‘One pod, too far off for the punters to see much. Been off with your fancy man, Miss M?’
Greg glanced at my niece as he spoke, but Liza was studiously ignoring him. I guessed she had probably not spoken to him yet and I felt almost sorry. He had meant well, Greg, but sometimes he was his own worst enemy.
When I reached the door I found Mike Dormer in the hallway, flicking through the newspaper I leave out for guests. He looked up when I entered, and nodded.
‘Did you get your car?’ I was going to remove my coat, then figured I’d probably end up outside again.
‘Yup. A . . .’ he pulled the keys from his pocket ‘. . . Holden.’
‘That’ll do you. You feeling any more human?’ He looked weary still. The jet-lag, I remembered, would hit in waves.
‘I’ll get there. I was wondering . . . would it be possible to eat here this evening?’
‘Eat now, if you want. I’m about to put some soup out for the crews. Grab your jacket and join us.’
I saw his hesitation. I don’t know why I pushed him. Perhaps it was because I felt suddenly tired myself and couldn’t face the thought of laying out a whole meal for one guest. Perhaps I wanted Liza to see a male face that wasn’t Greg’s . . .
‘This is Mike. He’ll be eating with us this evening.’ They murmured hello. Greg’s glance was a little more assessing that the others’, and his voice carried a little further after Mike had sat down, his jokes a little more hearty.
Stirring the soup as I listened through the kitchen window, I nearly laughed at his transparency.
I took the food out on two trays. (I don’t offer the crews any choice – I’d be there all night.) Each man reached for a bowl and a hunk of bread, hardly looking up as they thanked me. But Mike stood and climbed out of the bench. ‘Let me help you,’ he said, taking the second tray.
‘Strewth,’ said Lance, grinning. ‘Can tell you’re not from round here.’
‘Thank you very much, Mr Dormer,’ I said, and sat down beside him.
‘Mike. Very kind of you.’
‘Ah, don’t go giving Kathleen ideas,’ said Greg.
Liza looked up then, and I saw her glance at him.
He seemed embarrassed by all the attention. He sat down, looking somehow out of place in his ironed shirt. He was probably no younger than Greg, but in comparison his skin was curiously unlined. All that time cooped up in an office, I thought.
‘Are you not cold in just a shirt?’ said Yoshi, leaning forward. ‘It is nearly August.’
‘It feels quite warm to me,’ Mike said, glancing around him, as if at the atmosphere.
‘You were like that when you first came, Liza.’ Lance waved a finger at her.
‘Now she wears her thermals for sunbathing.’
‘Where do you come from originally?’ he asked, but Liza didn’t appear to have heard him.
‘What do you do, Mike?’ I said.
‘I work in finance,’ he said.
‘Finance,’ I said a little louder, because I wanted Liza to hear that. I had had a gut feeling that there wasn’t anything to worry about.
‘A jackeroo rides up to a bar,’ said Greg, his voice lifting. ‘As he gets off he walks round the back of his horse, lifts its tail and kisses its arse.’
‘Greg,’ I warned.
‘Another cowboy stops him as he goes to walk into the bar. He says, “S’cuse me, mate, did I just see you kiss that horse’s arse?”’
‘Greg,’ I said, exasperated.
‘“Sure did,” says the jackeroo. “Can I ask why?” says the cowboy. “Sure,” he says. “I’ve got chapped lips.”’
He looked around, making sure he had the table’s full attention. ‘“Does that cure ’em?”’ says the cowboy. “Nope,” says the jackeroo. “But it sure stops me lickin’ em.”’ He slapped the table with mirth. As Hannah giggled, I raised my eyes to heaven.
‘That’s terrible,’ said Yoshi. ‘And you told it two weeks ago.’
‘Wasn’t any funnier then,’ said Lance. I noticed their legs were entwined under the table. They still thought nobody knew.
‘D’you know what a jackeroo is, mate?’ Greg leant across the table.
‘I can guess. The soup’s delicious,’ said Mike, turning to me. ‘Do you make it yourself?’
‘Probably caught it herself,’ said Greg.
‘How are you finding Silver Bay?’ Yoshi was smiling at Mike. ‘Did you get out at all today?’
He paused while he finished a mouthful of bread. ‘Didn’t get much further than Miss Mostyn – Kathleen’s kitchen. What I’ve seen seems very . . . nice. So . . . ah . . . do you all work on cruise boats?’
‘Whalechasers,’ said Greg. ‘This time of year we’re out pursuing moving blubber. Of the non-human variety.’
‘But Greg’s not fussy.’
‘You hunt whales?’ Mike’s spoon stopped in mid-air. ‘I thought that was illegal.’
‘Whale-watching,’ I butted in. ‘They take tourists out to look at them. Between now and September the humpbacks travel north to warmer waters, and they pass by not far from here. Then they pass us again on the way back down, a couple of months later.’
‘We’re modern-day whalechasers,’ said Lance.
Mike looked surprised.
‘I hate that phrase,’ said Yoshi, emphatically. ‘Makes us sound . . . heartless. We don’t chase them. We watch from a safe distance. That phrase gives the wrong impression.’
‘If it was up to you, Yosh, we’d all be “licensed marine observers of cetacea whatever-it-is”.’
‘Megaptera novaeangliae, actually.’
‘I never thought about it,’ said Lance. ‘It’s what we’ve always been called out here.’
‘I thought that was why you were staying,’ I said to Mike. ‘Most people only stop here for the whale-watching.’
He glanced down at his bowl. ‘Well . . . I’ll certainly . . . It sounds like a good thing to do.’
‘Careful if you go out with Greg, though,’ said Yoshi, wiping her bread round the edge of her bowl. ‘He tends to lose the odd passenger. Unintentionally, of course.’
‘That girl jumped. Bloody madwoman,’ Greg expostulated. ‘I had to throw a lifebelt overboard.’