They reckon it’s the pressure that’s making men leave the force but if anything ever drives me out it will be the flamin’ paperwork. You wouldn’t believe how much a one-man station generates. When I’ve finally had a gutsful I usually hop in the car and give myself a ride around town. Let people see me doing something. Check a few things. That’s my excuse for ending up on the wharf. Our wharf is a relic of the days when the coastal boats came in and, with one exception, it’s usually deserted midweek. That’s half the reason why stuff keeps getting nicked off boats. I always have a quick shoofty and then stop for a quiet smoke. The cargo shed makes a good screen. You know, there’s nothing like watching the tide to put a man at peace with the world and that must be telling me something. Maybe I can convince the missus that every policeman needs a boat. Anyway that’s how I got to know the fishing lady. When I first came here, she was a trim little lady, with masses of white hair, who always gave a cheery wave as she tootled past on her bike. A real sweetie. I never actually spoke to her but, naturally, I knew that she had been the infant mistress of just about everybody in town and that she lived with her unmarried daughter. Then she changed. I’m told that, over a week or ten days, she just seemed to switch off. Didn’t even recognise old friends anymore. Tragic really. I’ve spoken to the daughter since and she tells me that her mother is still quite capable of looking after herself and that’s good. The daughter has to work and I have the feeling that she want’s to hang on to her mum for as long as possible. The queer part is the old lady’s sudden fixation on fishing. Unless the weather’s really vile, she’ll be down on the wharf seemingly oblivious to everything but her line. Still, if it keeps her happy. Gradually, the old lady and I sort of made contact. I always used to say ‘hello’ and make a few comments even though there was no hope of response. I mean, you can’t just plonk yourself down beside someone and not say anything. You feel silly. And, after a while, although she never relaxed her stare, I had the funny feeling that she was listening. THE FISHING LADY. Page 2 885 words One day, about half a mile out. this big flock of gulls was going berserk as they dived into a shoal of fish and, for want of something better to say I said, “Looks like them birds have found themselves a real feed.” Without looking up from her line she gently corrected, “Those birds, dear.” In time my understanding grew and I came to realise that we could share our pleasure without the need for words. A particular day came when I arrived at the wharf to find a PA Velox parked nearby. I know the car and its owner Ted only too well. A bad lad our Ted. He’s built like a prime steer and has two solutions to every problem. Both of them have knuckles. He’s been through two defactos since I’ve been here. Gets a bit of beer on board; puts them in hospital. Then he’s in with the bunch of flowers, all contrite: “Never happen again,” and the silly fools remember that they walked into a door and go back into the ring for another round. Lucky there’s been no kids. Did I mention that he’s also a great believer in the redistribution of wealth? All in all, he’d be about my best customer. Now I knew at the time that he’d been threatening to do me. But hell! It was broad daylight. I just didn’t think about it. When I came around the end of the shed, there was me old mate with the lock chopped of the petrol pump, trying to find a way to circumvent the new key switch on the power supply. A prudent man would have backed off quietly and gone for help but idiot me couldn’t resist waltzing up and suggesting that he put the bolt cutters through the cable. He must have moved fast. I still don’t know how it happened but he had me and all I could do was get in as close as possible to cut down the swing of those murderous bolt cutters. I knew that this was going to be my bad one. He had obviously come to the sudden decision that this was the time and the place. There was only him and me and a little old lady who wasn’t really there anyway. I can’t tell you how long it lasted, it seemed forever, but it ended abruptly. Hanging on Ted’s arm was five foot nothing of bristling infant mistress. “Edward! You will stop this!—AT ONCE! And THE FISHING LADY. Page 3 885 words so help me, he did. He just turned and walked away. I limped after him, in pain and barely conscious, to the corner of the shed and watched in disbelief as he put himself into the back seat of my car. Then I turned to thank my lovely little fishing lady but she was somehow far away.