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Two
Connie
Once the ferryhas become a tiny spot in the distance, I make my way towards Lola’s Shack, a rustic café run by Lola Hicks, a woman in her early thirties who turned up here one day just over a year ago and never left. The café is no more than a couple of large sheds shoved together, but it sells the best crab sandwiches in all the south coast and whilst I can’t spoil my lunch by buying one, I do need to catch up with Lola and make sure that I’m still starting my new part-time job on Monday.
“Hey, Connie, have you come for some lunch?” Lola asks me as I push open the door and traverse the half dozen tables already filled with fishermen who are back earlier than usual today.
“Bad catch?” I ask, Rob, the captain ofRosemaryII, a small fishing trawler that’s now rocking gently in the harbour, the sun glinting off her metal cleat.
“That’s right, not much out there this morning,” he responds with a wry grin as I pass him by, the fine lines around his eyes and mouth adding to his handsome appearance, not detracting from it. “We’ll be working extra hard tomorrow to make up for it though.”
“Make sure you save Gran a catch,” I respond, smiling sweetly. She loves fresh fish, and we have it in abundance here on the island. Well, usually. I can’t remember a day when the trawlers haven’t returned with a hold full of fish.
“Always, for Ma Silva.” He winks to cover his frown, then returns his attention to his crab sandwich and glass of cold beer.
“It’s already hot today,” I remark as I perch on the one and only barstool watching Lola as she makes up more lunch orders for the waiting patrons. Even with the double doors and windows wide open, it’s just as warm inside the café as it is outside. A light sheen of sweat quickly covers my skin, not helped by the fact that Lola is cooking up her signature clam chowder on the hob, the bright blue flame licking at the sides of the steel pot.
“Looks like we’re going to push into the mid-eighties over the weekend and into next week. It’s going to get pretty warm in here. You up for that?” Lola asks me, as she sprinkles a pinch of salt into the bubbling pot of chowder.
“I sure am. I’m saving up for another guitar so I could definitely use the extra cash. Besides, a little bit of heat doesn’t bother me so long as I have the sea to jump into at the end of the day.”
Lola swipes her dark hair off her forehead, her grey eyes sparkling. “You know, if you want some extra shifts, you could always come and sing here some nights, might liven the place up a little. You have a beautiful voice.”
I roll my eyes even as my cheeks heat with the compliment. “This place doesnotneed livening up.”
During the day this might be a café that serves the local fishermen their breakfasts and lunches, but at night it doubles up as a bar. A very rowdy bar, as it happens, and apart from the small pub that is more like a cemetery with all the old timers that sit there night after night, the only form of entertainment for us youngsters.
“Are you an expert now that you’ve become quite the party animal?” she asks me, raising her perfectly shaped eyebrows.
“Ha-ha,” I smirk, refusing to be goaded. “Thanks for that hangover by the way.”
A few weekends ago, I spent my eighteenth birthday drinking a ridiculous amount of vodka and orange juice perched on this very bar stool whilst Alice, Georgia and Jack laughed at my drunkenness. According to them I’m a lightweight, but I’m proud of the fact that I could knockback three double vodkas and oranges. Though I wasn’t so happy about the hangover that lasted the entire next day.
“Seriously, Connie. You might’ve forgotten that you sang here, but the regulars certainly haven’t…”
My mouth pops open. “I didn’t,did I? My friends never said anything.” I mean, I’m always singing, but in front of an audience bigger than my gran and my friends… never.
Lola smirks. “Your friends were more drunk than you were.”
“Urgh…” I groan, hoping I didn’t make a complete idiot of myself. That night is very hazy indeed.
“Hey, don’t sweat it. I think half of these old boys fell a little bit more in love with you that night.”
“Enough with the old comment,” Rob protests, throwing Lola a disgusted look. She just laughs.
To be fair Rob isn’t old at all. He’s in his early forties and handsome, with dark brown hair and eyes that smile every time he speaks. Most of the other fishermen range from eighteen all the way up to their late seventies. Rumour has it that Lola has slept with quite a few of the men here. But, I refuse to get drawn into idle gossip. So what if she has a healthy sex life? She’s childless, single, and secure in herself and her sexuality. Not to mention a little mysterious. No one really knows where she came from or why she decided to stay here, and honestly no one’s asked. She’s as much a part of this community now as the rest of us. Lola’s a good person and aside from the delicious food, I’m pretty sure that’s also why these fishermen continue to spend their hard-earned cash here in this tiny café. It certainly isn’t for the threadbare tablecloths and rickety furniture that’s seen better days, that’s for sure.
“Lola’s right, you’ve got a good voice, Connie,” Rob says.
“See, theyloveyou…” Lola whispers, looking more than a little smug.
I’m prevented from coming back with a suitable retort by her phone ringing. She snatches it up, and answers immediately, her mouth popping open in shock. After swallowing hard, she mutters something into the mouthpiece before covering it with her hand.
“You wouldn’t do me a huge favour would you, Connie?” she asks, peering at the clam chowder and the six bowls waiting to be filled. I can’t help but notice how her hands shake as she holds the phone.
“Sure, sure,” I respond, waving her away as I head behind the counter and deal with the lunches whilst she walks out the back door of the café and takes the phone call.
Ten minutes later, Lola returns wearing a scowl on her face, her eyes red-rimmed as though she’s been crying.
