Two go mad in Dartmouth
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That morning I had fully intended to get up early, go out, get the paper to return and bring breakfast to her on a tray.
But instead when I awoke there was Loveday, sitting cross-legged on the bed, smiling at a perfect breakfast tray lying on the pillow, six inches from my head.
'Good Morning! Tea and a bacon sandwich and the Times. Will there be anything else, sir?' she said with a perfect tilt of her head.
'I suppose you didn't remember to bring the radio, did you?' I said, pushing my luck for a bit of devilment. She didn't miss a beat but broadened her smile and pulled out a small transistor radio from underneath the tray. I was now truly astounded.
'Okay?' she said with a further tilt of her head.
'Quadruple okay. Thank you!'
'Eat!' she said bossily. I did, and she began recounting what she had seen during her walk to the local shops. It was easy to see why she was so good at making her friends and mates at work laugh. She was not only a good physical mimic but could make fun of people in a variety of accents. Her humour was a mix of irrepressible schoolgirl, with sophisticated adult.
Having finished imitating the quirky West Country accent of the butcher and the old bag in the tobacconist's, she stood up and started waltzing round the room holding an imaginary microphone to her mouth. Changing her voice to that of a clipped 1960's B.B.C. fashion correspondent, she continued:
'Dartmouth seems full of people wearing khaki. Quite why people this season should be wearing this appalling colour is quite beyond the realms of this correspondent! However, everywhere one looks there are khaki skirts, khaki dresses, khaki shorts, and khaki scarves. I would hesitate to guess, but it is quite likely that of all the many wigs I have seen today, underneath they were all khaki as well.'
Divided between nearly choking on the bacon sandwich and laughing too much, I managed to shout in a voice of mock horror, 'Wigs? I had no idea it was that bad out there. Go on!'
But Loveday had switched off her imaginary microphone and had decided to sit down on the bed again. She leant toward me with a look of bashfulness and said, 'I'm sorry about last night. You know, about what I said about Griselda. Jealousy isn't normally something I subscribe to.'
'Oh for goodness sake! I'd forgotten all about it.' I said guiding her shoulders down to me, so her head rested in my lap.
'Had you really?'
'Well, I've been having such a fantastic time ever since I haven't had time to think about it.'
She put her arms around my neck and pulled my face down and kissed it.
'Good. I'm happy…happy that you are, that's why we're here. Anyway I'm pleased that Griselda is feeding Ned.'
'Listen she's not going to be there forever you know.'
'What do you mean?' Loveday asked, brushing some crumbs from the bedclothes.
'Well, you know. Things change, don't they? People move in, people move out. She's not long term. Do you know what I'm saying?'
'God! I'm not angling on moving in or anything!'
'I know you're not. Of course not. Anyway, even I might have been a bit jealous in your shoes.'
'Well, I just didn't want you to think I'm that type, that's all.'
‘Well, I don't. Maybe you only get jealous of Italians.' I began to tickle her armpit through the sleeve of her T- shirt.
'Pig!'
'Pig, yourself! And while we're on that subject can I have a bite of your bacon sandwich?'
Playfully slapping my bare belly, she let out an enormous mock sigh.
'You're the pig round here!’
I waited until Loveday had taken her bite and then took hold of the sandwich and finished it in two big bites. 'You didn't spot any sandals being worn while you were out, did you?'
'I'm sorry to disappoint you but the place is swarming with sandals, and I'm afraid they're mainly khaki-coloured as well. You won't be safe you know. '
One hour later, arms entwined around each other's waists and lungs full of bracing air, Loveday and I set out along the cobbled streets, to discover the hidden charms of Dartmouth. The radio had been listened to, two out of three hits had been heard, crime stories read about in the newspaper, a crossword attempted while Loveday balanced on my knee, and fresh coffee drunk with even fresher doughnuts. The World was a marvellous place. Having consulted the Book of Lists, and mindful of wanting to make the first day in Dartmouth fun for Loveday, I introduced the game of spot-the-khaki-and-sandals-patrol, with a score of up to ten points for the worst offender found.
Dartmouth Harbour was a treasure chest of smells, their nature depending on which way the wind was blowing at the time. It might be diesel fumes, or fish or cheap onions from cheaper burger bars, or linseed oil, fish boat paint, the occasional whiff of pipe tobacco, and fish. It was difficult to get away from the smell of fish in Dartmouth harbour that day or probably any day in August. There appeared to be a great deal of activity on the quayside amidst a fusion of aqua town and gown. That is, men and women who clearly worked in the harbour for their living, and those that were weekenders or on holiday. Men with pipes clenched between their teeth stood bare legged on boat decks looking earnest, while sunburnt women were standing on the quayside adjusting children and packing bags. Only the yellow oilskins of the fishermen with their piles of nets and the steep-sided surrounding panorama of Dartmouth estuary bore any resemblance to the picture postcards Loveday had bought earlier. There must be something better than this.
I then noticed what I thought was a small cluster of expensive looking fishing boats at the very far end of the concrete quay. Satisfied that I had located the real action, where Dartmouth's undiscovered treasure lay, I steered Loveday on a new diagonal course.
Within a minute of arriving to inspect what increasingly looked more like three garishly coloured fishing boats, Loveday seized my arm and exclaimed, 'Stop!'
'Christ! What is it?' I said wondering whether she had just spotted a nuclear submarine.
'My God! I think I've seen a ten!'
Fifty yards away and coming fast towards us were a couple wheeling a pushchair. Loveday gripped my arm again as they drew closer. There was no doubt about it. The couple, in their late twenties but looking every inch past forty, were dressed from head to toe in khaki and should both have been smoking a pipe.
'Khaki shorts, khaki dress, khaki shirt,' Loveday counted off under her breath.
'And sandals.' I added with a tone of grim finality.
The couple passed by, oblivious to our scrutiny of their baby trussed up like a pink chicken in the pushchair.
'Shit! Could have been a thirty, you know,' I said gripping hold of Loveday's shoulder.
'I know. But look on the bright side; how often do you get a twenty just like that?'
'Maybe the baby had a khaki nappy underneath?'
'Tim? That's quite enough. Be happy with a twenty. Let's go and find some pottery shops now.'
Pottery shops, or any shops for that matter, had not been on any page of my Book of Lists that morning. Mindful of the concept of give and take, I knew that it was probably best to get the moment over and done with as soon as possible. Something about the sight of several seagulls swooping and leaping back and forth into the air over one of the fishing boats caught my eye however, and started pulling me towards it.
'Let's just have a quick look at these boats and then we'll go and find the shops, I promise. Okay?'
Whoever it was who had had the irritating hindsight to say the way to hell was paved with good intentions had been dead right.
'Sea Fishing for Mackerel-
Twelve o'clock- one pound fifty'
It seemed such a good idea at the time.
The hand-written sign had been balanced against a large pile of rather foul-smelling fishing nets bang opposite a freshly but badly painted fishing boat. I could not make out the boat's name, but noticed what I took to be the larger than life skipper standing on the deck untying a mass of tangled lines. He looked about thirty and was dressed in regulation dark-blond beard, navy blue sweater but, unusually, pink striped jeans cut off at the knee.
Just as I was about to enter into some familiar naval banter, a sullen young woman standing next to the board and uncomfortably holding two children in her arms, burst into full-blast West Country shout.
'Well I'm not fucking standing here any longer while you carry on preening yourself and ignoring the situation. I am not fucking well putting up with this any longer. If you don't want to look after the kids then find someone who does! … Well?'
Loveday and I looked at each other, open-mouthed and with eyebrows arching up and down. We then quickly turned back to look at the Captain to see what was going to happen next.
Captain Cutoffs didn't appear to miss a beat, a slip, or a reef knot for that matter and studiously continued ignoring the woman.
'W-e-l-l?' Mrs Unhappy demanded so loudly that Loveday's hand jumped up in fright.
A ten-second delay followed and then: 'W-e-l-l, What!?' Cutoffs snarled.
I immersed myself in staring at the blackboard and then theatrically pulled back the sleeve of my jacket to look at my non-existent watch. Correctly sensing that a display of marital fireworks bigger than the county of Devon was about to start, I turned to Loveday and said in as loud a voice as possible, 'Oh shit, Loveday, what a shame! I just don't think there's going to be enough time!
'Oi there! Did you want buy a ticket?' Captain Cutoff's voice boomed right into the back of my head.
I swung round in an arc and saw both him and Mrs Unhappy and two unhappy kids gawping hard at me. I was about to say that I had to go away and think about the whole matter when Captain Cutoff jumped off the boat clutching a fat roll of tickets and started advancing towards me with menacing haste. I looked again at my imaginary watch and as if remembering some even more imaginary appointment pointed to some far off pub. Declining the invitation from a simmering psychopath like Captain Cutoff proved harder than I would have imagined. I handed the decision over to Loveday.
'You've got fifteen seconds to make up your mind, yes or no.'
She immediately cocked her head backwards and peered up at the sky as if requesting permission to go aboard or leave. The response was mysteriously quick.
'Yes, yes.' she said repeatedly.
'Absolutely!' she went on to say.
'Yes, I really really want to!' she said.
I tapped my wrist through my shirtsleeve, shaking my head as wisely as I could, when Captain Cutoffs yelled out menacingly.
'You'd better buy them now before we sell out. Boat leaves in ten minutes. How many tickets?'
'Two, please!' chirped Loveday as if she was buying stamps in some country post-office.
As I fumbled for my wallet I was wondering whether this man had any hobbies other then biting the heads off live cod.
'I think he should be working as an agent in the music business. He's wasted on the fish.' I whispered to Loveday.
'Yes. Yes. I know what you mean.' She replied in a silly far off voice obviously not knowing what I meant at all.
Imbued with a sudden and determined interest in fishing, I decided to try and match Loveday's interest in the subject as well. I told her the story of the last time I had been sea-fishing, putting in the odd exaggeration here and there, but quite definitely avoiding any reference to it being the one and only time. Loveday had listened with a cheerful look of resignation on her face throughout. Then, as if to emphasise her next point, she balanced on one leg like a ballerina and said, 'Tim, darling, I cannot see the point of fishing. I've told you before, I think it's cruel. I think it's wrong. And I think it is basically and fundamentally unfair to fishes.'
'Fishes?'
'Well, fish then!'
'But then why did you agree to go?'
'It doesn't mean I am going to fish. You can do the fishing. I'm going to read my book and get a suntan. Then, when we return, it's going to be pottery shops and pottery shops. Agreed?'
I said nothing but nodded and smiled to myself as I realised she had agreed to go on the fishing just for me.
As we walked towards the boat Loveday continually made a series of sad fish-like faces which, she informed me, she was getting ready to wear when any fish were being yanked aboard. I shook my head in amused bewilderment at her, inwardly marvelling at my good fortune in knowing her at all.
Ten minutes into the boat trip, all I was able to think about was whether the waves were going to get any bigger and if they were, exactly where was I going to be sick. The only other customer on the boat was one solitary oil-skinned fisherman resembling a failed serial killer. Captain Cutoff had brushed aside my enquiries regarding the lack of other passengers with a dismissive sweep of his hand. 'All bottled out, they did. Couldn't cope with the weather. Bleeding babies!'
I had looked to see if one of his forearms ended in a hook and was disappointed to see two large hands instead. His obvious thick skin and ability to re-fashion the truth made me make another mental note to see if he was interested in discussing a change of career when we got back.
If we ever did return to shore, that is.
The swell and churn of the sea had had a surprisingly quick effect of turning my stomach into a pit of seething lava. Loveday on my left seemed content to gaze fixedly at her paperback book and ignore my loud clearings of the throat. As the boat began to rise and fall into larger and larger waves, my thoughts began to concentrate on the possibility of locating a carpeted luxury bathroom within the boat. Just as I was assembling the correct machismo-tinged line of enquiry, Captain Cutoffs sprang out of his cabin holding three fishing rods and three yellow buckets. The sight of the yellow bucket was almost enough, but then I saw the failed serial killer adjust his pebble glasses as he was handed his rod and bucket. Clearly, he had done this before.
As much as I tried, I just could not bring myself to own up to Captain Cutoffs that this was only the second fishing experience of my life. I managed to trick him into just running through how the reel worked, and giving him just the right number of nonchalant grunts to convince him that I knew what I was doing. However, that was before my eyes focused on what was wriggling about at the bottom of the aforesaid yellow bucket. I managed to smile at Captain Cutoffs, a smile full of innuendo. Whatever my smile looked like, he completely misunderstood it, and decided on attack first, being the best form of defence.
'There ain't anything wrong with these maggots! You see, you'll catch plenty of mackerel with them! What were you expecting, bloody lug worms or someit?'
With one eye fixed on his departing squelching boot, I made my other stare down at the mass of slimy brown maggots pulsating at the bottom of the bucket. I took several deep breaths, but kept thinking of one of the lighter weight maggots being sucked straight up my nose. Mindful of my nose and the intense sensation of a mass of putrid green bile entering my mouth, I feverishly sought the most discreet place possiible to evacuate the bacon sandwiches and doughnuts I had gorged myself on earlier. I had reached the point of no return, and managing to utter some grunt about going for a pee, raced round to the empty stern, gripped the side of the boat for all it was worth and lurched over the side.
When my stomach was quite satisfied that it had ejected every possible morsel of food and I had finished picking small pieces of undigested bacon off my sweater, I slowly wandered back. I was a trifle anxious about what caustic comment Captain Hook von Cutoffs was going to make about my absence, but more concerned that Loveday had been worried. I was therefore somewhat taken aback, to put it at the very least, to see both Loveday and the good Captain pulling back the same bending fishing rod together. He appeared far too engrossed in his new pupil's blonde and shapely attributes to even notice my return, while Loveday appeared to have experienced a metamorphic reversal on her policy on fishes.
'We've all ready got one! ‘she called out excitedly. 'And it feels like a big one!'
'It always does, Loveday. It always does,' I managed to quip through semi-clenched teeth suddenly finding an ability to breathe very deeply and to thread the miserable looking maggot onto my hook.
As I threw my line over the side I suddenly felt re-invigorated. I am going to catch the largest fish known to man. In fact, very shortly, the whole boat, all three of them, will have put down their rods and will be surrounding me in frenzied awe as I land yet anther record breaking catch.
I must have sat there for another forty minutes as Loveday and Cutoffs put more than twenty blue-and-black mackerel into their catch basket. I had decided long ago that my rod had probably been tampered with, and that Cutoffs had definitely given me the sort of maggots that fish found revolting and inedible. Yet throughout I kept up a brave face, staring manfully out to sea, skimming the surface for any sight of shark or mackerel fin.
Only once was I able to look back and see Loveday staring dreamily out to sea - or was it at me?
In the end, I had had enough of hearing the sound of fish slapping into the basket beside me and decided to let the channel in my head take over for a while.
Impossible to avoid the fight between Captain Cutoffs and myself any longer. He's overstepped the mark just one too many times. He needs to be shown who is boss here. Much English prize-fighting with clean enormous punches being thrown and, yes, I look like the victor. Loveday has stopped screaming, she knows it's all going to be all right. Failed Serial Killer is cowering behind some nets. He's seen this sort of thing before and doesn't want to be involved. Captain Cutoffs is now bleeding badly and staggering, one more punch and it will be over! Then Cutoffs changes the rules and picks up a small portable anchor. He swings it from a rope above his head and takes a run at me and lets it go, flinging it fast in my direction. It catches me hard on the back of my head. I stagger. I'm stunned. I look at Loveday … She looks at me … I trip and fall slowly, very slowly backwards into the sea, and as I am falling I catch sight of Cutoffs slinging Loveday across his shoulder. He's going to ravage her! I'm going down and down and down. So this is what it's like to have millions of bubbles coming out of you mouth in films. I recover consciousness, aware of ever so slight an ache at the back of my head. I make a plan and swim back up towards the boat. I know I'll surprise the bastard by climbing back over from the other side. I swim slowly, stealthily under the boat. I know what I'm going to do. I'll leap back over the side, bop him over the head, and then heave him weighted into the water. I'll put Mr Serial Killer bound and gagged into the rowing boat, and set him adrift. Then I'm going to stand there on the bridge, pipe in my mouth, with Loveday by my side. Very Popeye, very Olive Oil. But things don't turn out that way, I hadn't reckoned on the gang of mackerel waiting for me round the other side of the boat. They are dressed in blue-black leather and they look very very mean. I try talking to them … They start swimming slowly, menacingly, towards me rhythmically hitting their aqua coshes back and forth between their fins ... It's looking ugly … Can I get out of this and save Loveday?
I felt an enormous tug on my line. This felt serious! I tugged again and again to make sure that I had not caught the line in some disappointing net or wreck. No, I could feel something trying to get away. I carefully started winding back, reeling in, and winding back. This was better than the movies. I shouted to Loveday and began shouting to all the people living on the coast of France. I felt the line strain, and could tell from Mr Serial Killer and Cutoffs who were by now standing right next to me that I had something big, bigger than anything they had had all day perhaps. Jesus this was exciting! Visions of Hemingway flooded through my mind.
After one or two minutes it - whatever it was - was coming up to the surface.
'Cigarette me!' I shouted at Loveday. She placed a lit cigarette in my mouth and stood behind me with her arms around my shoulders. I looked back up at Captain Cutoffs and winked. He looked serious and with the smallest hint of sourness asked, 'Now you've got to be very careful here. D'you want me to take over? You don't want to lose it, do you?'
'I'm fine, I'm fine,' I repeated as I held on to the fast increasing weight.
Mr Failed Serial Killer shouted his first words of the whole trip.
'It's coming up now! I can see it but I don't know…'
Loveday was bearing down hard on my shoulders and peering along the line with me cheek to cheek. Very slowly I wound the reel back until the translucent colour of a two-foot-wide enormous crab was shaking in mid air. Cutoffs quickly grabbed a boat hook and lunged at the flailing creature. Between us we then guided its throbbing shape onto the deck.
'It's absolutely fucking enormous!' screamed Loveday in some uncharacteristic public swearing.
'That'll be worth at least five or six squid down the market,' said Cutoffs very flatly.
'Well done, Tim!' Loveday chortled. 'That was brilliant. I knew you'd catch the biggest one.'
'You done well there,' said Failed Serial Killer in a creepy West Country drawl. ‘I’d say that was worth a lot more. You wanna sell it to me, then?'
'No. He's said he’s gone to sell it to me, didn't you mate?' said Cutoffs, nose well out of joint.
'Why don't we all decide when we're back on dry land?' Loveday asked sensibly as if she was in the Famous Five.
'Good idea,' Cutoffs growled, flicking the crab over into an empty fishing pallet.
A silence ensued in which I could hear myself panting, and all I could smell was the perfume left by Loveday on my sweater. I sat there, half-heartedly re-baiting my hook and smiling at my ridiculous feelings of having just ridden the winner of the Grand National.
I laid the rod down and took the maggot from the hook, and thinking it might have a more sporting chance, I magnanimously threw it into the sea. I wiped the rod down with a cloth and passed it and the yellow bucket up to Cutoffs who was standing behind me biting into a chocolate bar. 'Thank you captain, and don't forget your fish' he said taking hold of the rod.
'Thanks very much ' I said wondering what he had meant I scratched the back of my head and turned to Loveday. She was now squatting on the chair with knees beneath her chin, half reading her book and half peeking in disgust at the sight of the still wriggling crab. I swung my leg out until my boot was able to give a sideways shove to her chair. Loveday put her hand on her chest in fright, stood up, and moved her chair away from the crab.
'Hey you pig, stop that!'
'Why are you doing that?' I asked innocently.
'It's that crab, I don't want it coming anywhere near me!' She said sticking out her tongue in disgust and picking up her book again
'Let me know when we're nearly there, Tim? I've got to finish this chapter, okay?'
'All right, all right, you carry on I'll do all the hard work.' I said jokingly as I ducked down to see how many mackerel were in the basket beside her. Cutoffs had already placed a torn off piece of envelope with nineteen written on it in big felt tip pen. I felt pleased that she also had something to show at the end of it, even if she'd said she didn't like fishing. Without losing my grin, I decided to see if he had left a similar piece of paper on my basket but with a big nought on it. I peered down and thought there must be a mistake. There were seven blue-black fish in the basket and a number seven written on the torn off triangle of an envelope.
I picked up the basket somewhat embarrassed and loudly cleared my throat in Loveday's direction.
'Ahem! Loveday?'
'Yes Tim, I'm still busy reading.' She replied in a frighteningly good Edinburgh accent.
'A quite extraordinary thing has happened. From catching absolutely no fish whatsoever this afternoon, one large crab notwithstanding, I now appear to have caught seven!'
Loveday lowered her book from her eyes as if she was taking off a pair of half moon glasses, and in slow motion opened her smiling mouth and dramatically pushed her forehead with her hand: 'It must be a miracle Tim!'
I grinned and bowed, then turned back to look at the basket, and decided that Loveday was not a girl to be under-estimated.
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"Jeremy Thomas is a complete original. His writing, like his life, is a whirlwind of brilliance, wonder and blunder, by turns, hilarious and terrifying. Highly recomended".
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