The first time they went to the water's edge, her job had been to hold the stopwatch.
"This is the busiest channel in the world," her father said. "More than one hundred ships pass through here every day."
"Busier than the Suez Canal? Impossible." As a teenager, she believed everything her father said was one degree above gibberish.
"Start the clock," he said, gesturing wildly. An ocean liner, several stories high, was cruising towards them. "Have you got it? Have you started it?"
She pushed the button. "Yes. Now what?" She blew her fringe out of her eyes and glanced at him. Her father was gobsmacked as the vessel sailed past them.
"Quickly, stop the the clock! Stop it!" He grabbed the stopwatch from her hand and pressed the button himself, accidentally clearing the screen. He swore. "Can you remember how long it was?"
"Um, I don't know. Forty-seven seconds, maybe?"
"Ha! I knew it." He let his hands drop to his sides and returned his eyes to the water. "Start it again when I say so; here comes another, and what a beauty she is..."
It was only later that she realised he was calculating the ship's speed in Knots. As far as she knew, it was a calculation that went beyond the realms of her mathematical abilities. A Knot was 1,85km per hour, which meant that 32 Knots was around 60km per hour. Her father had the uncanny ability to work these things out in his head, but his talent seemed to have skipped a generation because neither she nor her siblings could replicate it.
The sound of a bicycle bell jolted her back to the present.
"What a codger," said Steve. "There's more than enough room for him to go around us."
She smiled. "I know you can't wait to be that age so that you can be a codger too."
"Exactly," said Steve. "I've been training for that role my whole life. Just call me Mr Grumpy." He glanced at his watch. "When's the next one due?"
"In about an hour, I think. Let me check." She refreshed the web browser on her phone. "Fifty-seven minutes, to be exact."
"Grand. Because up the hill there is a piece of strawberry cake with my name on it." He started up the path. "Callie?"
"Right behind you."
They went to the prefab hut that doubled as a coffee and cake dispensary. Steve ordered for them, and sweet-talked the woman behind the counter into giving his portion an extra-large helping of whipped cream. He carried the tray with their afternoon treats to a nearby table and set it down.
"I would just like to point out that this piece of cake is mine," he said.
"Knock yourself out." Callie grabbed her mug and swivelled on her seat so that she was facing the channel. The sky was moody, probably because it was midsummer and everyone was forced to wear a jacket. She cupped her mug and let the contents warm her hands.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Steve had cream on his cheek.
"Just thinking about my dad and the first time he brought me here. I think I didn't realise it until now, but he's the reason why I have to live by the water."
"He was a good guy. I'm only sorry I didn't get to know him better." He dabbed at his face with the serviette. "But I sometimes got the feeling that he didn't really like me."
"My father made everyone feel that way." She scooped up a piece of her cake, careful not to get cream on her nose.
Steve reached across the table and squeezed her arm. "Your father would be very proud if he knew what you were doing for him today, Callie."
She nodded. They had thirty-five minutes before the next ship came. One thing she loved about Steve was that he was the king of defusing uncomfortable situations with light-hearted chatter. It certainly made introducing him to her family much easier. So, when he launched into the latest chronicle of Taxman Ted and the photocopier, she said, "It's OK if we don't talk now."
He smiled, raised his fork and said, "Guten Appetit."
Callie's bag was heavy with the weight of the urn. She checked again to see that she'd brought the permit. The cake was delicious and she stole glances at Steve from behind her sunglasses. "Thank you for being here."
He nodded. "Let me know when you're ready."
With ten minutes to go, they trundled through the vineyard and down the hill. Callie found the spot which, if memory served her correctly, had been worn out by her father's pacing as he stood ashore and calculate the speed of his most-loved boats. The cargo ship sounded its horn in the distance, and if she squinted, Callie could just make out the name: "Starburst".
She handed the stopwatch to Steve. "Get ready."
He saluted her and smiled. "Aye, captain."
She unscrewed the lid of the urn but did not take it off lest the wind was ready before she was. Starburst was approaching. "OK, go." Steve pressed the button and she began to pour out the ashes, watching them drift across the water and cling to the side of her father's favourite.
"Godspeed to you, Dad. Enjoy seeing the world."
She must have spoken louder than she realised because Steve put his arm around her. Starburst passed by, leaving a froth of bubbles in its wake.
She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. "Stop the clock."
"Forty-seven seconds," he said.
"Of course it is."
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