Things seem to be going remarkably well. We had got the bait on, we had propped up the rods and the lake stretched out before us, its surface largely uninterrupted, the odd ripple caused by a landing insect. The lake was edged with trees that cast dark shadows in the water on the other side and above us the clouds were lifting, turning the water of the lake even bluer. I was beginning to see what Geoffrey saw in the activity, my head resting back against the canvas, warm tea in my hands and the promise of a whole day of calm.
I was just gearing up to ask Luke one of my questions. I had a few planned in the hope that they would lead us to a suitably deep conversation. The opening question was to be a simple ‘How have you been?’, followed by a second question, ‘You’ve seemed a little quiet recently, has anything changed?’
‘So, Luke, how have you b—’
Before I could finish there was a disturbance in the water and I could see my rod vibrating a little.
‘Christ.’
I jerked forward, grabbing the end of the rod in time and giving Luke a rather too panicked glance. I hadn’t really covered with Geoffrey what to do in the event of actually catching a fish, and I was fast descending into a full-blown panic attack.
‘Oh God.’
Luke looked across at me. ‘All OK?’
‘Oh, oh yes, fine,’ I said, attempting to bluster my way through but really struggling just to get myself out of the chair. I had seen enough films to realise that I probably needed to start winding the line in but whatever was on the end of it was making it hard work. My hands, arthritic at the best of times, couldn’t get to grips with the damn thing.
‘Can I help?’ Luke was hovering above me, a concerned look on his face. I suppose it was fair enough – I was currently twisted half in and half out of the chair, clinging to the rod with an expression on my face that did not exude confidence.
‘Er, if you could’ – I tried to remember a few of the lines Geoffrey had taught me – ‘bring in the tackle, wind in the reel, you know, land the fish, that would be excellent.’
Luke took the rod from my hands and, as if he had been doing this all his life, wound in the line with apparent ease. Emerging from the water was a silvery flash of fish and I realised with renewed horror that I would have to put this thing out of its misery. I had not thought this fishing trip through. I still couldn’t even get out of the chair but the wriggling fish was almost upon us and, as the senior member of our party, I would surely be expected to dispatch it. I’ve never been of farming stock, purchasing all my meat and fish from the deli counters of Waitrose, and I had a distinct memory of fainting as a teenager when forced to dissect a frog. I was staring at the end of the line, dread building inside me.
Geoffrey had run me through the items in the fishing bag, which included a small wooden mallet. Was this the instrument of death I was expected to wield? It would really help if I could get out of the chair.
Why hadn’t I taken Luke to a bar like a normal man? We could be sitting at a table, two beers in front of us, the light strains of some popular music being piped around us. Or a football match, we could have talked in the car on the way there. Curse Geoffrey, he definitely didn’t prepare me well enough. Who doesn’t talk through what you’re meant to do with a fish when you catch a fish when you’re going fishing? I really must get out of this chair.
Luke, who by now had done literally everything, was holding the wriggling silver muscle on the grass and awaiting further instructions.
‘I’m just getting the mallet!’ I called, tipping forward and nearly breaking both my wrists as I tumbled headfirst onto the ground.
With shaking hands I tore through the bag, emerging with the item, which immediately seemed heavier in my grip.
‘Right then.’ I approached the fish with about as much enthusiasm as I had approached Paula on the dance floor of the recent 1970s themed disco night. ‘Best do it.’
Why had I had the bad luck to actually catch a fish? Once I’d hit it, what then? I hadn’t exactly bought the wherewithal to start smoking fish.
‘I’ll hold on to it, you hit it,’ Luke called, energy in his voice as he watched me with no short amount of respect. Oh God, he expected it. I must get a hold of myself and put the poor thing out of its misery. It seemed to be staring at me out of its one wild eye. Beseeching.
I brought the mallet down on its head, missing it by an inch, smacking the grass with the blow and relieved to have narrowly avoided Luke’s other hand.
‘Er, should I?’ he offered.
Nodding pathetically we swapped places and Luke in one swift, humane swipe had done the deed.
I felt impossibly relieved, sinking back on to my ankles and hearing the crackling of bones. My hat was set at a jaunty angle in all the excitement. I felt I had run a marathon in the last ten minutes. Now, however, staring down at the catch, I felt a swell of satisfaction.
‘How extraordinary,’ I said, admiring the subtly shifting rainbow of colours on its scales.
Luke offered a hand and we both sat back in the chairs, staring again across the water. What had I been meaning to ask him? It all seemed rather distant and confused now.
‘I can’t believe you caught one, that was amazing.’ He seemed more enthused now than in all the times I’d seen him recently. I realised I had missed his energy, coming to rely on his visits, looking forward to them. You had always had that same spirit, that same desire to live in the present. I think it’s what you so liked about him and what you felt Lottie really needed in her life.
‘So,’ I said, the lake in front of us calm once more, a couple of dog walkers passing on the other side, ‘is everything all right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’
I bit my lip, knowing this wouldn’t really cut the mustard. There’s no way you’d let him off this easily. But I didn’t want to ruin this mood, this post-triumphant daze we were both in.
‘I just thought . . . ’ I cleared my throat, determinedly staring straight ahead. God, why was this emotional stuff so difficult? Since you died I have realised how much of this I had left to you. When we spoke to Geoffrey about his wife, it was always you probing with the trickier questions. I would leave the room to make more tea, veer off into comments about the weather or Geoffrey’s recent concert trip.
‘I thought, maybe, you’ve seemed a little, that is . . . oh look, a hummingbird. Oh no, no it’s not, it’s a duck. More common, ducks.’
‘Are you all right, Teddy?’ Luke was looking at me, his face etched with concern.
‘Me. I’m excellent, thank you! Excellent.’
‘Well, that’s good. Thanks for bringing me fishing. I’ve never done it before. I get it, though. It’s nice, peaceful.’
I thought then of his father, who might have introduced him to fishing. So easy to forget sometimes that Luke didn’t have as many people in his life as he might have liked.
‘What I really, well, I thought . . . ’ I really had to get the words out, this was getting ridiculous, soon he would assume I was having some kind of stroke. ‘I hoped you haven’t been too down about anything recently. You’ve not been quite the same,’ I said in a rush, staring at the duck as if I was addressing it. It did turn to look in my direction, as if it was glad I recognised he had been a little low too.