The Winter Sea (21 page)

‘Mum, that’s okay, you’ll be back. You won’t be able to keep away!’ said Cassie.

‘Darling, remember I’m driving to Broome in a convoy with a group of friends in a few days. I’ll be away for several weeks. It’s a long drive. But I’ll keep in touch, and give you the benefit of my experience. But enough of food and restaurants. Michael, Cassie tells me your family have lived here quite a while.’

‘Four generations. Actually the family and most of the town will be celebrating my great-uncle Ricardo’s ninetieth birthday shortly. Cassie, would you like to come? It will be a lot of fun. Geoff and Trixie are coming, aren’t you?’

‘Yes. We’re coming,’ said Geoff. ‘One of the first jobs I had when I came here was for the old man. He has a bunch of stories to tell, that’s for sure.’

‘Yes, he does, when he’s in the mood and he likes you,’ said Michael.

After Trixie and Geoff left, Cassie decided to take Bill for a quick walk.

‘Anyone fancy a walk with Bill and me? Do you want to come, Mum?’

‘Bit too cold outside for me, Cass. I’ll stay nice and warm close to your pot-bellied stove, thank you. I can start cleaning up while you’re out.’

‘I’ll come and keep you and Bill company,’ said Michael.

‘What do you think of the restaurant idea?’ asked Cassie as they headed towards the lagoon.

‘It makes sense, if that’s what you really want to do?’ said Michael carefully.

‘It was Mum’s idea, but it really feels right to me.’

‘Then go for it. If it works you’ll be able to pay your way and have a lovely lifestyle, even if you don’t make a fortune. Are you going to be the chef too?’ Michael asked.

‘No. I know the sorts of dishes I’d like to have on the menu but I’m not a cook. You know who I’d like to talk to? That chef Steve at the Cliff Top pub where we went for lunch.’

‘You’re right. He’d be a great drawcard. So you’re going to try and poach him?’

‘Entice. I’m hoping he might be ready for a place that’s a bit smarter than that awful tired old pub.’

‘It would be great if you could get him. You might have to give him a bit of free rein though. Chefs are notoriously temperamental, aren’t they?’ said Michael.

‘They can be, although my father was never like that. He was always quite calm in the kitchen, even when things were frantic. Yes, I’ll chew that over before making an approach. But I’ll get started on the renovations straight away.’

‘I’ll tell my cousin Frank that you want him to supply seafood to the restaurant. You’ll like him, everyone does.’

‘Thanks. Come on, Bill, time to head back. I can hardly see where I’m walking, it’s so dark out here,’ said Cassie. ‘Michael, I’m glad you don’t think the idea of a restaurant is totally insane. I know I can make it work.’

‘I think it’s a wonderful idea,’ said Michael, taking her hand as they walked back towards the cabin, ‘especially as it will keep you here in Whitby Point.’

*

When Cassie contacted Frank, he sounded very positive about her plans. It was just what the area needed, he told her enthusiastically as they talked on the phone. Her timing, he said, was terrific, and the boatshed was a clever concept. She should definitely specialise in seafood.

‘My seafood, of course! Are you going to cook cutting-edge cuisine, traditional, Italiano, or safe?’ he asked. ‘I know someone who has started an eel farm. His smoked eel is sensational.’

‘I don’t want to scare customers away too quickly. Does middle-of-the-road sound a bit boring?’ said Cassie.

‘We’ll see. When can you meet me at the fish co-op? I’ll give you a seafood lunch to sample that will give you a bit of inspiration. How’s that sound?’

‘It sounds great. When will it suit?’

‘How about Monday, at noon? See you then. Michael said you were a cute little redhead, so I’ll look forward to meeting you.’

*

Cassie thought hard about the best way to approach Steve Baxter to offer him the job as the chef in her not-yet-opened restaurant. She didn’t want to ask him while he was working so she decided to ask Michael for his ideas over a glass of wine on her porch one evening.

‘Yes, that’s going to be difficult. You can hardly front up to the Cliff Top,’ agreed Michael. ‘But I know where he is every Saturday.’

‘That’s tomorrow. Where?’

‘Steve doesn’t work the day shift on Saturdays, so he comes down for a surf at Littlemans Beach. When I close up the practice at midday and go down to the beach, he’s usually there – especially if the waves are good. Come down to the beach and I’ll introduce you. He’s got a classic Simon Anderson board, an Energy single fin.’

‘I doubt I’ll recognise it. It’s been quite a while since I’ve been surfing.’

Michael laughed. ‘Do you surf? I could meet you there and we could catch a couple of waves. It’s probably the only way to get hold of Steve. He’ll stay out there for hours.’

‘I haven’t been surfing for years.’ Cassie was suddenly flooded with memories of lazy Sundays at Manly. ‘Dad used to take me out.’

‘Did he teach you?’ Michael asked. ‘You must have had some father. I can’t imagine my father ever being on a surfboard.’

‘Yes, he was special. We used to sit out the back and talk about all sorts of things, abstract things that had nothing to do with our everyday lives. I thought he was very wise. Maybe because he was so much older than my friends’ fathers.’

‘Did your father come from Manly?’ said Michael.

‘I don’t really know. When he talked about his life it was usually about the restaurant and how great Mum and I were. He didn’t talk about the past, only the present and the future. He always told me to keep an eye towards the future and not look over my shoulder or have regrets. That was a handy piece of advice.’

‘He sounds like a great dad. I learned to surf here on the coast with my friends. I thought that I could spend my whole life just surfing, but then I had a reality check and decided that I would rather work with animals.’

‘When I was a teenager, I was never fanatical about surfing like some of my friends were, but I was chuffed that I managed to master my board and could tackle a decent surf with confidence and not make a goose of myself.’

‘Did your husband surf?’ asked Michael.

Cassie laughed. ‘I did try to get him out, but he said that he wouldn’t be seen dead carrying a surfboard. Not sophisticated enough for Hal, I guess. He preferred the lap pool at the gym.’

‘I think swimming laps is so monotonous and boring,’ said Michael. ‘Are you going to give the surf a go?’

‘I’m out of practice, and I didn’t bring a swimming costume because it’s winter, let alone a wetsuit, and I don’t have a board and the weather and the water are freezing,’ Cassie replied.

‘Is that all? Easy to solve. I’ll call a couple of my cousins and I’m sure they can lend you a costume. I can find a wettie that would fit you. I have some stashed away for when friends come down. And I can loan you a board. Or I could double you on my long board.’

Cassie laughed. ‘I once rode double on a boy’s bike and of course he sped down a hill to show off, and we crashed. I still have the scars on my knees, so I won’t be doubling up, thank you.’

‘Right then, no doubling. I’ll bring a board for you and a wetsuit. I’ll get a couple of swimming costumes dropped around to the surgery, which you can pick up and try on. So, no excuses. Meet me down at Littlemans Beach about one tomorrow.’

‘Why not? Okay, let’s do it,’ said Cassie.

*

The next day, the sight of Michael sitting on the sand
beside two boards, hugging his knees and intently studying
the waves, made Cassie feel shy. She was nervous, wondering if she could still paddle out, pick the right wave, stroke and stand up on a board, but she guessed that it would be like riding a bike. It would all come back to her once she started.

‘At least it’s not a huge swell,’ she said to herself.

Michael jumped to his feet as she approached. ‘There’s a nice break down to the right. What do you think? You ready?’

She dropped her towel and sunglasses onto the sand and took the board Michael lifted up for her. He was wearing faded board shorts and, when he stripped off his jumper, his body was lithe and well built. It was the first time Cassie had seen him out of long pants and a shirt and she felt disconcerted at how attractive he looked. They wriggled into their wetsuits.

‘No Bill?’ asked Michael.

‘No, I didn’t want him to see me make a fool of myself, so I gave him a big bone and a bowl of water and left him back at the cabin to amuse himself. Lead the way. Is Steve out there?’ Cassie said.

‘Way out the back. We’ll paddle out to him when you’re ready. Okay?’

Cassie paddled out strongly even though her arms began to ache. It all started to come back to her: the personal challenge of becoming one with the ocean, the time to sit and drift, how to pick exactly the right wave. While she waited, she stared down into the clear water beneath her. Her thoughts drifted and the distractions of daily life dissipated. She had always liked the simplicity of surfing, the skill it needed and the endless challenges it presented. It didn’t require gadgets, technology, noise, engagement with others, just herself against the surge of the sea.

After fluffing the first few, Cassie caught a decent wave. She felt a sense of elation, her feet moving on the board as it ripped across the curling wave. She could feel the thrust of power under her and it ignited many sensations. She let out a triumphant yell of joy. When she turned and paddled back out, Michael skimmed past her on a wave and gave her a big thumbs up.

‘Fantastic!’ he shouted.

Out the back Cassie lay on her board to catch her breath.

Michael paddled over to her. ‘Now you’re back in the saddle, how do you feel?’

‘Incredible. I could do this every day!’

‘Do you want to try to run down the chef?’

‘Okay.’

It was a long way out to where the larger, less frequent, waves broke. Here, there was time to sit and wait, while watching the horizon for the incoming shadowy lines of the swell that alerted the surfers to an approaching set of waves. Michael paddled slightly ahead of Cassie and approached a stocky man sitting on his surfboard concentrating on the approaching swell.

‘Hey, Steve. Catching any?’

‘Hiya, Mick. It’s not bad. How’re things?’

‘Good. Can’t complain. I’ve brought a friend to meet you. This is Cassie. She’s new to the area.’

‘Hi there. Where you from? You made a good move coming here.’

‘Hi, Steve. City escapee.’

‘On holiday or are you staying?’

‘Hopefully staying, but that might depend on you.
I asked Michael if he’d arrange this introduction.’

Steve gave her a puzzled look, then, holding a hand up to shade his eyes, checked the horizon for waves.

‘Is that so?’ he said, turning back to look at Cassie.

‘Yes. I ate at the Cliff Top a week or so ago. Very impressive, well, the food was.’

Steve chuckled. ‘Yeah, the place is a bit of a dump. What did you want to talk to me about? You having a party or what?’

‘No, it’s not a function. Something else.’

‘Don’t say wedding. I don’t touch ’em.’

‘No. Actually, I’m thinking of opening a small restaurant at Blue Crane Lake. I’d like you to be the chef. Create the menu, work with me, help style the cuisine. Whatever input you’d like.’

‘You don’t say. Hang on. Here we go!’ He crouched and leaned forward and paddled furiously, as did Michael.

‘Go for it, Cassie,’ shouted Michael.

The wave looked as though it was going to be huge as it ballooned behind them. Cassie put her head down and dug her arms deep into the water, trying with all her strength to gather as much speed as she could. Then she felt the lift as it swelled beneath her and, gripping the board with her toes, she sprang to her feet, knees bent, flinging out her arms for balance. She dared not look behind at the wall of water, but concentrated on watching the tip of her board, adjusting her weight to slide across the wave as it rushed forward, avoiding the nose of the board digging into the wave and tumbling her underwater.

The ride seemed to last forever, she could hear nothing but the rush of the wave and see nothing but the beach skimming towards her. She shot past a paddler and a surfer sitting on his board and suddenly the wave deflated, drowning in upon itself. She rolled off the board, and felt her feet touching the rough sand. Her knees were wobbly as she headed for the beach.

‘Wow. What a ride! You had enough? That was some finale,’ said Michael, laughing.

‘Hey, Mick, you guys getting out?’ called Steve. Michael nodded and Steve paddled easily to the shallows, stood up and walked to where Cassie was sitting on the sand.

‘I’m pooped. It’s been years since I’ve surfed. I haven’t had a ride like that for ages,’ she panted.

‘Well, you haven’t forgotten.’ Steve put his board on the sand and then plopped down beside her, flicking his wet hair back from his face.

‘Cassie, I reckon you will be down here every day now,’ said Michael.

‘In between running a restaurant, eh? Where is it?’ asked Steve.

‘The old boatshed, the blue one. It used to be a coffee and hamburger place, I think. It’s small, but I’m after a small but select clientele. Tables on the deck and inside. Concentrate on local produce. Especially seafood . . .’

‘You know Frank Aquino?’

‘Not yet but I will soon. Are you interested?’

Steve looked at the ocean for a moment. ‘Could be. I live closer to Whitby Point than the pub, so I’d get more time to surf.’ He thought for a minute more. ‘Can I have a look at your set-up?’

‘We’re not actually set up yet. I have to make a few changes first, but I’m interested in any ideas you might have. Name a time when you want to meet there,’ said Cassie.

‘What about this arvo?’

Cassie thought quickly. She could get the keys from the real estate agent. ‘Sure. How about four?’

‘Okay. See you there. See ya, Mick. I’m going back in.’

They watched him head back to the water, his board tucked under his arm like it was part of his body.

‘What do you think?’ asked Cassie.