A Thousand Salt Kisses (Book 1 of Salt Kiss series)

><> Chapter Six <><

The thunderstorms had continued for a couple of days. It was the end of May, but they had been relentless and very intense.

On Thursday evening, I went to the Seaman's Lodge. The weather appeared to have settled slightly, and the lodge was just around the corner from the church. I had been able to walk over in the rain when we had finally been dismissed from class.

There was some kind of meeting, which Dad had called. I thought I would go and watch him in action, seeing as I had nothing else to do.

It was a small wooden building just down by the fishing sheds. These sheds were nestled between the two lower limbs of the starfish-shaped isle, furthest away from the mainland - the 'gateway to the ocean.'

I lowered my little red umbrella and stepped inside, immediately greeted by the smell of dry wood. I imagined the waves must have thrashed over the hut during the storms, but the interior appeared nice and waterless - a safe house.

I saw Dad in the corner of the crowded room. He appeared deep in conversation, and so I left him to it, circling the room instead. It was a cozy little hut, brightly lit and decorated with maps and lots of black and white photographs of the fisher folk with their catches. I examined one of the pictures.

"Found me?" came a cheery voice from behind.

I turned and found George standing there with a mug in his hand.

I laughed and pointed towards the jolly face in the forefront of a picture. Here, he had a cigarette in one hand and a humongous fish in the other.

"That was Sylvester," he said pointing at the catch.

"Well, Sylvester was a big boy!" I marvelled.

"Sylvester nearly broke the scales."

I laughed. I really liked George, I decided. There was something so fun and relaxing about his company. "Ooh, where'd you get that cuppa?" I asked, nodding at his mug. "I could murder a tea right now."

"Ain't no brew, my darling."

I peered into the mug, and a strong smell of liquor shot up my nostrils. George offered me the mug - which was full to the brim - but I shook my head. I was not too fond of spirits, especially after seeing Rosie the other night.

"Okay, let's get down to business," I heard Dad shout out. He saw me from across the room. "Hello, darling."

Everybody turned and looked at me with curiosity. I had to stop myself from grimacing. They all looked so haggard, and their skin thick and rough. These faces were well-weathered from decades out at sea.

"Hi Dad," I said awkwardly, lifting my hand.

I made a mental note to moisturize more regularly, as I too would be spending a lot of time in the foreseeable future whizzing about on Dad's boat. I did not want to end up with skin that I could file my nails on.

We all settled around a long table.

"Now," began Dad, putting on his glasses and passing around pieces of paper, "I've been speaking with the council with regards to SKANX".

The fishermen all leaned in. I could sense that this was a topic of great interest.

What the hell was SKANX?

I looked at the piece of paper in my hands.

'SKANX: The Facts So Far,' read the bold letters.

"Now, they have clarified to me, under the Freedom of Information Act that the containers being dumped out at sea by SKANX, have indeed been leaking."

One fisherman banged his tattooed arm angrily on the table. I jumped.

The room became awash with noise, the fishermen suddenly up in arms.

"They promised us that this wouldn't happen," shouted one man, his eyes bulged with outrage.

"I know, I know," said Dad calmly, capturing everybody's attention again. "But really, this is confirmation of what we already knew. Something had to be amiss, with all those fish and seals washing up dead in recent months. It seemed like too big of a coincidence with SKANX opening their factory down the road."

I felt myself getting upset now.  Seals were like sea-versions of Maurice. Dad had not told me about this.

"The good news is, we know - for certain - what the cause is now, don't we?" said Dad.

The fishermen all grumbled.

"Call me thick, but what's so great about that?" said one man with straggly blonde hair.

"Yeah?" another shouted out.

"It means we can take action!" said my dad, with a great assertiveness. I was impressed with my old man, but the fisherfolk still didn't seem convinced.

"We will lobby!" explained Dad, tapping the table with his finger.

There were a few grunts of approval.

"We will protest!" Dad declared, again tapping the table.

This time, there were some murmurs of agreement.

"We will campaign!" shouted Dad.

"Aye!" came a shout.

"We will write to the press!" shouted Dad.

The fisher folk clapped.

"We will fight!"

"YEAH!" a collective shout.

"And we will win!"

The room exploded into cheers and dad was suddenly swamped by the locals, taking it in turns to slap him on the back as I smiled on proudly.

Somewhere in the furore, I resumed conversation with George, who had sat down next to me.

"Your Dad's a very good man," he said as we stood up.

"Yes, he's amazing!" I beamed, feeling a swelling of pride as I saw my dear dad standing across the room, surrounded by fans.

"This company is very corrupt," said George. "They will destroy Coney and all its seas if we let them."

I bit my lip and nodded. My summer holidays were just around the corner; maybe I could do something to help.

"We have been campaigning a while... but no one pays much attention to us. They just see us as a bunch of grumpy old men. Hey, maybe we should have you in the forefront if we are ever going to get the local press drawn in. We'd get right on the front pages with a pretty girl like you."

I screwed up my face. Maybe not...

"Hey, see anything strange yet?" said George suddenly.

I hit him playfully on the arm. "Oh stop it!" I cried.

"Nothing?" he said.

I sighed. "I saw a couple of cods, a couple of trout..." I began, reciting Allan's joke.

"Yeah, that's what they all say," said George, rolling his eyes. "How about someone then?

My heart skipped a beat. "Okay, there was this one thing..." I began.

Dad cut in.

"Good evening George," said Dad putting his arm around me.

"Hello Keith," said George. "Nice work."

"Thank you," said Dad. "Now, sorry to drag my girl away but I have to take her home. Her mother's coming tomorrow and we need to have one last clean, don't we dear?"

I groaned. One last clean? He hadn't cleaned in months. Well, asides from this one time when I saw him stroke the mantelpiece with a dish cloth.

"Well, it's going to be a long night," I grumbled, doing up the zip on my coat and picking up my soggy umbrella.

"Come back anytime, Crystal," said George. I nodded and smiled, but as I looked into his twinkly blue eyes, I could not help but feel they carried a message. I suddenly wished I did not have to leave.