Nine

When I reached the kitchen, I found that Merry had coated all the fish, boiled some carrots and sliced the potatoes. We were busy stoking the stove, to make sure the frying pan would be nice and hot, when Tony breezed in, carrying a bottle under each arm.

"My uncle's been experimenting with fermenting grapes again. He says it's his best white wine yet, but Mum says she won't have the stuff in the house, not after last time he brought over some home brew that was far too strong. So I saved a couple of bottles for you ladies, to thank you for the meal." He sniffed appreciatively, though all he could possibly smell was raw fish and cooked carrots. "Where's your ice box? I'm told this tastes better when it's cold." I pointed and he stuck one bottle deep inside. "Let's open this one now. Do you have any glasses?"

Merry rummaged through the bottom cupboard of the dresser, moving things around for a full five minutes before she pulled out a strange, stemmed, funnel-shaped glass with a round foot. She produced two more, equally dusty glasses before climbing laboriously to her feet to carry them to the sink. I offered to help, but she refused.

Shrugging, I returned to the stove and dripped some water into the cast iron pans. In the first, the droplets just formed an uninspiring puddle, but in the other they danced on the surface, telling me it was ready to fry my favourite fish. I dropped a generous dollop of butter into the pan and watched it melt and bubble. With more caution than I'd normally give a fillet, I lowered the first piece into the pan, then carefully added five more. Moving them around with my spatula, I decided there was space for one last piece. I breathed in the smell of searing fish and couldn't seem to focus on anything else, until I realised the stinging pricks against my arm were from the boiling water droplets in the second pan. I buttered that one, too, then added the potatoes.

Behind me, I heard the chink and clink of someone setting the table before the sizzling drowned out all other sound. When the fish was almost browned on one side, I added more butter to the pan and flipped them over. I almost sighed in relief but didn't want to show my nervousness in front of Tony. Any other fish and I wouldn't mind, but I'd never eaten cooked wahoo before. It had to be perfect.

A slight touch at my elbow made me jump and almost drop the spatula, but I recovered in time to stop it hitting the floor. "May I try something?" Tony asked. He didn't seem to want to explain further, so I nodded. He tipped the bottle of wine into the fish pan, so that it just coated the base. "My mother swears it's the only thing white wine's good for – cooking fish."

The wine seemed to only enhance the aroma spiralling up, so I nodded again and concentrated on the potatoes, which were just about ready. I took the pan off the stove and tipped them into a serving dish Merry had set in the middle of her best tablecloth. Setting the dirty pan in the sink to soak, I scrutinised the fillets. Almost done...and they smelled amazing. I grabbed a serving plate off the table and transferred each piece of fish over, determined that they should look as good as they tasted.

I slid into my seat, followed by Merry and Tony last of all.

"Will you please say grace, Tony?" Merry murmured and we all bowed our heads as he spoke the words.

When I lifted my head, I found both of them watching me. No one had touched the food. Shrugging, I reached for the nearest piece of fish and deposited it on my plate. Potatoes, carrots and whatever else could wait.

I sliced a small bite off the end with my fork. The flesh was dense and white, cooked to perfection. I lifted it to my lips and tipped it onto my tongue. I closed my eyes, letting the flavour melt on my tongue before I crushed it between my teeth. Oh, it was sublime. Who'd have thought a cooked wahoo could be better than raw?

I opened my eyes so I could see to slice off another piece, only to find both Merry and Tony staring at me in amusement. Tony's eyes smouldered with the same lust I'd seen in his eyes this afternoon. I couldn't fault him this time – I felt the same way about the fish as he evidently did.

"From the look on your face, that fish is heaven itself. I must try some," he said, not taking his eyes off me as he reached for the fish.

Merry was next and the meal seemed to continue normally after that. The Mills and Wares chocolate cake Sal had recommended went down well – and we didn't need to touch my stash of chocolate.

It wasn't until after Tony had left, thanking me for dinner and reminding me about our snapper fishing insanity in the early hours of the following day, that I realised the open bottle of wine still stood on the bench, next to the three untouched glasses.