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He had sold his business to pay Gwen off and instead had taken to renovating and designing the interiors of cottages bought by incomers to the “Chelsea-on-Sea” coast. He designed, planned and did most of the necessary work himself. Mercilessly charging an outrageous price for his top quality workmanship. As far as his clients would allow he tried to restore to the original but this, of course, did not suit all. Still he told himself in every architect there is a least a few good blots on the landscape.
In the early years of his new found freedom his hobby had been painting. He sold his canvasses spasmodically though a local gallery. As time went on he had started to get commissions usually for portraits of people and pets. This had helped him to put together the cash needed to buy the stone cottage he had been renting. As time went by he had added a boat, a Triumph TR2 which he had had lovingly restored and a Landrover. His boats had always been called Liberty and the current one was Liberty IV. He remembered it had been, literally, a toss up between Liberty and Freedom and the coin coming down tails had decided Liberty.
He saw coming up on the port side the marker showing the beginning of his row of pots and carefully brought the boat alongside. He hooked the marker and wound the rope round the windlass. The first four pots came up empty except for a few peelers which he threw back. The pots were freshly baited and thrown back. The fifth pot had a medium sized crab, enough for a decent supper for one and that was his total catch. Not good, not bad. There had been many a trip when he had come back empty handed.
He set out for a spot where he thought he might encourage a few Mackerel to attach themselves to his silver papers.
It was over twenty years since his divorce and now in his late forties Ray reflected life had been good to him. He lived alone but was not lonely. His pleasures were simple his painting was still one of them, albeit a lucrative one, Some evenings were spent in one or several favourite pubs. I suppose my only worthwhile hobby is fundraising for the lifeboat, he mused.
He throttled back the engine and dropped the anchor his Mackerel rod had been prepared with a line of silver lures. Before starting he heated himself a mug of Bovril. The line of lures was dropped over the side and after a few minutes retrieved and three Mackerel dropped into the fish box in the well of the boat. Ray continued this for nearly an hour and had nearly a full box of some thirty Mackerel.
He weighed anchor and set off for a wreck site where if he were lucky he could add some variety to his catch. He liked to cook and fish provided a large part of his diet
In his long narrow front garden he had hard standing for his Landrover and carefully covered TR2 and nearer to the house on the West hand side a bench in a Wisteria covered arbour. Tucked away between the arbour and the cottage was a neat stack of logs.
On the East side next to the arbour was a herb garden. The rest of his food was, as far as was possible, bought from local farms and growers. Ian his friend with the smoky was, for instance, the son of the local baker. Lobsters and surplus fish were traded with a local restaurant for a meal or two and plentiful cooking advice. He was at one with his community, they understood and approved of him and he understood and approved of them. He had no women in his life apart from the local lady who did his cleaning and laundry. Even she had, at first, been a reluctant addition and intrusion on his life but once she had started he wondered how he had ever managed before.
Once again he throttled back the engine and decided to fish on the drift. He baited one rod with peelers and the other with lugworm and started what was to be several fruitless hours of fishing. Eventually he retrieved his lines for the last time. Packed away and set off back for the harbour.
His life was idyllic that is it was until a few weeks ago when after a period of feeling lethargic he had gone to see his Doctor. He had referred him to the local hospital who had, after a couple of weeks, told him he had a tumour and that it would be terminal and no they didn’t know how long he had.
After joining the other small boats in the harbour channel he wondered just how many days like this he had left. One thing was for sure it wasn’t enough.
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