted some venison, Mia’s folks dropped off a heap of freshly cured prosciutto and olives and Clem went to town with desserts, like usual. ’
‘And how was it?’ Spencer asked.
‘Yeah, beautiful. The jam was a bit chunky in the sponges, perhaps, but apart from that it was marvellous.’
Spencer laughed. Life’s good when your worst problem is the chunkiness of the jam. ‘I meant the Crossleys, not the desserts, you idiot.’
Jeff looked up, curious. ‘Clem? She was good too … I think. Harriet was telling me about the play. It was the first I’d heard about Mia doing the costumes again, but it’s her funeral.
I love you mate, but I’m not slaving over lights or props or costumes for months and months.
Already feels like my cup’s overflowing. ’
Jeff manoeuvred the boat until they were alongside the buoys. ‘Why do you ask? You never cared much for Clem before.’
‘I never disliked her,’ said Spencer.
‘You never gave her much time, though. I mean, if there were five people in a room, you’d always chat to Mia or Hazel, or the kids. We all thought it was because she reminded you of Belle, nobody held it against you.’
Now that he’d spent more time with Clem, that notion seemed ludicrous.
Doubt crept into Spencer’s mind. He’d been a little cool maybe, he was big enough to admit that, but as he watched his friend hook the line and loop it around the winch, he hoped he hadn’t come across as rude.
‘Is she one of those helicopter parents who thinks their kid is the next big thing and demands a lead role?’ asked Jeff.
‘Nah,’ Spencer said. ‘Not so far, anyway. She was pretty upset at the hospital, thought you might know why.’
Normally it would feel uncomfortable talking about Clem like this, but that was the thing about their conversations out at sea.
Having nothing on the horizon but the waves and the birds and the odd glimmer of land in the distance invited big discussions, and allowed ideas and theories to float to the surface.
Jeff had been mates with Belle all through high school, and had welcomed Spencer when he’d arrived in the Limestone Coast all those years ago.
After a decade of friendship, Spencer trusted him implicitly.
‘Yeah, I think she was crook after she had one of her girls. Traumatic birth or something. She’s never said as much, but Mia and Hazel were talking about it the other day.
Heart of gold, but there’s something about pregnancy and babies that sets her on edge.
Secret women’s business,’ Jeff said with a shudder.
‘I don’t ask questions in case they start going into detail, you know? ’
The craypot broke the surface. Jeff slowed the winch, and Spencer stepped in to help guide the pot onto the cradle.
‘Doesn’t sound fun, she was pretty upset.’
‘I guess everyone’s had a few hard knocks by our age. I know someone else who’s pretty good at changing the subject when the conversation turns to heartache and sorrow.’
Spencer frowned at the handful of crayfish in the pot. Unlike the last pot of flapping, crawling crustaceans, these ones were limp and lifeless.
‘Bloody octopus, they’ve raided the whole damn pot. When I get my hands on them …’
Jeff tossed the dead crayfish back into the water. Some were half eaten, the others were intact, but their flesh had been rendered useless by the octopus bite, no good for bait or sale.
‘Some chapters are easier to forget than to dredge up all the time.’
Jeff was silent as he baited up, moved the boat forward a few hundred metres and tossed the pot into a new spot.
‘Yeah, but sometimes shit’s worse when you let it fester.
Did I tell you about the manky wound that bloke got in Bali?
You know, the guy who crews for the Petralina?
Shonkiestlooking boat in the Southend fleet and a workforce to match.
You know, whatshisname.’ Jeff snapped his fingers, as if that would help him remember. ‘Got some tropical infection—’
Spencer smiled to himself. He didn’t know, but like most of his friend’s tales, he looked forward to finding out.
‘Anyway, I sank a few beers with a mate who knows their skipper, and he said they’ve just amputated three of old mate’s toes.
He hobbled home from Kuta with some backyard pain killers, then spent the rest of winter playing video games and dirt bike riding, and by the time he saw a doctor, it was nearly too late to save his foot.
What a wanker. Letting stuff fester is always bad news. ’
Spencer ignored Jeff’s pointed look, but as he stared into the ocean, he couldn’t help wondering what price he’d eventually pay for things he’d pushed to the backburner, hoping they’d miraculously resolve themselves.