Nicola Barker - Five Miles from Outer Hope

The Worm Eater is already readjusting his balaclava. Jack looks nonplussed. ‘If I’d known you were that desperate,’ he says, reaching into his jacket pocket, ‘I’d’ve given you an Iced Gem.’

La Roux’s head snaps around again. ‘What was that?’ he asks, his back instantly straightening.

‘An Iced Gem,’ Jack repeats, holding up a small packet of this obscure miniature-multi-coloured-icing-topped-biscuit-based delicacy.

On espying these alien English sweetmeats, La Roux begins wriggling like a puppy.

‘Oh yes,’ he says, ‘I’ll certainly be willing to try one of those.’

‘Believe it or not,’ Jack informs me (ignoring the eager La Roux with most magnificent aplomb), ‘I like to use these things to attract tiddlers. For some strange reason they seem to have a real appetite for them.’

He pulls open the small packet and tosses a large handful into the water. La Roux howls like a wounded wolf.

As if only just apprehending La Roux’s interest, Jack pulls out a couple extra and hurls them his way. In his frenzy to catch them La Roux elbows me in both the ear and the shoulder. I complain vociferously, but to no avail. La Roux catches one, but the second lands in the water. Even so, he holds his tiny prize in the palm of his hand and stares at it lovingly. ‘ Iced Gem ,’ he repeats, and stares some more.

My eyes return firmly to my gently bobbing fly, while behind me a sudden ecstatic crunching commences. Five quiet seconds pass. Jack reels in his line.

‘I need another Iced Gem !’ La Roux suddenly bellows. ‘Give them to me!’

I turn on him. ‘Would you actually mind shutting bloody up for a single minute? You’re scaring the fish away with all that racket.’

‘I need an Iced Gem !’ La Roux shouts. ‘I just love them. I’ve fallen in love with them. Give me another. Give me another Iced Gem. Give one to meeeeee .’

Jack completely ignores him (He seems to have perfected this capability). He pushes a worm on to his hook and casts it out again.

‘ Iced Gem! ’ La Roux yells.

I turn to Jack. ‘For God’s sake, I can’t stand it. Please do us both a favour and just give him one.’

Jack points. ‘See. Over there…’

I wincingly (the sheer volume of La Roux’s expostulations is simply deafening ) follow the line of his finger. A short distance away an isolated but still-floating Iced Gem is being consumed by something scaly.

‘I told you they loved them.’

Jack shoves his hand once again into the open packet and casts a few more out to sea.

‘ No! ’ La Roux howls.

Jack smiles (he can’t help himself), puts the packet down onto the bench beside him and reels in his line a little. My fly bobs. I yank up the rod and also start reeling. Jack notices. ‘A bite?’ he asks encouragingly.

‘Can’t quite tell as yet…’ I continue reeling, breathing heavily.

During this brief moment of fisherly distraction, La Roux — without any kind of warning — suddenly hurls himself across the boat towards the packet of Iced Gems, shoving me discourteously aside in the process.

I almost topple overboard. The whole boat rocks wildly. But Jack’s much too quick for him, and snatches the Gems — or most of them — out of harm’s way before La Roux’s frantically lunging hands are able to grab a firm hold. Three tip on to the mucky floor and La Roux manages to herd them together. Then (like an electric eel which has recently emerged from its coral hunting hidey-hole) he rapidly retreats again.

A further, elongated bout of ecstatic crunching follows. Whatever was once on my line has now slipped off it. I reel in, cursing darkly, and rebait. ‘You know what?’ I gurgle over my shoulder. ‘You are worse than a bloody animal. You are an absolute fucking liability.’

‘Ah, fuck you back,’ La Roux mutters, still crunching enthusiastically, his birdy-eyes peering greedily at Jack over the length of the boat again.

‘He’s like a starling,’ Jack says, glancing over and (would you believe this?) smiling indulgently. ‘Just look at him. Just look at those tiny, sharp eyes. A starling.’

La Roux pauses mid-crunch. ‘What’s a starling?’

‘A greasy little brown bird. Very noisy ,’ I tell him coldly.

Jack nods his agreement, then, ‘Ooops,’ he expostulates, focusing forward, ‘something’s nibbling.’

It’s at this point that the lucky swine casually bags a three-pound mackerel. No fuss. No rigmarole. No unmanly hassle. I watch in awe while he reels it in and then enviously eyeball his prodigious catch as he proudly unhooks it.

‘They’re only not biting my end,’ I tell him sulkily, ‘because of this noisy bastard here.’ I thumb contemptuously towards La Roux.

‘I’m so hungry , so terribly hungry ,’ La Roux is muttering. ‘How long before we can head back home again?’ (We’ve been in the boat, at this stage, all of thirty minutes.)

Jack deftly concusses his catch on the edge of the vessel. ‘Couple more hours,’ he answers casually. A powerful silence ensues from La Roux’s end as he digests this terrible revelation.

‘Two hours ?’ he gasps finally, his voice hollow with horror.

‘Approximately,’ Jack says.

‘But how will I survive it?’ La Roux bellows.

‘By catching some fish like you’re supposed to,’ Jack tells him, ‘that’s how.’

It is at this awful juncture that La Roux suddenly notices that he has lost his beloved twig (I fear it fell into the water during his struggle for the Iced Gem packet. And maybe I helped it, God forgive me). He is devastated.

‘I can’t believe I lost my twig,’ he keeps saying. ‘I just can’t believe I lost it.’

I cast out again, firmly resolving to simply ignore him. After a brief two minute silence during which time La Roux is noisily consuming the remainder of his sticky yellow ball of wonder-bait, his voice pipes up again. ‘I need protein,’ he says determinedly. ‘Bring me the lugworms. Just pass the tub over.’

‘No,’ I growl, ‘we’re fishing with them .’

‘Then give me an Iced Gem,’ he wheedles.

‘No.’

‘You know what?’ Jack says, as if suddenly awakening from a temporary reverie.

‘No, what?’ La Roux answers.

‘It’s only mentioning starlings earlier that made me think of it…’

I drag my eyes from my fly and turn to look at him. ‘Made you think of what?’

‘The parliament,’ he says grandly. ‘We have one locally. Have you ever seen it?’

I shake my head. ‘Parliament? Nope. I’ve never even heard of it.’

‘Me neither,’ La Roux interjects.

‘Well,’ Jack expands, ‘a parliament of starlings happens at sunset. But only in certain places and especially at certain times of year. They flock together — and I mean literally in their thousands — and do all this astonishingly acrobatic flying, in formation. It’s a really amazing sight. Definitely worth seeing.’

I’m immediately fascinated by this phenomenon. ‘Wow. That sounds intoxicating.’

‘You’re telling me,’ Jack agrees smugly.

Suddenly, and without any prior warning, La Roux (as if inspired by what Jack has been saying) starts to sing something in the most offensively smarmy wail I have ever yet heard. He has a terrible voice. At once strong and weedy. I turn towards him. ‘La Roux ,’ I say firmly (but calmly), ‘ I want you to stop doing that right now.’

He stops. ‘Doing what?’ he asks.