Authors: Di Morrissey
‘You’re not lonely, are you?’ Jenny asked. ‘How long are you staying down there? You can’t stay there forever.’
‘I’m not thinking about anything for the moment, Mum. This is R and R, remember.’
‘Of course. I’m glad you’re liking it. Have you met any nice people?’ asked Jenny.
‘A lovely man, Geoff Spring. In his sixties, the local handyman. He’s bringing me some firewood,’ said Cassie.
‘Oh, I see. Not the jetset then?’ said Jenny.
‘I’m sure there are a few locals at the pub on Friday night but I’m not about to go to find out. I’m fine, Mum, really I am.’
‘If you’re sure. Well, since you’re fine, I’ve decided to go off for a holiday to climb Mount Kinabalu in Borneo,’ Jenny told her daughter.
‘Some holiday! And you’re worried about me,’ said Cassie, laughing. ‘Who are you going with?’
‘That group of experienced walkers I’ve travelled with before. I’ve told you about them. I’ll be fine and I won’t be gone long,’ replied Jenny.
‘Take care, enjoy yourself and try to phone me when you can. Love you, Mum.’
*
Late that afternoon Geoff appeared with a load of wood, which he stacked on the side of the little porch. He presented Cassie with a plastic plate covered in aluminium foil. Cassie peeled back the foil and smiled.
‘Whiting. What lovely fat ones too. Thank you. Did you catch them?’
‘Certainly did. Just off the beach. Thought as I was coming this way with the wood, I’d bring the rod for a bit of a fish, seeing as there’s a break in the weather.’ He glanced skywards. ‘Not going to last though, so batten down the hatches. I’ve only cleaned the fish. Do you want me to fillet them?’
‘I can do that, thanks, Geoff. I really appreciate this. How often do you fish?’ Cassie asked.
‘As often as I can, without the tourists around. The weather might be cold but the fishing is great. Have you ever been fishing?’
‘Sure have, Geoff. I know a lot about fish. As a matter of fact, I practically grew up around the Sydney fish markets. I loved going there with my dad.’ She smiled. ‘My parents owned a fish restaurant. Dad started a little fish and chip shop and it grew into a seafood restaurant. It was really popular.’
‘Whereabouts in Sydney was your parents’ place? I might have been there.’
‘Manly. Right on the Corso. It was called the Seven Seas.’
Geoff looked at Cassie in surprise. ‘I know it! Anyone who’s been to Manly knows it. Lovely place. Great food! Well, imagine that.’ He looked impressed. ‘I reckon you could teach me a thing or two about cooking fish.’
‘I wouldn’t say that. The only time I worked in the restaurant I was a waitress. Dad died some time back and Mum eventually sold the Seven Seas. But Whitby Point seems to be the place to fish.’ Cassie was genuinely enthused.
‘You bet. This place was once a really important part of the fishing industry. Started by the Italians. Some of them are still around but the place is nothing like it used to be. No, in its heyday, Whitby Point was a thriving fishing town. I remember one time a big bluefin tuna fetched sixty thousand dollars. Sent to Japan of course.’
‘What happened to the fishing industry?’ asked Cassie.
‘Lots of things. Overfishing, too many cheap imports, ocean temperature’s changed, government regulations, you name it, but it’s hurt a lot of local people, which is why we rely so much on tourism now.’
‘That’s such a pity,’ said Cassie. ‘Geoff, would you like a drink? I have red wine or white wine. No beer, I’m afraid. I can always put the kettle on if you’d prefer a cuppa. I’ll just put these fish away.’
‘Well, a glass of red wine never goes astray.’ He sat on the top step of the porch as Cassie went inside and returned with two glasses of wine.
‘Cheers. You settling in all right?’
‘Feel like I’ve lived here for ages. Bit cold for swimming, though.’
‘The water’s always a bit cool here on the south coast, but I like the ocean a bit crisp on a hot day. There’re a couple of old fellas here who swim in the rock pool all year round.’
Cassie laughed. ‘To each his own. Tell me, I’ve been meaning to ask someone, how come this is named Whitby Point? Who was Mr Whitby?’
‘Can’t say who the original bloke was, but Captain Cook named the place when he sailed up the east coast. This little inlet must have reminded him of the fishing town of Whitby in Yorkshire where he learned his seamanship.’
‘Interesting. I suppose you never forget the place you come from,’ mused Cassie. ‘What about you, Geoff? Where was home originally?’
‘Not that far from here, the other side of Wollongong, Stanwell Park. Lovely spot, but my family moved up to Newcastle when I was pretty little, though we always went back in the holidays to camp there. You from Sydney? A lot of city people come down here over the summer holidays. Not many around at present. Can I ask why you chose this time of year? Not that there’s anything wrong with that.’
Suddenly Cassie wanted to tell someone about her problems and Geoff seemed such a kind man. ‘I’m trying to deal with my marriage. Well, actually I’m over it. I’m more adjusting to what to do with myself after I get the divorce. I’ve also just quit my corporate job and now I’m wondering what I’m going to do next. I always thought I knew what career I wanted, and now I’ve found that what I was doing was wrong for me. So I’m down here by myself, so that I can have some space to think.’
Geoff nodded. ‘It’s a bit of a lost art, just thinking and taking it slow and easy. I think people get fearful about all kinds of things and feel that the minute they stop whatever it is that they’re doing, their lives are no longer meaningful, productive or fulfilling, when, in fact, it’s a great challenge to go slow.’ He pointed at Cassie’s wristwatch. ‘What appointments do you have down here?’
Cassie thought a moment, took off her watch and pushed it into her pocket. ‘You’re right,’ she said, laughing.
‘Savour time, don’t rush. Fishing makes a clock stop.’
‘That’s so true. I’d forgotten.’
‘By the way, how’re you going to cook the fish? In batter with some chips?’
‘No way,’ said Cassie, laughing. ‘I’m just going to toss the fillets in a bit of flour and fry them lightly in butter, put some fresh parsley and a squeeze of lemon juice on top and serve them with a green salad.’
‘Makes me hungry. I’d better be off and help the wife rustle up dinner.’
‘Sounds good, Geoff,’ said Cassie. ‘And I’ll take your advice. You said that there were Italians in Whitby Point; is there a good Italian restaurant here? I might eat out one night, for a change.’
‘Not these days, but the Indian restaurant is really good. I can recommend that.’ He glanced at the sky again. ‘Cassie, latch things down tonight, I reckon a southerly is going to blow up.’ He pointed to a thin layer of clouds accumulating over the hill. ‘Thanks for the drink.’
As he left, Cassie suddenly called out to him. ‘I know this might sound out of left field, but I was wondering if next time you go fishing, I could come along, too? It’d be great to fish again. I can pick up a line or a rod in town.’
His face lit up. ‘A girl who wants to fish! Well that’s a treat. I’ve got plenty of spares. I’ll give you a shout next time it’s looking good.’
*
Cassie felt happy after her casual chat with the gentle Geoff. He had listened to her, made no demands and held no expectations, and he had given her some very good advice. Her time was now indeed her own.
Simple as her meal was, Cassie enjoyed the time she spent preparing it. She set a place at the table for herself with care. In the gathering gloom she foraged in the scrub behind the cabin for some gum leaves and flowering wattle, and used a glass as a vase. She lit the pot-bellied stove, savoured another glass of red wine and, as the day dimmed, she didn’t turn on the radio or her iPod but lingered over her food. She’d decided to leave the squid for another day and eat Geoff’s fish, and she was pleased that she had for she hadn’t tasted such good fish for a long time. Not since her mother had sold the restaurant. She wasn’t sure if it was because the fish was so fresh, or because it was a gift from Geoff Spring who radiated kindness, or because she had cooked it with care and pleasure, or whether it was a combination of all these factors. For the first time in a long while she felt at peace, with herself and with the world. She couldn’t quite analyse how or why she felt the way she did, but Cassie sensed that she had reached some kind of milestone.
Geoff was right. That evening a windstorm and rain battered the windows and threatened to lift the roof off the little cabin. Or so it seemed to Cassie as she went to bed by candlelight since the power had gone off.
She was awakened by a crack and a crash and she realised that a tree branch had come down near the cabin. She heard a thump on the little porch, the window rattled and there was a distant flash of lightning. Cassie listened carefully as the noise on the porch continued. She had a vision of a strange man stumbling around outside. She put her head under the doona and for the first time a small knot of fright tightened in her chest.
Nevertheless, eventually she slept and when she opened her eyes she discovered a grey dawn outside. The rain and wind had gone but it was cold. She poked the remains of the fire and put some twigs on the glowing embers, watching with satisfaction as they caught alight.
She boiled some water for a cup of tea and then, holding her mug, with the doona trailing over her shoulders, she opened the door to see what the wild weather had done.
The porch was sodden, scattered with leaves and twigs. As she took a step there was a bang and the old chair tipped up, making her jump with shock. At the far end of the little porch stood a shivering, skinny dog. Cassie moved forward and it lay down, cowering in fright, its chin on its paws. She put her mug down and walked slowly forward holding out her hands for the dog to sniff. The dog squirmed forward on its belly to smell her outstretched hands and then it licked them.
‘Oh you poor, pathetic creature,’ she murmured. She stroked its head and slowly ran her hand along its flanks. Its ribs were clearly visible through its matted hair. It looked to be a young dog, a black and tan kelpie crossed with something with long hair. It had a kelpie’s face and intelligent brown eyes, and a kelpie’s body shape but the fur was thicker with black markings against the brown. When Cassie stood up the dog shrank away from her once more.
It took a little while to cajole the dog to come indoors but, bribed with soft words and a bit of toast, he slunk inside. Cassie put a bowl of water down for him and looked for something more to feed him. He quickly devoured a bowl of cereal and milk.
She dressed and cleaned up inside the cabin and swept the porch while the exhausted dog slept in front of the fire. It wore no collar and seemed in such poor condition that she thought it must be a stray. Cassie wondered if it had accidentally fallen from a ute or a truck, or whether it had been deliberately dumped.
When the sun came out Cassie decided to walk into town for the paper and debated whether she should leave the dog indoors as it was still soundly asleep. Instead she pulled out an old beach towel and coaxed him onto the wicker chair on the porch where she left him munching some Anzac biscuits.
As she reached the road the lady from the fish co-op drove past and gave her a big wave. Then the boy who worked in the garage where she’d got her petrol drove past and gave her a grin and a thumbs up. Cassie was impressed by the friendliness of the locals, but when another car passed her and signalled at something behind her, Cassie looked around. Trotting after her was the dog. He stopped when she stopped.
‘Oh, no. You were supposed to stay at home!’
The dog cocked his head and gave a tentative shake of his feathery tail. Then he sat and waited.
Cassie turned away and started to walk briskly. When she looked over her shoulder, the dog was keeping pace, maintaining the same distance between them. She stopped; it stopped. Finally she said to it, ‘Listen, if you’re going to walk with me, you don’t have to be ten metres behind. Come here, and keep up.’
She snapped her fingers and the dog eagerly leapt forward. As she set off again it trotted just behind her right heel. ‘So you do know a thing or two. I wonder where your owners are. What am I going to do with you?’ she said, glancing down at the dog, who gave her a happy look.
At the newsagency she told the dog to sit and wait and it promptly sat at the entrance and didn’t move, but watched her intently as she went to the counter for her paper.
‘You got yourself a dog, Cassie?’ said the newsagent, peering at the doorway. ‘Had it on a diet, eh? Skinny little thing.’
‘It arrived on my porch during the storm last night. And you’re right, it is skinny. No collar and no idea who it belongs to. What do you suggest I do with it?’
‘It sure looks like a stray. I’ve never seen it round here. Maybe it’s got a microchip. You could take it to the vet and get it checked out. He might have a missing dog sheet for the area.’
‘That’s a good idea. Where’s the vet?’
*
‘Phew, getting a workout this morning,’ said Cassie as she caught her breath at the top of the hill and looked for the address of the veterinary practice that the newsagent had given her. The dog wagged his tail. He didn’t look at all out of breath.
The vet’s practice was in an old-fashioned rambling bungalow with a wrap-around verandah and spectacular views. Spread out below was the harbour. Cassie could see the main wharf with the fish co-op, the boatshed and an old trawler in the slips as well as the breakwater with its bar opening to the ocean. Beneath the headland was the rock pool. In the other direction, she could see rolling green paddocks. If she walked around to the side of the house, Cassie thought she’d probably see unbroken miles of the southern beach.
She went in the door marked ‘Reception’, the dog following obediently. Once inside, however, his tail drooped and he looked nervously around at the other waiting people; a woman with a hissing cat in a carry box and another, more elderly woman, holding a very tiny terrier.
The girl at the desk took her details and nodded as Cassie explained that the dog wasn’t hers but she wondered if it had a microchip implant that would give its owner’s details so she could return it.