You shall have a fishy

Well what can I tell you? I went fishing – and I caught a really big fish.

The sun was sparkling on the gentle waves of the lagoon, like it only does in the Caribbean, golden, soft, clear and kind. The fish darted beneath the skull, too bountiful, too beautiful to catch? I lazed, one hand in the water, listening to the flip and flop of the waves, lulled by the rocking of the boat, the cool water streaming slowly through my fingers, tangible, intangible. Maybe I would take a little dip instead. I eased myself down into the cool water, not wanting to make a sound to disturb the peace of my little lagoon. Water all round me, caressing my skin, holding me. I suspected I might be lonely.

I paddled about for a bit, dipping under, swimming round the sculpted marvel of the reef, the fish watching my slow motion clumsiness with amusement. Maybe I would eat one of them. Who looked the most amused? I played at trying to catch them with my hands. Always too slow. They didn't even bother to be scared, darted a foot or two away then continued with their business. I laughed with them. The water rushed in cool streams down my head and neck as I surfaced nose full and spluttering. What a glorious place to be alone. My home. I floundered back into my boat and lay on the hard smooth planks luxuriating in the sun on my skin and slept.

Something woke me. A shadow loomed across the fading sky.

"Having much luck luv?"

"Sorry?" Sleepy, head fog. Should I panic? Can't be bothered, try and sit up and open eyes. "Um hello?"

"Did you catch anything?" He sounded friendly enough.

"Um, no. They were too pretty. I do this every day, but they're always too pretty." I push myself up so I can peer over the side of the boat at my companion. Dreadlocks haloed in the sunset – dark shadows obscuring his face – Spanish probably, except he sounded English. He thrust a hand at me, whether to shake or help me up I wasn't sure, but I held on and went for the latter. His hands were rapped in salt hardened strips of cloth, his wrists in beads and leather. "Captain Jack Sparrow maam, at your service." I glanced at his dinghy. If that made him a captain? "Miss Catherine Butterworth, Duchess of Green Mark – welcome to my estate." I smiled and manoeuvred myself back onto the seat, lifted the little anchor and arranged my oars. "Care for a little race?"

"Where to?"

"That little hut, I mean my glorious country pile". I gestured at my cottage, snuggled in the thick woods by the beach.

I set off. It was fun at first, the exhilaration of physical exertion, his dinghy was larger, heavier and not really designed for rowing – but then he was winning, why do they always win? (Because they're bigger, stronger and faster – but they could let me win!) So I slowed and pulled an easy rhythm to the beach, hopped out with practised grace (I hoped) and dragged the scull past the highest tide mark. He was already sitting on the doorstep grinning, the dinghy anchored in the shallows. His smile was warm but his teeth seemed black yet shined ghoulishly with the last red of the sun. The sand was soft under my feet as I walked towards him; the evening breeze whipped my hair across my face and shivers of sand across my legs. I grinned back.

"Well this is a warmer welcome than I was hoping for."

"But no warmer than you deserve I hope."

"Aye, quite. But some take objection to my appearance like."

"And what's not to like?" (My I'm confident today – I suspect that I'm not quite awake yet).

"Well I don't think it's the look of it so much as what it stands for."

"Pirate?"

"Aye, Pirate."

"Well that didn't stop good Queen Bess shagging Sir Walter Riley now did it?"

"Really? I though he was gay? And that was a while ago now when pirating was in fashion."

"From the look of you it's still in fashion. And it always helps to do your pirating under the queen's colours."

"So you want to shag me then? The welcome here…"

"That wasn't what I was saying. Just that I think that most people are hypocritical bastards to hang a man when he's a pirate when they ship living souls cramped under deck without enough of life's necessity air to go around never mind water, killing more than half of them, just cos he steals their ill-gotten gains. Sorry, I'm showing what my father calls my puritanical harridan streak."

"I see only gracious clear minded charm." He nodded his head at me and extended his hand in a mock bow.

I paused and sat down on the warm soft sand in front of him with a thump, feeling it's substance against me. Definitely lonely. But before we rush into things that we might regret (who knows how much? The evil in this world is staggering) I thought I'd best ask him straight out "so are you the raping and murdering type of pirate or just the nicking things and not paying duty type of pirate?"

"If I was the raping and murdering type of pirate, would I not also be the lying type of pirate?"

"Just answer the fucking question. Excuse my olde English." I wasn't serious, but it was obvious that this was a man to take no shit from from the start.

"And are all murderous pirates the raping kind?"

"I can have a nap if you like while you work out the answer."

"Well, luv, though your charm seems to be waning..."

"While you're words are waxing off the point…"

"I've never raped anyone, girl, man nor goat and if by murder you mean kill a man outside the law then I guess I have, but not beyond the law I hold for myself."

"Which is?"

"Only kill if it's absolutely necessary."

"As when…"

"They're about to kill you, or some other such."

"What about if they deserve it?"

"I wouldn't presume to decide. Except once. Ok, when absolutely necessary and if they really deserve it."

"And what had this man done, the man who deserved it?"

"I'm not sure that you should ask such things."

"Are you afraid that I'll tell someone? I could tell the parrots, or the fish, but it wouldn't leave this island Jack. Unless I ever leave this island."

"So we are alone here then?"

"Completely alone."

"I can see why you were so pleased to see me."