Fresh From the Sea

by Fabian Black

  As well as their lunch pots there were still all the dishes left from breakfast to do. He’d allowed himself to become sidetracked while picking sage earlier. He'd ended up pottering around, weeding the herb garden, deadheading the roses and picking gooseberries which were cropping particularly well, due he was sure to the advice given to him by Lucy, their part time pot washer, chambermaid, waitress and general handywoman. Dig in seaweed she’d said, pack it all round the roots. Seaweed is better than horseshit to a goosegog. They love it. It seemed she was right.

  The phone rang and drying his hands on the seat of his jeans he went to answer it. It was the crab man himself, Seth Crooks.

  Fresh from the Sea

  Five

  The paved garden path was warm beneath his feet and might have been pleasant, except, "fuck," Lin muttered a curse as his soles came into contact with sharp little particles of grit and dirt. He regretted his abandonment of footwear, but was too stubborn to go back in and put shoes on. It would only make David smug.

  Reaching the set of stone steps leading down to the icehouse he began to descend, frowning when he noticed the heavy door at the bottom had been left well ajar. Seth knew better than that. It raised the temperature inside.

  He'd obviously been thinking more about the wedding he was attending and less about the produce he was delivering. Words would have to be spoken, especially if his carelessness had resulted in a deterioration of the cooked crabs. Seafood had to be kept at an optimum temperature, especially in warm weather.

  Mentally composing a suitable admonishment for Seth he reached the bottom of the steps and pushed the door fully open, groping for the light switch and turning it on. Nothing happened and muttering a profanity he tried again, flicking the switch several times in rapid succession. The energy saver bulb finally flickered on, casting out a smoggy yellowish light that was too weak to travel far. A tea light would be more illuminating. The bulb obviously needed replacing. He'd get David to do it later.

  On the other hand he'd do it himself and craftily slip in a candescent bulb, at least they gave off a decent amount of light even if they did use more power. It was all very well David harking on about conserving energy. He didn't have to work under the modern equivalent of gaslight. It was no bloody wonder his sight was deteriorating and he had to wear his detested specs more often. He was so going to investigate having laser treatment if the decline continued.

  Advancing into the windowless room, he stood for a few moments giving his eyes time to adjust to the gloom after the brightness outside.

  The below ground level building had originally been a miniature smokehouse for curing fish to be served to sailors as they caroused in the inn. You could still smell and almost taste the tang of long gone herrings, their essence soaked into the fabric of the structure along with the scent of the oak chippings used in the smoking process.

  In the Victorian period the house owners abandoned fish curing and had the smokehouse converted into a fashionable icehouse, a kind of early refrigerator where huge blocks of ice were stored to help keep foods fresh in the summer.

  Subsequent owners had used it as a place to store junk. Lin and David returned to the concept favoured by the Victorians, only updated. They had electricity installed to power two chest freezers. They also put in a special worktop for preparing larger fish such as cod, salmon and haddock.

  It was to the cool Italian granite workbench that Lin looked for his box of boiled crabs, expecting Seth to have put them there. There was nothing. He checked the freezer tops and under the bench. Nothing again.

  Hands on hips he gave a scandalised pout. Either Seth had lied about leaving them or someone had nicked his crabs. The bloody cheek of it. Some bastard had probably watched Seth delivering them and taken their chances. The thieving swine would be on the seafront flogging his lovely boiled crabs to unsuspecting day-trippers, who'd take them home and no nothing more adventurous than make sandwiches from them.

  A brittle whoosh of movement near the door caught his attention. He squinted towards it, wishing he'd left his glasses on so he could see better. He called a greeting. “Hello, someone there?”

  There was no reply. Linval felt stirrings of unease, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He’d always fancied this cool dim structure to be haunted. Local legend claimed men had been murdered in the place long ago, smugglers who had taken more than their share of contraband and fallen foul of their colleagues in crime. They'd been slaughtered and their bodies thrown to the sea.

  “Who’s there,” he called tremulously, “is that you David? Stop arsing about."

  There was a sudden abrasive scuttling on the dark tiled floor and something hard and cool brushed against the side of his foot. He gave a cry of fright, stepping instinctively away from whatever it was, only to step onto something else, which almost overbalanced him.

  He let out a scream of agony as what felt like a steel mantrap snapped closed around his right ankle. The feeble energy bulb chose that moment to expire altogether. Seconds later there was a blue flash followed by a dull thud and the icehouse door slammed shut.

  Lin was alone in the dark with something intent on slashing his lower limbs to shreds. His heart pounded with sick terror. He could feel warm sticky blood flowing onto the icehouse floor. Vigorously kicking out his leg he managed to dislodge the creature attached to his ankle. He heard it crunch as it hit the floor.

  There was more than one of them at large though. Lin's skin crawled as clicking noises like steel segs in shoes warned him they were heading his way. His chest tightened and his heart pounded faster still. They were coming for him, an army of crabs. "DAVID!" Stumbling blindly in the dark he shouted his partner's name over and over again.

  Fresh from the Sea

  Six

  The door flew open like an answer to a prayer and he lurched out into the sunlight. "One of them closed the door and then they came for me. I couldn't get out, David, I couldn’t get out!"

  “I’ve got you. I’m here. It's all right, baby.” David gathered the hysterical figure into his arms, fighting a touch of panic on his own behalf as he caught sight of Lin’s bloodied feet. The hems of his white linen trousers were stained scarlet. He all but carried him up the steps, well away from the icehouse door. “Breathe, come on, take deep slow breaths.”

  “They’re alive,” spluttered Lin. “The bloody things are so fresh they’re still ALIVE. I don’t do raw crabs. I only do cooked ones. Seth knows that, he knows. It’s why I pay him the extra money.” He clutched at the front of David’s t-shirt, his eyes luminous with fright. “Don’t let them get me, David. They’re buggering huge vicious things. They could bring down an Alsatian and they’re out for revenge for having been wrenched from the sea.”

  “Let's get you inside, sweetheart." Swinging Lin up into his arms David briskly headed back to the safety of the kitchen with Lin clinging tightly to his neck.

  “What have I ever done to Seth to make him do such a cruel thing? He knows how I feel about live crabs. I confided in him, like a brother?”

  “Seth just didn’t have time to do the usual courtesy this morning because of the wedding. With George’s dad being given over to the sea, he’d agreed to give the bride away and he was acting as taxi to several other relatives, picking them up and getting them to the church.”

  After setting Lin down on a chair David wrenched open a drawer, pulling out a couple of clean tea towels, which he swathed around Lin's feet to stem the flow of blood.

  "But why did he leave them running around loose, why he didn't he warn us?"

  "He didn't and he did." Grabbing a bottle of Dettol from the cupboard under the sink David unscrewed the lid and tipped a copious amount into a basin, diluting it with boiled water from the kettle. He got another clean tea towel and then knelt on the floor at Lin's feet.

  "What do you mean," asked Lin, still trembling with shock, "he didn't and he did?"

  “He didn't leave them running loose." David dipped the to
wel into the Dettol solution. "He put rubber bands on their pinchers and left them in buckets of iced water so by the time you got to them they should have become totally dormant and then drowned, staying fresh ready for you to cook. He left a note of explanation and instructions pinned to the icehouse door, only Aiden…”

  Lin let out a screech that wasn’t entirely to do with the antiseptic being swabbed around his wounds. “Aiden! What has the little shit got to do with this?”

  “He helped his dad this morning. He thought it would be funny to slip back, remove the note, take the crabs out of the buckets, remove the bands and put them on the icehouse floor leaving the door ajar to raise the temperature and ensure they’d be pretty lively when you got to them. It was him who scribbled the note I found on the kitchen table. His sister heard him telling his mates about it at the reception and she told her dad. Seth phoned to warn you, only of course too late.”

  "I hope his dad strangles him."

  “Seth wasn’t happy with him and he’ll be even less happy when he hears about the result of his so called joke." David frowned as he examined Lin’s feet. Hell certainly had no fury like a cross crustacean. The pincher cut on his right ankle looked deep. He swabbed more antiseptic on it and then wrapped the tea towel tightly around it and put pressure on to staunch the bleeding.

  “Wait until I lay hands on Aiden," Lin winced, sucking air through his teeth, as the antiseptic burned like fire. "I’m going to fillet the evil little sod."

  "He deserves to be punished," said David grimly. "He's thirteen now. He's old enough to be held responsible for his actions and to take the consequences, though to be fair he wasn't to know you'd be wandering around barefoot.”

  Lin suddenly burst into a torrent of tears. "What am I going to do, David? I’ve lost a starter and a main course. I can’t touch those beasts. I can’t. They're brutes.”

  “Considering the state of your feet I think it's best we don't open tonight. You’re in no condition to be pounding around a kitchen. I think this cut on your ankle needs a trip to the hospital for stitches.”

  "I'm not going to the hospital and I'm not closing the restaurant." Lin angrily wiped tears away.

  David glanced up. "You'll do as you're told at least once today, Linval."

  “We have to open. We’ve posted the menu now. There are people who will have made plans centred around The Venus tonight. It would be unkind to let them down."

  "They'll get over it."

  "I don't want them to get over it." Lin's mulish streak set in. "A few cuts won't kill me, stick some Elastoplast on them. I want to open the bistro, David, please. Only,” his tears fell afresh. “I haven’t got any crab. I’ll be dishonoured as a chef. A menu is like a contract. You can’t put something on it and then not follow through. My reputation will suffer and it's suffered enough. Maybe you're right and we should stay closed.”

  “Whatever’s wrong with Mr Larkin?” Lydia Prescott suddenly materialised in the kitchen, making both David and Lin jump.

  "He's had an accident. He's cut his feet."

  "Let me see." She dropped the backpack she'd been in process of returning on the floor. "I'm a nurse, well midwife actually, but I’m trained in first aid and equipped to deal with most things.”

  Hurrying across the kitchen she knelt down beside David, drawing in her breath when he removed the tea towels and she saw Lin’s feet. “Oh, poor man, they look sore." Taking the cloth from David she soaked it in antiseptic and expertly swabbed the cuts, examining them critically. How did you get them?”

  "I was attacked by sea monsters."

  "Sea Monsters!” She stopped swabbing to look up at him in astonishment.

  "He's being dramatic." David quickly filled her in on the details.

  “Kids eh," she shook her head, "monsters in their own way. Sometimes I'm glad I only deliver them and don't have any of my own, well," she smiled, "if you discount Tom." She looked up at Lin. "The cuts on your big toe and side of your foot aren’t too bad, flesh wounds. They'll soon heal, but the one on your ankle is deep. It needs suturing, otherwise it’ll heal badly and scar.

  "That's what I thought. I'm going to run him to the hospital."

  "I told you I'm not going," snapped Lin.

  "You're going, whether you like it or not."

  Before Lin could counter argue, Mr Prescott's booming voice sounded from the hall.

  "Lydia, what's keeping you, I thought we," he changed the course of his sentence as he walked into the kitchen and saw his wife and David kneeling on the floor at Lin's feet, "what's going on here then, a chiropody party?"

  "Mr Larkin has had an accident." Mrs Prescott looked over her shoulder. “Don’t just stand there gawping, Tom. Go and get my medical bag. It’s in the boot of the car.”

  He hurried off recognising a professional in full flow. She turned to David. "There's no need for an A and E visit. I can soon fix things here with a few butterfly stitches. It's all they'd do at the hospital. I've got the necessary equipment."

  Fresh from the Sea

  Seven

  “What brought you back so early, Lydia. I thought you'd be out all day.” David watched in admiration as she deftly applied paper steristrips to the cut on Lin’s ankle, drawing the edges of the wound neatly together and sealing it.

  “There’s been a minor landslide on the cliff top. The walkway leading to Whitersby has been cordoned off, so we walked on Cowbar Nab and had our picnic there. We thought we'd spend the rest of the afternoon on the beach.”

  She applied an iodine pad to the wound and covered it with a self-adhesive dressing before turning her attention to the other cuts on Lin's feet, cleaning and covering them.

  “There you are, Mr Larkin. Keep them dry and covered for a few days, see your doctor if you’re at all worried. The strips will come off quite easily once the cut heals.”

  “Linval, please call me Linval or Lin and thank you, Lydia, you’re most kind.”

  "You're welcome," she smiled warmly. "Linval's a nice name, unusual. I've heard a lot of names in my career, but I've never come across that one."

  "It's a Caribbean name. I was called in honour of the Jamaican doctor who delivered me. He was kind to my mother." He turned to David with an air of the brave invalid. “Make some coffee would you please, love, and there’s some walnut and chocolate cake in the pantry. I’m sure Mr Prescott will enjoy a slice.”

  “Tom, seeing as we're off ceremony and handing out Christian names," boomed Mr Prescott, his fleshy face lighting up at the prospect of cake. He plonked himself at the kitchen table with obvious anticipation. “So,” he gazed at Lin, "tell again, how did you come by those feet?”

  He listened wide-eyed as the sorry tale of the rogue crabs was related to him.

  “So,” he thoughtfully masticated a bit of cake. “You’re telling me there's a danger The Venus might not be opening this evening on account one of the starters and a main course is running amuck in your outhouse?”

  “Icehouse actually, and yes.” Lin's eyes refilled with tears.

  He looked so miserable that David, taking a deep breath, prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice for the one he loved. “If you really think you're up to cooking this evening, Lin, then I’ll catch and boil the crabs for you. Give me instructions and I’ll do it.”

  If truth were told he wasn’t keen. Live crabs were the oceanic equivalent of gigantic hard backed spiders, only with pinchers strong enough to crush rock in their grip. He didn’t blame Lin a bit for his phobia with regard to them, a phobia stemming from childhood.

  Lin seldom spoke of his childhood in Stanes and David had learned not to press, valuing all the more the snippets volunteered to him, usually of Lin’s earliest memories, such as the crab episode, which happened when he was six.

  His mother bought two live crabs from fishermen on the harbour side. Taking them home she’d boiled up a pan of water and dropped one of the crabs into the bubbling inferno, the recognised method of quickly killing and cooking them.
Lin had been horrified when the crab apparently began screaming in agony. His mother told him it was only air leaving the shell, but he didn't believe her.

  Clamping his hands over his ears he’d run sobbing across the kitchen to get away from the sound of the poor crab’s torment. In the process he upset the pail containing the other crab, which had been left on the kitchen floor. It lashed out, clamping a large pincher to Lin’s small bare foot almost amputating his little toe.

  It was fair to assume that someone who had almost lost a toe to crab kind would have no problem about dropping them into hot water, but not Lin. He was terrified of the creatures, but he couldn't bear the thought of boiling them alive. It was a fair handicap for a chef who specialised in seafood. Lin could work magic with crabmeat, but only if the crab had been pre-boiled by someone else, hence his arrangement with Seth Crooks.

  Lin held out a hand for David to hold. “It's sweet of you to offer, but no. I won't put you at risk. Those creatures are terrors and you're no crab killer. Besides I wouldn't like to think of them being painfully slaughtered by someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing. It would be cruel.”

  Popping the last portion of his third slice of walnut and chocolate cake into his mouth, Tom Prescott washed it down with a good mouthful of coffee, belched gently into a paper napkin and rose majestically to his feet.

  “I was looking forward to a good dinner tonight and I’ll not let crustaceans with attitude get in the way of it. Point me in the direction of those buggers and get a big pot of water on to boil, and don’t you fret." He patted a large kind hand to Lin's shoulder. "I’ll despatch them so quick they won’t know a thing about it.”

  “Have you killed crabs before, Mr P…Tom?” Lin looked at him uncertainly.