The sea, the sea
Schools of fishes squinted through the clear waters of the North Sea and swam into the funnel until trapped at the cod-end. As he cranked up the crane a bounty of silver poured onto the deck. Jumping and flapping their gales and wiggling their fins in the blue morning light. John had been a halibut-man for 30 odd-years.
After being made redundant twice in the past year, she figured: well, everyone’s got to eat. So she took on the lease of 45 Cranberry Road and opened up a Panini shop. Cathy layered the thick slices of bread with cheddar cheese, diced tomatoes and heaped on the salad-leaves. She took the spatula; she’d nicked from uncle Larry’s boathouse, and carefully navigated the sandwich onto the scorching hot grill. Staring out of the low bay window she observed the shiny wet tarmac outside.
Sea-spray blew up in the North-wind, now and then catching the sun – she loved how it sparkled and made colourful prisms of incandescent light. If she craned her neck she could just about see the sea wall, knee-high at the edge of the road.
