The Fish Counter – Part 2: Last Tide

By Saturday, they had sold out.

The two stalls stood bare and gleaming, the ice melted into the drain, the last crate of fish sold to a restaurateur who had begged for it. The market was emptying: hoses spraying, stallholders hauling crates, gulls squabbling over scraps. The sun had burned the mist off the harbour, and the water glittered silver and blue.

Manon sat on an upturned crate, aching and happy, her hat pushed back. Karim appeared with a camping stove, a pot and two chipped bowls.

"Bouillabaisse," he said.

"From what?"

"Everything that didn't sell."

"Nothing didn't sell."

"The bits." He held up a cloth bag of heads and bones. "That is where the flavour is."

They set up the stove on the harbour wall and simmered the pot in the sun, with saffron and fennel and a splash of pastis. The smell rose, rich and golden. Boats creaked in their moorings. A fisherman called a greeting. A gull stood on a piling, interested.

When it was ready, they ate straight from the bowls, sitting on the wall with their boots swinging over the water. The soup was deep, hot and briny, with a bite of garlic and a trace of aniseed. Manon closed her eyes.

"My father made this."

"I know. He taught me."

"He did?"

"When I started. He was the old man on the next pitch." Karim's voice was gentle. "I always wanted to tell you."

Her throat tightened. She set down the bowl. The wind blew spray off the quay. She took his hand, big and scarred and warm.

"Can I ask you something?" said Manon.

"Yes."

"May I kiss you, Karim? Even though you're always wrong?"

He laughed, a wet, astonished laugh. "Yes. And if you say stop, you must admit the eyes go out."

"Never."

"Then I'll wait."

She kissed him, salty and tender, a hand rising to his bearded cheek. He kissed her back with a slow, delighted warmth, tasting of fish soup and saffron. The harbour glittered. The gulls shrieked their approval.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" he asked.

"Green," said Manon. "Very green."

Their stalls are now one stall, with two aprons on one hook. The sign reads: Manon & Karim. Heads out. Argument free.

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