The Oyster Catcher (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-two

‘Come on,’ he beckons. But I can’t. I’m rooted to the spot. I’m shivering. I shake my head. He rolls his eyes and shrugs his shoulders in exasperation.

‘You can single-handedly take on hairy-arsed oyster pirates but you’re scared of a bit of water.’

‘Yes, and look where that got me,’ I say, referring to the oyster pirates.

‘I said you took them on. I didn’t say you took them on and won,’ he says with surprisingly good humour.

I look down at the decking along the jetty and can see the water under it, moving around making my head swim.

‘And that’s not a bit of water, it’s a lot of water.’ I feel like a petulant child. ‘I can’t I’m sorry. Ask Nancy. I’m not your woman,’ I say walking away, feeling stupid and pathetic.

‘Oh yes you are.’ I hear from behind me and before I have a chance to answer my feet are swept up from under me and Sean has me in his arms walking back up the jetty.

‘You can’t do this! Put me down!’ I demand.

‘Yes I can,’ he says matter-of-factly.

‘Put me down!’ I want to hit him, push him away but find myself clinging to him for dear life as he walks down the jetty towards the boat. What if the jetty gives way? What if we fall in? What’s down there? He marches on.

‘There’s nothing to be scared of,’ he says evenly. ‘You just need to trust me.’

‘Trust is a very overrated emotion,’ I squeak, tucking my head into his neck, my eyes shut. He smells so good and I wish he didn’t. I wish I didn’t want to stay hiding away with my eyes shut and my head in his neck for a very long time.

He puts me down and I open my eyes. I’m right on the edge of the jetty. I cling to him to stop myself falling in. I’m so terrified I follow his every instruction and get in the boat. Every now and again as the boat sways I let out a little squeak, like a young child, or maybe a pig.

I clutch the sides tightly while taking the seat he points to. I sit absolutely stock still in that place, barely breathing. My knuckles are white from holding on so tight. I take a tiny look at the dark water to one side and wish I hadn’t. Sean is working away with ropes, nimbly moving around the boat. My lifejacket is rubbing at my jaw and cheeks and pushing up my ears. I feel like a tortoise ready to retreat into its shell. I check out the location of the lifebuoy and fix my eyes on it.

Sean gets into position by the rudder and gently starts to move the boat out away from the jetty. I stop breathing altogether. He’s looking up at the sail and back at me alternately. I just don’t move and wonder how long this dreadful ordeal is going to last. I feel like a contestant from
I’m a Celebrity … Get Me Out of Here
. Only I’m not a celebrity, I’m a nobody.

We are now nearly in the middle of the bay. I’m reminding myself to breathe intermittently. I am completely surrounded by water. My worst nightmare. The sails are flapping and thankfully we’re not moving too fast. I keep my eyes fixed on the rocks on the other side of the bay. I can see where we’re going, which I’m happier about. When you grow up with a crazy parent you like to know where you’re going. That’s why I think I was happy with Brian. He’d mapped out life for us. Then he cut me adrift, just like I feel now.

‘Look those are the oysters I showed you on the first day, you didn’t know what they were,’ Sean says above the breeze. I nod. It’s all I can do. ‘I said it wasn’t important.’ I nod again. ‘Well, they are important. It was a test.’ He looks back at me.

‘What? What kind of a test?’ I feel suddenly affronted. We’re out of the bay now and making our way around a headland of rocks.

‘Shh!’ he suddenly says. And I feel even more affronted. He’s the one who’s brought me out here and is asking me the questions and now he wants me to shush.

‘But …’

‘Shhhh!’ he says again with his finger to his lips. ‘Seals,’ he points. I follow where he’s pointing. At first I have no idea what I’m looking for. And then I see it. A dark brown, shiny head popping up from the water. I catch my breath and cling tighter to the sides of the boat. It’s both fascinating and confirming of all my fears. Anything could be swimming below us and tip us up. Then another head pops up. On the rocks beyond, there are two others lying out. One rolls over, stretches, and slides into the water.

I’m entranced and terrified at the same time. They’re behind us now and we’ve moved into a second bay, beyond the path I walked on the first day.

Sean loosens the sails and we slow to a stop.

‘Look below you,’ Sean instructs. ‘Look on the sea bed,’ he nods over the side of the boat.

‘I can’t,’ I shake my head firmly. I feel sick.

He lets go of the rudder and comes over to me. I try not to squeal out loud but don’t know if I manage it as the boat rocks from side to side.

‘It’s OK. I’m here and nothing’s going to happen. What you need is a day at my sailing school.’

‘It’s the last thing I need,’ I answer quickly.

He says nothing but puts his hand over mine. ‘Just do it. What’s the worst that can happen?’

‘Oh, I could be catapulted out of the boat, find myself drowning in black waters, being dragged down by who knows what … nothing bad really,’ I say hating the sound of my own sarcasm. I sound like my mother.

‘You won’t be dragged down into black waters because you can see the bottom. I promise.’ He’s kneeling in front of me, staring right at me and I feel a flutter of excitement in my stomach. I want to trust him but …

‘Just look for yourself if you don’t believe me,’ he continues, and he’s probably right. I’ll only believe it if I see if for myself. I slowly take my eyes off him and look to where he’s pointing. The boat leans and I cling tighter but still I look. The water is clear and I can see the bottom and all over the bottom are rocks of some sort. I look back at him,

‘What are they?’

His face breaks into the biggest smile, so different from his set and angry face when we left the city.

‘They’re oysters … wild oysters, native oysters,’ he says. ‘My uncle discovered them years ago. It proves the waters here are clean. Only I know about them.’

‘So they’ll replace the oysters that were lost?’ I’m suddenly getting excited.

He shakes his head.

‘No, they can’t replace those. They were farmed oysters, Pacific ones. If I can sell these they’ll make far more money than all my other oyster stock. I’ll be able to pay off the loan no problem and keep the farm going.'

‘But that’s brilliant,’ I say still confused. ‘Why haven’t you said anything before?’

‘These are native oysters, growing wild. They’re more … fragile. They need tender loving care,’ he laughs and ridiculously I blush. ‘Anything could happen. Too much water and they will fatten and open, and then of course there are the thieves. This is why I don’t want anyone on my land,’ he says firmly.

‘I understand.’ I feel a privileged to have been let in on the secret. ‘So this is where you come in your boat?’

He nods.

‘It’s why I wanted someone who knew nothing about oysters. I didn’t want you to know what I was trying to do here. But now … now this is the only thing that will save me. I don’t want Nancy to know about them until I’m sure they’re going to make it. I don’t want her lining up buyers before they’re ready, just in case. Otherwise that will be her and my reputation down the pan for good. I can’t let her or the customers down again.’

‘Why can’t you let Nancy have them now, sell them, and pay back Johnny Power?’

‘They’re spawning; it’s mating season. You can tell because the flesh is milky. They won’t finish until the end of August, and then they’ll need a rest from their parenting duties,’ he smiles. ‘But after that they’ll be ready to sell. Then I’ll need to get the best price I can for them.’

He suddenly peels off his waterproof top to reveal his wetsuit underneath, clinging tightly to his chest and arms. He must’ve put it on in the sheds earlier. Then he peels off his waterproof trousers and is standing in front of me, the wetsuit clinging to his thighs and calves. I try to look away but my eyes keep darting back to him, taking in his big shoulders, his flat stomach. He moves to the side of the boat and then, very quickly, drops over the edge into the water. The boat sways violently to and fro and I’m too scared to scream. But then Sean’s back in the boat with oysters in his hand. He pulls out a knife from a pocket on his bicep and puts it into the hinge of the oyster.

‘They’re different from the Pacific oysters you’ve been dealing with. They’re rounder, flatter, and harder to open,’ he says screwing up his face as he twists the knife to pop off the top shell.

‘See, they’re spawning. This is why Pacific oysters are better for farmers. They don’t spawn in our cold waters. See the milkiness I was telling you about? That’s why you only eat native oysters when there’s an ‘r’ in the month, when the waters are cold.’

‘What’s spawning again?’ I’m trying to take it all in.

‘Making love … they’re breeding,’ he says and tips up the oyster into his mouth then dives under again.

‘Why is  no one else doing this round here?’ I ask when he comes up again.

‘The conditions have to be right, that stream, the mix of fresh water and sea water is what does it. It’s magic. And the most important thing …’ he holds one up to the sky. ‘These oysters mean the waters are clean in Dooleybridge and that means everything.’

He shakes out his wet curls, splashing me, but I don‘t squeal this time. I’m fascinated. Something catches my eye and I realise the seals are following us. Sean opens another oyster.

‘Hey,’ he says and pulls something small and round from the oyster and holds it up.

‘A pearl!’ I shout. ‘Is it valuable?’ My spirits suddenly start to climb. This could be the answer to our problems. He laughs and shakes his head.

‘Worthless,’ he holds it out to show me. ‘These aren’t pearl oysters.’

‘Shame,’ I say and my spirits start to dip again. ‘Pretty though.’ I look at the little misshapen pearl, shiny and iridescent.

We head back round the bay as the rain really starts to set in. It’s getting greyer and darker.

Sean helps me off the boat and with wobbling knees we walk back to the barn where we hose down the waterproofs and life jackets. The radio is playing and Sean turns up the volume while we finish up in the shed. He’s in buoyant mood, as am I. I clean down the blackboard. On the new spring tide we’ll have to grade all the bags that are left and start charting their progress on the board again. I dust the chalk off my hand. Time to do the animals and then a hot shower, supper, and bed. I switch off the radio and put away the broom.

‘So when will the oysters be ready to sell?’ I say still thinking about the carpet of oysters Sean’s shown me.

‘September. I just have to make sure they make it to September. If these babies don’t make it, it’s all over. No one must know.’

‘Fine by me,’ I say and turn to turn off the light and pull shut the shed doors.

‘No one must know what?’ says Nancy, standing with her car keys in hand. 

Chapter Twenty-three

‘So you’ve got native oysters and you didn’t tell me?!’ Nancy is pacing up and down the living room.

‘I’m going into town, anyone want anything?’ I try and lighten the mood, but they ignore me.

‘I wanted it to be a surprise,’ Sean’s trying to smooth things.

‘A surprise! It’s certainly that. Especially since I’m your oyster broker! When were you going to tell me?’

I slide out the front door and pull my hat down to avoid the midges. It’s a Monday night and Margaret will be meeting with her committee in the pub.

‘Hey, when d’ya leave?’ Margaret throws open her arms when she sees me and makes me smile.

‘Change of plan,’ I say pulling off my coat. ‘There was an accident at Sean’s place last night.’

The committee’s gathering, slowly trickling into the pub. Margaret grabs my arm and clutches it.

‘What happened? Is Sean OK?’

‘Oh nothing like that, he’s fine, well, not fine exactly. It wasn’t that that kind of accident,  no one was hurt.’ She finally releases my arm.

‘You had me worried there,’ she says and visibly relaxes taking a large slug of white wine. ‘So what did happen?’

‘It was stupid. Some oysters got …’ I lower my voice, ‘… stolen.’ I keep it low. ‘And then some got damaged in seeing them off.’

‘Oh God, so what’s he going to do?’ She puts a straw in her wine and sucks through it.

‘Buy new stock,’ I answer as simply as possible.

The pub is beginning to fill up; that is, Freda and John Joe have come in, along with the two barflies and Mad Frank.

‘I’ll get the drinks,’ I say and squeeze out from the bench seat. I stand in between Mad Frank and Padraig and Seamus.

‘Evening,’ they say in unison.

‘Nice evening?’ says Seamus. And then I remember that he saw Margaret and me on the bench.

‘Oh, quiet.’ I wave a hand.

‘Really? I heard there was a bit of a commotion up at your place?’ Padraig says, putting his hand on his waist.

‘Nothing we couldn’t handle,’ I say but narrow my eyes feeling like they’re laughing at me. I grab the bottle of wine and two glasses and make my way back to the table. I’m about to tell Margaret but at that moment Freda and John Joe followed by Mad Frank come and join us.

‘So, ideas! Anyone come up with anything?’ Margaret asks. The barflies are looking at me and I try and concentrate on what Margaret’s saying.

‘A film night, maybe?’ she’s suggesting.

‘What about a fishing competition?’ There’s a murmur of approval from the men.

‘Or a spa night?’ says Rose.

‘What d’you think, Fi? Think holiday makers would come for any of those?’ Maire asks. I take a big sip of drink, then a deep breath and am about to say what I need to say when the door opens and in comes a face I’d recognise anywhere.

‘Ah, two pints of your finest please, barman,’ says a broad American accent.

‘Jesus Christ!’ I splutter into my drink.

‘I don’t think he’ll make it to the spa night dear,’ says Freda who’s got out her knitting and is showing Maire. I duck down, behind Margaret.

‘Fi, what are you doing for feck’s sake?’

‘Dropped an earring,’ I say stupidly clutching my left ear. See, I just can’t think on my feet.

‘Wow, this is quite a place …’ I hear the man at the bar saying.

‘Fi, we’ll find it in a minute. Now, will you get up off the bench,’ Margaret says crossly, ‘You’re disrupting the meeting. Now, what were you going to say? We need to decide on something. Come on!’

‘I can’t!’ I hiss.

‘Can’t what?’ Margaret bends down to meet my face.

‘I can’t let him see me,’ I nod towards the man at the bar.

‘So this was where it all happened? This is where my forefathers sat before me.’ He’s looking round the bar. He’s tall, about six foot. He has neatly trimmed black hair around his ears and a baseball cap firmly on his head with sunglasses on the top. His teeth are bleached white. If I didn’t dislike him so much for what he’d done I’d say he was, in fact, quite good-looking.

‘I feel like the returning hero, coming home,’ he gloats.

‘Returning hero, my foot!’ I sit up, but still with Margaret in front of me to shield me.

‘Fi, what are you talking about?!’ Her face is up close to mine.

‘He’s the one who stole Sean’s oysters. He’s the oyster pirate!’ I hiss and point.

Margaret spins to look at him. She doesn’t need telling twice.

‘Hey!’ Margaret shouts. I cringe. ‘You!’ She points and comes out from behind the table. The American turns to face her in surprise. The young woman with him takes a step back. He looks left and right and then puts his hand to his chest, sticks out his chin a little and mouths,

‘Me?’ He looks surprised but not displeased. He turns to smile at his companion who doesn’t look so convinced.

‘Yes, you!’ Margaret starts to stalk over to him still holding out her pointing finger. I can’t help but wish I had just a little bit of her chutzpah. Margaret’s the sort of person you’d want in your corner. But I also realise I need to be in hers if we’re to be friends. I jump up and stand by the table in support.

‘What on earth do you think you’re doing here?’ Margaret accuses him. But strangely he smiles some more and then reaches into his inside pocket and pulls out a pen. He turns and picks up a cardboard mat from the bar. Margaret stares at him in disbelief as he holds the pen to the mat.

‘What’s your name sweetie?’ he smiles, showing some very white teeth. I’m now standing right behind Margaret and we’re both looking at the beer mat.

‘My name?’ she fires back angrily. ‘How about you tell me your name and I get the Garda up here to arrest you?!’

‘Arrest me?’ he laughs; his smile slips just a little. He looks at me and his smile slips a lot.

‘Oh no, oh hang on!’ He lets his hand fall with the beer mat still in it. ‘That was a misunderstanding.’ He waves the pen between the two of us. Margaret takes a small step forward.

‘So you admit you were at Sean Thornton’s farm?’

I don’t have the words to do what she’s doing. My cheeks are doing that bloody blushing thing again. My feet are starting to look for the black hole.

‘Well, yes, but …’ He shrugs and Margaret cuts him off.

‘Patsy, call the Garda. This man stole Sean Thornton’s oyster crop last night.’ She could just have well have said ‘J’accuse!’

‘Righto,’ says Patsy slinging his tea towel over his shoulder and makes his way out of the bar to the back room.

‘Hey now hang on! I didn’t steal no oysters! I was just looking, that’s not a crime is it?’

‘It is if you’re looking to steal them!’ Margaret, as self-appointed prosecutor, continues and the crowd at the table by the fire all bang their glasses and mutter, ‘feckin’ right’ instead of ‘hear, hear.’

‘I wasn’t stealing any oysters,’ there’s a hint of desperation creeping into his voice, like he’s about to get lynched. His companion shakes her head looking worried for him.

‘Look, I’m Dan Murphy, from Boston.
Murphy’s Seafood Suppers
? TV series?’ He looks at Margaret for some recognition but gets none. ‘Mary Jo, get her a copy of the book. Tell you what, I’ll sign it for you,’ he says as if trying to sooth a frustrated toddler. Mary Jo nips out of the front door.

‘I don’t care if you’re Michel Roux himself!’ Margaret persists. ‘You can’t just come round here helping yourself to people’s oysters. It’s their livelihood. This place was built on oyster farming. We used to be known worldwide for our oysters and our oyster festival.’

‘I know! That’s why I came. My family is from here. I’m researching a new book about my family’s ancestry, visiting some traditional Irish pubs, eating in oyster houses, following the food trail across the country.’ Mary Jo comes back in and hands him a book.

‘Look, it’s me! Dan Murphy.’ He shows her the smiling photo on the front cover. ‘I did come to the farm the other night,’ he says in a lower voice, and tempers seem to be calming a little. ‘I thought it was a beautiful place and I wanted to take some photos for the new book. Then I saw,’ he raises an arm in my direction, ‘in the  … buff.’ Sniggers from the two barflies and Mad Jack who gets an elbow in the ribs from Freda. Rose and Lily both have their heads cocked adoringly to one side staring at Dan. ‘And I scarpered. I’m sorry, really I am. I didn’t mean to scare you. In fact, if anyone got scared half to death it was me when that dog went for me. But honestly, I didn’t steal any oysters.’

There’s silence.

‘I’ve seen your programme, you’re lovely, I mean it’s lovely,’ says Rose and Lily nods in agreement. Dan’s smile spreads across his face again. He looks back in his comfort zone. He offers the book to Rose who accepts it with a giggle, especially as he signs it ‘To Rose, with love, Dan’.

‘Garda’s on his way,’ Patsy announces and I suddenly get that sinking feeling. But if Dan Murphy didn’t steal the oysters, who did?

‘So you see, Officer, I didn’t steal any oysters, I was just looking to see how the view would look in a photo and I accidentally scared the living daylights out of this young woman here.’ Dan is telling the story again, only this time he’s sitting down at a small round table with a pint in front of him. Garda Eamon is taking down all the details in his black notebook.

‘What makes you think it was this man?’ the Garda looks at Margaret who’s got one hand on her hips and points at me with the other one.

‘She told me,’ said Margaret. ‘She was there.’

Garda Eamon looks at me and rolls his eyes.

‘You again?’ he says like I’m the local troublemaker and ridiculously I feel like it.

‘Well, he was looking in through the window one night and then the oysters were gone. What else was I supposed to think?’

‘Sorry about the trouble,’ says Garda Eamon to Dan giving me another sideways look.

‘No problem, have a book,’ Dan says giving him one from the pile Mary Jo has brought in from the car.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ Dan offers

‘Don’t mind if I do, I’ll have a pint.’ Garda Eamon takes off his hat and lays it on the bar. ‘So you’re researching your ancestors you say, what was their name?’

I’m furious with myself. Rose and Lily are fawning over the photos in the book. And it’s not the food they’re fawning over. Even Freda is a little excited about having a ‘celebrity’ in the town.

‘Grandad would be the one to tell you. He knows everything there is to know about these parts,’ Garda Eamon nods to a sleeping Grandad.

‘All I know is they were oyster farmers here. Heard stories about the oyster festival.’

Margaret and I sit at the other end of the bar and pour two more glasses from the bottle. I knock it back, hoping it’ll take away my embarrassment. I listen to Dan telling everyone how it was in his blood, oysters and restaurants and how he’s so proud to be back where it all began for his family. I find myself saying: ‘blah, blah, blah’ in my head.

‘I’m never going to fit in around here,’ I say to Margaret. I feel even more an outsider than ever. This Dan Murphy is suddenly being treated like a local because he’s got a relative who once came from here. However hard I try I’m never going to fit in.

‘Hey, maybe you could open our table top quiz, a celebrity guest,’ says Rose. ‘Yes, or do a cookery demonstration for us,’ shouts out Freda.

‘Or a sponsored leg wax,’ says Lily and they all go quiet and look at her.

Margaret and I finish the bottle, deep in our own thoughts. All I know is I can’t leave yet. I have to find a way to help Sean get his business back on track before I can do that. He’s given me a second chance and I have to try my best. I can’t mess this up now. I need to find a way to pay off my debt and I think the answer may just be staring us right in the face. I swing round to the group by the fire.

‘You know, you were right Maire,’ I wave my glass in her direction.

‘Was I, dear?’

‘This town needs to forgive and forget. The past is the past. It needs its oyster festival back.’ She stops doing Freda’s knitting for her.

‘I knew you’d do it,’ Maire claps her hands.

‘Do what?’ says Margaret turning round to join me.

‘The oyster festival,’ says Maire. ‘Fi here is bringing back the oyster festival,’ she beams. It’s the best way I can think of to help Sean sell his oysters at a good price.

‘There’s not much time. You can’t get a festival together in eight weeks,’ says Freda.

‘We can all help; ideas, volunteers,’ Margaret is getting excited. ‘See, I told you, born leader. I knew you could front up the festival.’

‘Oh, I’m not going to front it up. What we need is that man there to be the face of the festival.’ And all eyes turn to look at Dan Murphy.