Scarborough Fair - Chris Scott Wilson [59]
Her gaze shifted to the embedded harpoon, mouth turning down at the corners. “Whalers!” she said bitterly. “I wish to God there was no such things. Too many Whitby men have lost their lives chasing those big fish.”
“It brought Uncle Bob good wages.”
Her gaze was far away. “Mebbe when he was a young man, tall and straight with a twinkle in his eye. But it robbed him too. Look at him now.”
“You can’t blame the whales for that.”
“Whales, boats, the sea, I blame them all.” Tears threatened to spill onto her withered cheeks. He put an arm around her narrow shoulders and led her inside. Bob Rudd lay propped up on a small cot close to the smoking fire. He squinted at Jackie, facial muscles too weak to support a smile, but a gnarled hand tapped feebly on the bedcovers, beckoning him forward.
“The tide?” his uncle whispered.
“Tell him about the whalers,” his aunt prompted sourly. “That’s what he wants to hear.”
Jackie leaned forward. He forgot the smell of the oil houses in that dim little room, assailed by the odor of death hovering close by, waiting to steal his next victim. Trying to hide his revulsion, Jackie talked of the big cat-barques lying in the harbor and of the freshening wind. He spoke of the fishermen and how they had asked after him. That raised a nod. He talked until there was nothing left to tell and his uncle’s eyes slipped shut, breath sawing softly in his chest. He watched, frightened the old man would wake if he moved. The opening door freed him.
“Now then, our Jackie,” his cousin Billy helloed, closing out the September wind as he shut the street door. “How’s t’old man?” He jerked his head at the cot.
Jackie made a face in reply. Billy sniffed and nodded, crossing to warm his broad backside at the fire. “Reckon I’ve got some seaboots’ll fit you. When the tide turns we’re going off. You comin’? See if you’re as good with a line as you brag.”
“What about your dad?”
Billy looked down at his dozing father. “You been here two days. Nothing you can do. Catching some fish’ll buy t’old man a fire, and we need the money. Ma?”
Aunt Winnie nodded her agreement. “You go wi’ Billy. There’s stew in the pot, then you lads can have a pint afore you go off.”
Jackie’s guilt evaporated. “Gear all ready?” he asked, trying to suppress his eagerness.
Billy winked. “All set. Bait an’ everything. Just waiting on’t tide. All right Ma, dish up, I’m hungry.”
***
The Dolphin was warm and smoky, the beer cold. On a full stomach Jackie sipped at his pint, eavesdropping on his cousin’s conversation with the other men lined up at the bar. Pipes drew diagrams in the air to emphasize the size of catches, the stories greeted by guffaws of disbelief. Grins split weathered faces, heads shaking. There was nothing a fisherman liked more than a bite on the end of his line, whether it was a big fish or an avid listener to a yarn. They both brought their own rewards.
“Fresh shrimps! Caught today!”
Jackie turned at the voice cutting through the rumble of men’s banter. It was her, the girl from the staithe side. She moved among the drinkers, selling from a basket. When she bent over a seated man, skirt drawn tight over her buttocks, Jackie couldn’t tear his eyes away.
“That right, our Jackie?” Billy grinned. “Ned here says you’ve got a soft spot for Dorry?”
Jackie looked away from her to see the fisherman he had spoken to during the afternoon. Ned nudged the smirking Billy which drew color into Jackie’s cheeks. His cousin laughed out loud then shouted across the room.
“Hey Dorry! Come here, lass!”
She straightened up and turned, caught sight of Billy then pushed through the men, hips swinging. Billy took hold of her arm, leaning close to whisper in her ear. While she listened, Dorry’s eyes twinkled as she speculatively studied Jackie. When Billy drew back she moved up to Jackie so close he could feel her warm breath. She thrust an arm through his, tugging.
“Come outside. I’ve got something to show you.”
Jackie felt his face burning. He tried to act nonchalant, failing miserably. She pulled insistently.
Billy smirked. “Go on, lad.