Chapter 17: end of day

We went fishing again in the afternoon. We found no more action than on the previous afternoon until I got a hit. It felt a lot bigger than yesterday's fish and I was reeling it in eagerly. We saw it as it got closer to the shore - it was a good-sized fish. Mr Keaton grabbed the landing net and was just about to scoop it up when the damn thing got off the hook and swam away.

The others were sympathetic. "Awww, bad luck, Lynda. That was a good one."

I felt disappointed, but declared confidently, "He won't go far; I'll catch him again."

But things went quiet again. Mr Keaton and I got a few small nibbles while Randolph got nothing. He started complaining that his "bait wasn't trying". Then Mr Keaton pulled in a beauty.

"Well, guys, this one's big enough to feed us all tonight so we might as well head back."

We reported to Mrs Keaton as before.

"What? Yesterday's loser is today's winner?"

"You'd better believe it, lady. We can have this for dinner, can't we?"

"For sure."

I was keen to tell of my experience. "I caught half-a-fish, Mrs Keaton."

"Did you, love? How was that?"

"It was the classic 'one that got away'," explained Mr Keaton, then added, "Come on, you two, I'll show you how to clean and fillet a fish."

We headed back down to the shore with Randolph shaking his head and saying, "You're crazy, Lynda. Yesterday, you're banging on about a secondhand fish, and now it's half-a-fish."

"Hey, come on, it was," I tried to insist as we all started laughing.

There's something I should tell you, that Mrs Keaton was one really good cook. Later on, when we were sitting down enjoying our dinner, I burst out with, "Mrs Keaton, this is the best fish I'd ever tasted. How do you make it taste so good?"

She smiled at me. "I'll have to show you, Lynda, that's provided you guys can catch some more fish."

Later that night, I was lying in bed smiling at the ceiling in the dark. I'd had a good day, it'd been fun. Then suddenly, I did a complete backflip. What the hell was I doing? This was wrong; this was bad.

I shouldn't be just joining in as though this situation was normal, because it wasn't, it just wasn't. Damn it all, don't forget what they are doing to you. The clothes, the horrible girls clothes - I mean, sure, they were good quality clothes, and I suppose that they were fashionable or something like that - on a girl they would probably look great, but not on me, 'cause I was a boy. There, that's it.

I snuggled down in the bed, feeling warm and comfortable. These pyjamas were so much better than my old ones at home.

Hey, how did they know how to get clothes that fitted me so well because all the clothes seemed to fit me exactly. I suppose Mrs Keaton has a . . .

I must have fallen asleep.