How To Catch Crabs Read online

  "Lucy, here's your fish. I'll help you carry it out," Mr Merlino said, then raised his voice. "Tony? Basile? Can you give Lucy a lift when you drive Maria home?"

  Mr Basile's eyes were glazed over, much as mine had been earlier. He was smitten with Maria, I realised, as he mumbled her name until he seemed to snap out of his trance. "Maria's fish. Yes." He strode out after her.

  Mr Merlino paused to look down on his erstwhile employee. "You no longer work for me. You don't cross Maria." He stepped over Giorgio, two buckets of fish in each hand.

  I felt a stab of pity for the boy. Violence, humiliation and now losing his job.

  Then he opened his mouth. "Who was that bitch? When I speak to her father, she'll get the hiding of her life!"

  Any sympathy I had for him shrivelled. Maria had come to my aid. She'd dived into the freezing water in pursuit of my dinner, though she barely knew me.

  One of the older fishermen hauled Giorgio to his feet, muttering advice that was too quiet for anyone but Giorgio to hear, but I'm not sure the stupid boy heard it, either.

  "What? That harpy has a husband? My God, how does he tolerate her without beating her?"

  Everyone knew Maria's husband had died horribly while fishing in a storm, and they also knew not to mention it out of respect for the still-grieving widow. My sympathy died. Each fresh word Giorgio said pounded a new nail into its coffin, hardening my heart against him.

  Not wanting to hear any more, I turned on my heel and left the market hall, sincerely hoping that the other fishermen would use the boy for bait next time they took the boat out.

  Five

  "So, did you get the sardines?" Dominic asked, jerking his head at the parcels by my feet.

  I'd been sitting on the station platform for perhaps half an hour, waiting for him. Thank heaven for winter weather, or the smell of the fish would have made me feel sick. "I almost got enough to feed us for a month. The markets will be closed until Monday with this ghastly weather and Mr Merlino had so many spare, he offered them to me."

  Dominic hefted my shopping and I realised he held a fishing basket in his other hand.

  "Have you been fishing, too?" I asked, smelling the strong odour of old fish his basket exuded.

  He laughed. "No, this is a gift from one of my friends in the club. I'll show you when we get home." He followed me into the train carriage. "You should have been there today, Lucy. So many unusual creatures blown in by the storm. Fascinating. Did you see any unusual birds while you were shopping?"

  I shrugged. "I wasn't really looking at the birds. I saw Maria Speranza today, though. She still works in the fish markets."

  Dominic nodded. "That woman knows more about fish than anyone else I've ever met. She's helped us identify a few new species lately – ones even I'd never seen before. Now, if we could get her to join the Naturalists' Club...her for fish and you for your magic with numbers. It's not a men's club, after all."

  "She said she'd like to go on one of the field trips," I volunteered.

  He looked stunned. "Truly?"

  I nodded.

  We sat in silence for the rest of the train journey. Dominic was lost in his thoughts as much as I was, though I suspected he thought more of animals than the people uppermost in my mind.

  Tony Basile had given both Maria and I a ride in his truck and she'd surprised me with her friendliness. She'd asked after my family, as if she knew not just me, but them, too. When I mentioned Dominic, the conversation had naturally turned to the exploits of the Naturalists' Club. She'd sounded as eager as I felt to see more of the rugged places where strange birds dwelled. Almost as if she'd yearned for more than her life here. For the first time, I'd felt akin to the other woman, if only in spirit. I wondered if she'd felt the same connection.

  I snorted quietly to myself. Unlikely. She'd been married and widowed, then emigrated to live with her aunt after living a life I couldn't imagine. We were worlds apart, she and I. But today, I wondered if perhaps we could still be friends. Lord knew it would be lovely to have a female friend who thought of more than marriage and babies. I doubted I'd ever have the courage Maria had, though – she was like Queen Victoria come back to life, ruling her fishy little kingdom. I wouldn't have dared knock a man down over a bag of crabs. She was fearless, I decided, wishing I had even half her courage.

  Not even the boy – Giorgio Paino, I reminded myself – could match her for that. He'd feared her more than any of the other men. It was like the way my brothers minded Mum, except I didn't think Giorgio was the type to obey his mother.

  "You have enchanted my senses. I am at your service," his deep voice said in my memory and my heart fluttered again. I felt unusually warm and wondered if I was coming down with a cold. Surely nothing else could explain this odd fever inside.

  Part boy, part man with eyes that spoke far more than his words did.

  A rake, I reminded myself. A rogue. The sort of boy-man who toyed with women's emotions and drove them to do silly things. But not me. I'd experienced a momentary lapse, but I wouldn't let it happen again. For heaven's sake, he'd called me a witch.

  I should have slapped him. If he ever tried his wiles on me again, I most certainly would.

  "C'mon, Lucy. This is our stop."

  I shook myself out of my daydream, realising that Dominic was correct and we'd arrived at Maddington Station.

  I waited with our purchases while Dominic fetched our gear and saddled the horses again. Normally, I'd have helped, but when I stepped forward to offer, Dominic said, "You keep an eye on our things."

  My heart sank. Had he heard about my runaway crabs?

  He helped me mount Red before climbing onto Onyx's back. Despite spending all afternoon eating, both horses seemed eager to get home, so it was a short trip through the bush and the orchards back to our family cottage.

  Dominic set his basket on the veranda as I carried my things inside to Mum.

  "What are these?" she asked, examining the parcel of sardines.

  "Dom said he wanted them. For a guest he was bringing to dinner," I said, remembering. But he hadn't brought anyone home with him. I grabbed the sardines and headed back out to the veranda. "Where's your dinner guest, Dom? Did you forget him?"

  On his knees beside the fishing basket, Dominic just laughed. "No, he's right here. Give me the fish."

  I handed them over and waited expectantly as he loosened the basket lid and selected a sardine, which he lowered into the basket.

  After a moment, Dominic jumped and swore softly. When he pulled his hand out, I saw blood on his finger.

  "Ooh, what's in the basket?" Vince cried. The excited ten-year-old was quicker than I was, though no less curious.

  "Something that likes Dom's fingers more than sardines," I suggested.

  Dominic dangled another sardine over the basket and a beak darted out and snapped it out of the air.

  "That's one funny-looking penguin," I said.

  Dominic laughed again. "It's a crested penguin. Whittell said it's called a rockhopper penguin and it's the first one I've seen. This one got swept up in the storm and washed up, half dead down south. I offered to nurse it back to health if Whittell headed down to collect it. It sure is more aggressive than I thought."

  "Probably female, then," I said without thinking.

  He rose. "Maybe."

  "Mum, Dom brought home a pet penguin!" Vince shouted, racing into the house.

  I strongly suspected my future held plenty more visits to the fish markets for sardines.

  "Vincent, go fetch your father. Dominic...the midwife. Lucy, I need your help. I think the baby's coming," Mum said.

  Too early. Mum wasn't due yet – this was bad. I headed into the dimly-lit kitchen, feeling foreboding that I wished away.

  Six

  Mum lost the baby. Too small, she never drew breath. There was a lot of blood, though – blood I had to clean up, being the eldest girl and all.

  By the time Dad got home from the store in the city, the do
ctor had come and gone. Mum needed rest, which meant us girls would need to pick up the immense load she normally carried. She might rule the roost, but Mum was the perfect housewife for her husband. Or so it seemed to us.

  By the time Monday morning dawned, it was a relief to have the house to myself, as everyone but Mum and me went to work or school. That didn't mean I got to rest – oh, no. Monday was laundry day.

  Boiling water in the copper over and over, scrubbing everything until it looked clean, then wringing them dry until my arms ached. If only my labours ended there, but washing was just the beginning.

  The interminable rain had let up, so everything had to be line-dried on ropes tied between trees and posts in the yard.

  As I soaked and scrubbed the blood out of the sheets, I swore I'd never marry or have children. It became a litany to get me through the day.

  Hoisting the basket of wet sheets onto my hip, I left the lean-to that was our laundry and heard Mum's voice. Dropping the basket, I hurried into the house. "Mum? Are you okay?" I called. "Do you need anything?"

  I found her in the kitchen, filling the kettle, while Mrs Paino sat at the table.

  "Sit down, Mum. I'll make tea," I said quickly, pushing her into the chair beside Mrs Paino. As I bustled around the kitchen, I glanced outside and was surprised to see Mr Paino's delivery truck in the yard. What with all the noise in the laundry, I hadn't heard the rumbling engine at all. Surely Mrs Paino hadn't driven it here herself.

  I spooned tea leaves into the pot, then reached into the icebox for a bottle of milk. The icebox was surprisingly full, though, with dishes and tins that I didn't recognise. Realisation dawned on me. "Did you make all this?" I asked.

  Mrs Paino laughed. "No, just that casserole there. When we heard about Annie, everyone wanted to make something, but none of us knew how to get it to you. In the end, Sal said he could give me a lift in the truck after he'd made the morning deliveries. By that time, I needed the truck to deliver it all. Even Merry D'Angelo made one of her devil's food cakes, look!" She pulled a tin off the shelf and lifted the lid to reveal a dark, sticky chocolate cake.

  "Did Maria help her make that?" I blurted out.

  "Maria Speranza? No, she gave me a fish. One so big it barely fits in your icebox." Mrs Paino beamed.

  Fish. Of course. I rummaged around until I found the milk, then shut the icebox again.

  "I can make tea, Lucy. You go finish what you were doing," Mum said quietly, taking the milk from my hand.

  After a moment, I nodded and headed back outside.

  I pegged out the sheets, my arms burning from the weight as I lifted each heavy item onto the line, but I knew no one else would do it for me. Not even the helpful Mrs Paino and her friends in Fremantle. I smelled smoke faintly on the wind and knew Mum wasn't the only one brewing up a morning cup of tea.

  When my basket was empty, I slipped under the lines of washing until I reached the outermost rank. A quick touch told me that these were far from dry, so I returned to the lean-to laundry to finish up the last load of boys' clothes. I'd already scrubbed these once, but they were so dirty, I'd given up and decided to soak them for longer.

  I wound them around the copper stick – actually an old cricket bat of Dominic's – and dumped the mess into the rinse water, praying that I wouldn't have to scrub them again. It wouldn't kill the boys to wear grey shirts to school, especially after they'd turned them that colour.

  I shoved my arms into the tub of water, weaving my hands between the shirts and shorts in an effort to untangle them. The smell of smoke intensified as I touched the bottom of the stone tub. No, this wasn't the clean, sharp smell of burning jarrah from a neighbour's chimney. This was the fug of tobacco that shouldn't be anywhere near my laundry.

  "Nick, if you're smoking again, I'll tell Mum!" I hissed, glancing over my shoulder.

  The masculine silhouette in the doorway was too muscular to be my fifteen-year-old brother. As if to demonstrate this, he removed the cigarette from his lips and blew a stream of smoke at the ceiling. "Who is this Nick, streghetta? Your brother, I hope."

  Giorgio's deep voice stopped my heart for a moment, before it stuttered back to beating. How could one man have such an effect on me? I only hoped he didn't notice.

  "None of your business," I snapped. "What are you doing, trespassing here?"

  He laughed softly. "I am driving my sister-in-law to see her friend. My brother didn't trust me to mind his shop, so he gave me his wife and truck instead. So, this friend. Is she your friend, too? Or your sister, perhaps?"

  "My mother. And my father is pruning the grapevines, but he'll be back for lunch any moment, so you should get out of here and leave me to my work." I deliberately turned my back on him, concentrating only on the task at hand. I willed him to leave.

  "But you have bewitched me, streghetta. I've thought of nothing and no one else since I met you in the market last week." I heard the crunch of footsteps on the hard-packed clay as he entered the lean-to.

  He's right behind me, but I won't give him the satisfaction of paying him undeserved attention, I vowed, lifting a shirt from the suds so I could scrutinise it for stains.

  Something warm touched my neck and I dropped the shirt with a splash. Whirling around, I glared at Giorgio. "How dare you touch me without my permission!"

  "This new fashion of short hair drew my eyes to your neck, as I'm sure you intended, and I could not resist you, streghetta." He touched two fingers to his lips. "Your neck tastes of soap and salt, the products of your hard labour. Do your lips taste sweeter?"

  I drew in a sharp breath to shout at him again, but he seized my shoulders and kissed me. His lips were warm as he took me by surprise, taking advantage of my open mouth to mingle his breath with mine, before his tongue darted in to dance. It was a kiss that spoke of passion, longing and a desire for more as his body pressed mine against the sink. He tasted of ash and smoke, coupled with the warmth of a fire that could melt even the iciest heart. Even mine, I realised, as my knees weakened. I groped for the sink behind me to stay on my feet and my fingers closed on the copper stick.

  All those years of backyard cricket with my brothers was worth it, I decided, as I brought up the bat to hit the rogue for six. Cold, soapy water doused us both, but I didn't care because I heard and felt the satisfying thunk as the bat made contact with his head.

  Immediately, he released me and backed up, touching a hand to his head to see if he was bleeding. Sadly, I hadn't hit him hard enough for that. My arms were too tired from a morning's worth of washing.

  I brandished the bat. "Don't do that again."

  He laughed and I almost hit him again. "Only if you promise not to bewitch me any more. Tell me your name."

  "You've never had the good manners to introduce yourself, so why should I?" I retorted. I could still feel the heat of his mouth on mine. Heavens – I almost wanted to feel it again.

  He bent in an exaggerated bow. "Signorina, I am Giorgio Paino and I'm honoured to make your acquaintance."

  I snorted.

  Giorgio straightened. "Now, I believe it is good manners to tell me your name."

  Part of me wanted to tell him my full name, to hear his deep voice caress every syllable. The rest of me wanted to crack him again with the cricket bat.

  "Lucy! Your mother wants you!" Mrs Paino shouted.

  I closed my eyes in defeat, but only for a moment. Still brandishing the bat, I edged past him into the yard. "Coming!" I shouted back, breaking into a run.

  Behind me, I heard Giorgio chuckle.

  Seven

  Mum insisted that I return Mrs Paino's kindness by bringing her some wine. I dallied and delayed for a fortnight before Mum put her foot down and insisted that she'd be fine, so I had no excuse. This time, instead of riding Red, I chose to walk with my umbrella in hand.

  The train journey was uneventful. I occupied my time by balancing the farm's books, which told me what I already knew. Mum and Dad were running it on a very thin margin. On
e more drought or other disaster and their profit would vanish. The shop in town, by contrast, was booming, even though Dad bought more and more produce from other growers with more fertile land. If only Mum would agree to sell the farm and take a house in town.

  I stepped onto the Fremantle platform with a heavy heart. The flooding had subsided, but not before washing away the rail bridge across the harbour. It was a miracle no one had died when the bridge collapsed.

  All the way up Market Street, I steeled myself for another meeting with Giorgio. I forced my heart to still, my breathing to remain even and my face to reveal no expression. His fierce kiss had dominated my thoughts for the last fortnight, for it was both an invasion and an invitation. An invitation to madness, I told myself as I promenaded up the pavement.

  Mr Paino greeted me warmly when I entered his shop, ushering me upstairs to see his wife. Of course I was expected; unexpected callers only turned up in times of trouble, like our house last week.

  I swallowed, desperately wishing for Giorgio to be absent even as I looked for him.

  Mrs Paino was all smiles, peeling her youngest son off her leg as she offered me coffee and cake. I followed her to the kitchen, where she admitted to experimenting in the kitchen with something called scones.

  I stifled a laugh and tried to look intrigued. The English migrants all seemed to swear by them, but I could only swear at them. The fluffy, crumbly things other people ate with jam, cream and anything else sweet they could find, only seemed to form into hard discs when I baked them. Nat had once joked about stuffing them into our brassieres for a dance at the Hydrodome and I suspected she'd done just that on more than one occasion. There was no other way I could account for my missing scones. It's not like anyone had ever eaten them. The crust could break teeth.