The One That Got Away

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"See that, Tel? They've gotta throw out the line a long way."

"Well, go on then. Get your gear."

"Nah. I'm not going ta do it 'ere where I might make a fool of meself. I'll go along the beach a bit where there's no people."

I was always the skivvey when he was fishing, but this was the first time he had tried sea fishing. We'd travelled two hours from London to Deal to this spot. Already we had argued because I had sent him a mile or two in the wrong direction by misreading the map. Now we were standing at the end of the pier watching the experts cast their lines.
He turned and began to walk back to the car with me trailing along behind in my high heels and suede jacket.

"'Ere, take the tackle box - and hang on to this rod," he said.

"Can't you take the box? It's heavy."

"Nah. Someone's gotta carry the net, and I've got the radio. Let's walk along a bit."

I don't know why he insisted on me going with him. He wasn't a good fisherman. He didn't have the patience. He'd cast the line and before a fish had time to nibble the bait he'd pull the line out again and cast it somewhere else. In a pond that was full of hungry fish he would catch a lot of sprats that were only for chucking back. Once there were so many that I hadn't the time to fix up the net before he caught a fish. Then he lost his temper and broke his rod over my back.

"Now look what you've done. You've broken my rod."

I was so well clothed I didn't feel a thing, but I left him there and went back to the car. I poured myself some hot coffee from the flask and watched smiling, as he sat on his tiny seat trying to fish with the handle of his rod.

Others times he'd chose to fish in a river. I'd try and find a dry spot in all the mud on the bank to watch while he flung his line here and there waiting for an instant bite. Often we had to break the ice first. Why did he always have to go in winter?

"This'll do Tel," he said. "Nice and quiet here. No one around to see what we're doing." He walked over the sand dunes. I took off my shoes and followed, my feet slipping in the hillock of dry sand.

"At least, its dry. I suppose I must be grateful it isn't raining. Have you got an elastic band for my hair? The wind is blowing it all over my face."

"Here." He tossed a band over his shoulder. "Put the box here and put the radio over there on that rock. Nah, then. What we have to do is this…" He bent over the rod talking non-stop about what he was doing. "Good job I bought this heavy line, Tel," he said. "You need it for the big fish we are going to catch."

He fixed the three sections of the rod together: "nice and tight so it sticks," and slid the reel into the handle. "Get the loops nice and even and thread through."

His voice faded as he held the rod up to check the loops were in sink. Then he threaded the line through the loops and tied on a large hook for the big fish.

"Now for the weight. It has to be a big weight, Tel, so it'll go a long way into the sea. No fish close to the shore, you know."

He took out a long piece of lead that must have been three inches long, shaped like a crystal drop you see hanging on a starlet's ears.

"That should do it. Pass me some of that bait. I'll try that first. Fish like bread and cheese, but if that don't work I'll try some live bait."

He stood up and walked to the edge of the sea while I stood there in the cold wintry weather, misery painting my face. I just wanted to go home. I didn't want to be standing on a beach in the middle of winter watching him try and catch a fish for dinner. I could have bought one for less trouble - and money.

He stood poised on the shore swinging his line back and forth. Then with a glance over his shoulder he cast. His body curved backwards then forwards as he swung his arm forcefully forward, at the same time letting go of the loop of line he was holding in his left hand.

I watched as the weight soared into the air, easy to see against the grey sky. The weight with the line attached made a glorious arch in the air, travelling far out across the ocean easily beyond the end of the pier. I heard the never-ending, whirling rattle as the reel spun the line from its source.

Suddenly, there was a loud crack and the weight seemed to stop in mid air. It hung, like a cartoon character that had run off a cliff, for a few seconds, while the line caught up with it, wriggling like a hundred yard worm in the sky. Then the weight, the line, the hook and the bait plummeted down with a loud plonk and a coronet, cascade of spray, into the ocean.

Everything froze for a few seconds, and then he turned and looked at me, then up and down the beach to see if anyone had noticed. His face was a picture of stunned surprise; his eyes round as brown marbles and his jaw as slack as rotten rubber. In his hand was the rod with nothing left on it but an empty reel.

My face was screwed into that of a grotesque gargoyle so hard it was for me not to burst into hysterical laughter. The laughter won, I nearly peed my pants, but I'd really be in for it for laughing at him.
"A'you laughing at me?" he asked at last.

"No!' I replied. "I'm, I'm la- laughing at - that comedian on the radio."

And he believed me.
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