And so, later on, I kitted myself up in a woollen jumper and, in lieu of waders, my wetsuit, which I kept folded down at the waist. I knotted the neoprene arms behind me like an apron, threw Jem a ‘Catch you later’ and traipsed out the door, leaving him lounging alone in front of the telly. I paused to slip my Crocs on and then plodded along the edge of the road, heading north to Eaglehawk Bay as the near-full orb of the gibbous moon brushed its way past the south-east horizon and up into the sky.

I timed it perfectly, joining Flo and Poppy at the water’s edge on the navy-blue side of dusk, just as the stars winked on.

They grinned when they saw me, eyes and teeth gleaming in the pearlescent light.

‘Onya, Lucy,’ Flo said, and I grinned back.

The octopus had reached out, testing and then wrapping a curious arm around my gaff and I’d wrenched it up out of the weed, just like Poppy had shown me. Then, with a little difficulty, I’d bundled it into the net and waded it to shore. It was bigger than I’d expected. Made me realise why Flo and Poppy worked together. It took all my weight to hold it down and still. But hold it down and still I did, and then it happened, or I thought it happened. I could have sworn its eyes locked with mine, and not in a coincidental or passive way. It looked me in the eye intentionally.

It did.

I think it did.

But what was its intent? What did it want? To live, obviously. But was there a thought beyond the instinct to live? Did it, for instance, think of me? It was such a peculiar sensation, to be watched like that, by it—her. It confused the dynamic between us. The octopus became a social player in the evening and not merely an object, a thing to be hunted, a potential hunk of meat. I should have seen it coming.

You poor thing, I remember thinking. You’re an aspiring mother. You’re trying to do the right thing by your body, by your eggs, and it’s all going wrong. You might not believe it, but I know how you feel. Don’t look at me like that: it’s not me that’s fucked it all up for you. The neck is closed. You can’t be helped. You’re just going to die anyway, so don’t blame me.