The Oyster Catcher (18 page)

‘I’ll be fine,’ I say.

Do you think you could turn the sacks on your own?’ He goes to get his toothbrush.

‘Yes, I’ll give it a good go,’ I say.

‘And whatever you can bring up to wash and grade, we can get them ready for the next farmers’ market,’ he tells me as he puts his washbag in the holdall.

I’m nodding frantically, still feeling stupid at my own silly misunderstanding. Sean’s looking this way and that. I hand him his wallet from the kitchen work surface that he’s no doubt looking for.

‘Thank you.’

‘So, doing anything nice while you’re there?’ Oh what a stupid question! He’s going to France with his attractive partner, of course they’ll be doing nice things!

‘We’re meeting some of Nancy’s old contacts. She seems to think they’ll be more interested in coming over if they meet the grower. I feel like a feckin’ dancing leprechaun in a travelling circus,’ he growls.

I try not to laugh and roll my lips in on each other.

‘Great,’ I enthuse. ‘It’ll be great for the festival. Staying somewhere nice?’ Why can’t I just stop? I don’t want to hear about what a lovely place they’ll be staying in!

‘With her parents in Arcachon. Then with friends of Nancy’s, just outside St Emilion.’ He picks up the bag.

‘Wow,’ I say without thinking. It’s another world. A far cry from walking holidays and pub grub. It’s sounds quite exotic, but then Nancy is exotic. I on the other hand am probably more bargain bucket.

He raises a smile, grabs his phone and waves it at me.

‘Got it! Call me if you want me. If you can. Look after Grace, and Grace? Look after Fi.’ Then he turns to go, awkwardly.

‘Have fun,’ I say waving Sean off with Grace by my side, grinning until my cheeks ache. But deep in my chest a huge well of disappointment is opening up. 

Chapter Thirty

The next day and night pass uneventfully. The day after I wake up with the feeling of disappointment still there. It’s August 21st,  I know. I feel older. I pull the covers over my head and hope the day will disappear. Grace nudges at me to be let out. At least when Brian and I had been together there had been a ritual to birthdays, just like there were rituals for everything else in our lives He’d hide all the cards that had arrived in the post and put them by my bed, with the individually wrapped presents. He’d bring me a cup of tea and then we’d start with the cards. There were never many, his mother, a friend of his mother’s, the hairdressers, and occasionally one from my mother, round about the date, but mostly there wasn’t one from her. Then I’d have to open the one from him and put on the birthday badge, which I always slipped off by the time I got to work. Then it was presents, smallest first. But this birthday is different. I’m in the middle of nowhere, on my own. There are no presents or cards or mid-week takeaway. Today, I’m thirty. At twenty-nine I thought I had it all, fiancé, flat, job. Today I don’t even own the clothes I’m standing up in. Well, not all of them.

But it’s no good lying in bed dwelling on it. That’s the way to lunacy. Grace nudges my elbow again. I throw back the covers, pull on my clothes, and Grace and I go out to the shed. I can hear the hens clucking, desperate to get out and about and on with the day’s work.

‘Morning ladies!’ I put down their food and watch as they strut out of their hen house. Martha, Sarah Jane, Amelia Pond. I decided to name them after various Dr Who assistants. Mind you, it’s been that long since I’ve watched television there could be another six assistants by now. They peck away happily around my feet. I put down the goose feed and jog my way back to the gate with Brenda half-heartedly chasing me. Freddie is pushing open his gate.

‘Oh no you don’t.’ I catch hold of his head collar just as he’s nudging it open and trying to make a break for it.

‘What you need is something to occupy you, a job,’ I tell him firmly. I turn his head back towards the field and give him a push from behind. ‘All that energy should be put to good use.’ I start re-tying the rope and pat Mercury, who is looking away from Freddie, as if embarrassed.

Grace has her breakfast and I have mine; tea, soda bread, and some of Mad Frank’s honey.

There’s no way I’m going to spend the day moping I decide, lifting my chin. I need to keep busy. I know, I’ll tackle the old barn where the tables and chairs are kept and see if there’s anything else that might be useful for the festival.

I make myself another cup of tea and then pick up the bunch of keys from the hook by the door. Slipping on my wellies and hat I make my way down to the old barn. I use the old rusty key and open the stiff door pushing it open as wide as I can. My eyes have to adjust to the dark. There’s piles of old benches and long wooden tables. There’s a big old oil drum barbeque and boxes of junk. I push back my sleeves, take a slug of my tea, and decide to start by taking everything out and seeing what’s there. Sean couldn’t be cross with me for tidying up. And if he is, I don’t care. I’m going to do it anyway. It’s my birthday and this is how I’m choosing to spend it.

In France Sean was feeling … unsettled; which was a ridiculous way to be feeling. The sun was shining, he was in beautiful Arcachon with a beautiful woman enjoying a wonderful lunch, sipping a red wine laid on by his good friend Jean Francois, Nancy’s father. Sean had bought spat from Jean Francois when he was starting out, as his uncle had before him. Jean Francois had been more than happy to cut Sean some slack when it came to settling up, keen for him to get established and carry on his uncle’s tradition. Tom and Jean Francois went way back.

‘You deserve a break, Chéri,’ Nancy told Sean. Nancy’s French accent always got stronger when she was actually in France. ‘You have been working very hard and now you have a new assistant we should be able to spend more time together.’ She sat with one long leg crossed over the other and stroked his arm. She was right; he had needed to get away. He had been feeling … confused. He and Fi had spent a lot of time together and there was no denying how he’d felt the day he taught her to shuck oysters. He had come to care about Fi. She worked hard. But she was his employee. He had come close to wanting to step over that fine line the other morning and he’d promised her that that would never happen, and it mustn’t. Maybe it was a good thing that he and Nancy were spending time together, with her family.

Jean Francois was topping up their glasses while his wife Monique laid out paté, bread, and cornichons.

‘How are the oysters, Jean Francois?’

Jean Francois took some bread and bit into it shaking his head.

‘The spat is fine. No problem. I rear it from seed in the sheds but as soon as we put it in the water,’ he shook his head again. ‘Pah! They die. It is happening all over the place. No one knows why.’ He cut off a corner of paté.

‘Papa, it’s time you retired anyway. The business has been dead for years. Sit back, take it easy,’ Nancy scolded him.

‘Pah! An oyster farmer never retires,’ he said and laughed chestily.

‘Isn’t that right, Sean? Once oyster farming is in your heart, it’s in your veins too.’

Sean nodded and they clinked glasses and ate their starter. Nancy sniffed.

Sean had felt bad about leaving Fi on her own, especially with the oyster pirates around. He was hardly giving her any wages right now, and he couldn’t give more until the native oysters were ready to sell to Nancy. To be honest he hadn’t believed she would stay. But true to her word she was trying to help him put things right at the farm.

It’d been a lucky day when she’d arrived in Dooleybridge. Admittedly, she’d been a bit of a disaster at first, what with her not telling him she was afraid of water and then there was the cock-up with the stock going missing, but she really had proved herself as a worker. And the fact that she was prepared to work for next to nothing until the oysters were sold showed how honest she was. He’d take her back something from France he decided. A small gift to show his appreciation. He’d look round the town after lunch.

‘Sean?’

‘What?’ Sean realised Nancy was talking to him.

‘Where is your head? I was saying about the festival. It’ll be good for business,’ she cut into her very rare steak letting the blood run across her plate, colouring the frites she was never going to eat, thought Sean. Fi would have, he found himself thinking. What was wrong with him?! They’d spent too long working with each other up at the farm. He needed to focus on selling his oysters.

After a glorious lunch with Jean Francois and his wife they said their goodbyes.

‘Au revoir, Maman, Papa,’ Nancy barely hugged them. Sean hugged them both warmly. Then they drove the small hire car back to St Emilion. Nancy went for her manicure and pedicure and Sean strolled up the little cobbled streets of the hilltop town. He sat down to enjoy a beer, watching the tourists move slowly up the steep hill, en masse, towards the church. He opened his wallet to pay the waiter and saw the tiny pearl he’d found the day he’d shown Fi the native oysters. It was misshapen and probably worthless, not perfect at all, but it meant something to him and to Fi too, he hoped. Finishing his beer he took a stroll to the little jewellers on the hill and went in.

With the little pearl set into a silver setting and on a black leather cord he tucked the little gold bag into his pocket. He held his face up to the sun out on the French street. In a nearby café where he’d arranged to meet Nancy he ordered ‘un café’. He slipped the necklace out of its bag and looked at it again. It was just right, he thought. Simple. Not too much that it gave the wrong idea, just enough as a memento of the work she’d done at the farm. It was August now. The festival was in four weeks and then Fi would move on, her debt paid. He just hoped he’d be able to pay his.

‘What’s this?’ A red-manicured hand slipped round his neck and down his chest.

By the time they reached the drinks party that evening at the nearby chateau Sean and Nancy were barely speaking. She’d seen the necklace and demanded to know who it was for. Sean had tried to explain but there was no stopping her raging jealousy. At the party she flirted with each of the restaurateurs and vineyard owners who’d come together for the soirée. In particular the chateau owner and restaurateur, and Nancy’s childhood friend , Henri Chevalier. Sean failed to make polite conversation with the other guests and stood scowling out over the vineyards and sunflowers from the terrace. He was worried what would happen if the oyster pirates returned and he wasn’t there. Nancy got crosser at his inability to network and socialise.

‘Just talk about oysters, for God’s sake.’ She took another gin and tonic from a passing waitress.

Nancy was describing the festival, using her charm on every male guest, making it sound like the wedding of the year. Sean couldn’t help but think it didn’t sound like anything he’d want to go to. She swished her hair, tilted her head, giggled and ate strawberries from Henri’s champagne. Sean didn’t mind that so much, but he did want to go home. 

Chapter Thirty-one

My mouth feels like the dustpan I’ve just emptied, full of dust. It’s tea time. I’m parched. It’s mid-afternoon and I’ve emptied everything out of the barn and have hosed it down. It’s a massive space. I look around and up into the rafters. The exposed beams reach up to the tin roof. There are no internal walls, except at one end there’s a small store room under a loft space. Other than that, it’s just a big open room. Such a waste!

There’s a fireplace at one end and little windows to the front, made up of tiny squares of glass. It’s stopped raining so I sit down on one of the old wooden benches outside and sip my tea. I’ve pushed the boat out and had one of the brownies from the fresh batch I’ve baked for Gerald. I bite into the gooey chocolate centre. It feels well-deserved.

I’m half way down my tea and brownie when I see Margaret’s little silver Fiesta bumping up the lane.

‘Hey, this is where you’re hiding.’ She gets out of the car cheerfully. ‘On your own?’ She has a quick scout around for Sean as usual. She’s nothing if not persistent.

‘Yes, all alone, well apart from Grace, that is.’ I pat her head as she lays gently panting at my feet.

‘Oh OK. So, drinks in the pub tonight? Sevenish?’ Margaret says cheerily. I smile but shake my head.

‘Oh and happy birthday!’ She hands me a present wrapped in balloon-covered wrapping paper with curly ribbons. I’m absolutely gobsmacked; one, that she knew it was my birthday, and two, that she’s gone to the trouble of bringing me a present.

‘What?’ I stare at the present. ‘How did you know?’ I feel my eyes prickle.

‘It’s just a little something, nothing major. I saw it in Maire’s shop and thought of you.’

‘But how did you know it was my birthday?’

‘Leo, 21st of August, remember? Born leader.’ Margaret reminds me of our first ever conversation in the café when she thought I was Sean’s new love interest. That seems like an age ago now, when I’d been new to the area and everything had seemed so … odd. Now it all seemed so strangely familiar.

‘You shouldn’t have,’ I say with unexpected delight, unwrapping the present, making sure I did it carefully so the paper could be re-used.

‘Ah, go on, just rip it!’

I look up at Margaret. Why not? I think with a carefree grin. And I rip.

Inside was a lovely handbag, covered in sequins and buttons.

‘She’s fab with a sewing machine, is Maire.’ Margaret pushes her hands into the back pockets of her leather-look hotpants.

‘You shouldn’t have!’ I shake my head, feeling quite overwhelmed with her kindness.

‘Of course I should’ve! It’s your birthday! Oh, and I’ve finished with this. Thought you might like it.’ She hands me a well-thumbed book.
Fifty Shades of Grey
. I take the book. It’s been ages since I’ve had time to read. I’d gone mad on Amazon and bought a whole pile of books for the honeymoon but they all got left behind when I’d run.

‘So drinks tonight, Sevenish then? We’ll have great craic!’ She rubs her hands together with excitement. But I shake my head.

‘Sorry, Margaret, not tonight.’ I think if I was to go out for a couple of glasses I’d just get all maudlin and sorry for myself. ‘I’m having a quiet night in.’

‘But you can’t! It’s your birthday!’ She flops her hands to her side and looks gutted.

‘Sorry, Margaret.’ I stand up to hug her. ‘Thank you for this.’ I hug her again.

‘OK, I’ve got to get back. Said I was popping out for coffee. Might still have time for one if I’m quick.’ She jumps back into the little Fiesta and I’m relieved she doesn’t pressure me any more into going out tonight. A shower and a good book sounds perfect. Besides, I really don’t have that much money and I need to save what I have got.

‘Oh Margaret!’ I run after her. She stops reversing and winds down the window. ‘If you’re going to Gerald’s would you take him the brownies I made?’ That way I won’t have to see the outside world at all and tomorrow will be just another day again.

As Margaret and the latest batch of brownies bounces off down the lane I get back to work with a smile on my lips and my spirits well and truly lifted. I go to the shed and get the old silver and rust radio and take it to the barn. I put on RTE 2. I turn up the volume and sing along at the top of my voice. Why not? No one’s going to hear me. I belt out the songs for the next couple of hours as I replace all the tables, chairs, and boxes which I’m putting up in the roof space at the far end of the barn. I keep back a large bell I’ve found, an old silver cup, and a whole bunch of silver trays.

‘Working nine to five,’ I join in with Dolly. ‘What a way to make a living …’

‘Hello,’ a voice cuts me off just before I can say ‘it’s all taking and no giving’. The radio goes silent and I stumble halfway up the little wooden ladder to the loft space, dropping a box of rosettes. Grace jumps up from her heavy sleep and barks in surprise at the man standing in the doorway. I recognise him straight away, and the thug behind him. It’s Johnny Power and ‘his lad’. My good mood evaporates immediately and I feel suddenly very nervous. I cling to the ladder.

He steps in and looks around the barn with a sniff. He’s holding a cigar and the putrid smoke sticks in my throat. His earring catches the light, flashing a quick spectrum of colour across the barn. I grip the ladder tighter.

‘Is Sean here?’ he asks, still circling the barn floor getting closer all the time. I can’t think how to answer. My brain has frozen, my functioning brain cell has obviously decided to take the day off.

‘He’s um …’ I can’t think. I don’t want to say I’m on my own, on the other hand I don’t want him hanging around to speak to Sean.

‘He’s around … somewhere … maybe he’s just popped out, but he’ll be back, really soon.’ Why couldn’t I come up with a good lie? Or even tell the guy to get off Sean’s land and that he’s trespassing. He laughs, making his belly wobble, his sidekick laughs too.

‘Just thought we’d take a look around, being as I’m an investor …’ his voice is dripping with sarcasm. ‘Just let him know I’m looking forward to getting my money back. Four weeks time. Tell him the clock is ticking … tick, tock, tick, tock,’ he laughs some more.

‘I’ll tell him,’ I say curtly, not wanting to argue or prolong the conversation.

‘And he’s left you here on your own, you say?’ He throws his cigar to the floor and stamps it out. The floor I spent all afternoon cleaning!

‘Hey!’ I shout and turn without thinking and slip on the ladder, missing a rung, stumbling to regain my footing and jumping to the floor. I’m at eye level with Johnny Power. He steps right up to me and I lean against the ladder. He presses his belly against me, pushing me against the wood. Suddenly he thrusts one leg in between mine. I can smell his stale cigar breath and his body odour. I gag. I’m pinned there. I hear ‘the lad’ snort with excitement. I turn my face away, looking for something I can reach out and hit him with. I’m holding my breath. He laughs. The stench is disgusting.

‘Get off me,’ I try and push his heavy carcass away.

‘Or what?’ he says. ‘I’m just being friendly, getting to know the staff. I’m sure Sean would want you to be friendly to his investor.’

I look around hopelessly. I can’t even jerk my knee up to get him in the bollocks. I want to bite him. I can’t scream I can’t do anything. I freeze.

Then I hear another car on the lane, and another. Oh my God! He’d brought reinforcements!

He looks up, surprised at the sound of car doors slamming.

‘Company?’ He raises one eyebrow, suddenly releasing me. So they’re not with him then. I take short gasps of breath and try to scramble back up the ladder but he has me by the shoulder, hard. If they’re not with him, who is it?

‘Fi?’

I could cry with relief at hearing Margaret’s voice.

‘In here!’ I manage a good loud shout. ‘I think you should go,’ I finally manage to say something sensible to Johnny Power.

‘Oh really,’ he laughs as does his lad. ‘Says who?’

‘Says me.’ Mad Frank is standing in the doorway carrying a barrel of beer on his chest. He shoves it towards the loan shark knocking him backwards.

‘And me.’ It’s Dan standing behind Frank, carrying a box of lager. He doesn’t actually do any shoving like Frank but he looks as if he might.

‘And me.’ It was Margaret, in short purple hotpants and tights, with her hands on her hips. Rose and Lily are behind her.

She juts out her chin.

‘I don’t know who you are, but you better get going. This is private property.’ Frank pushes some more with his barrel and eyeballs the loan shark. The atmosphere is practically crackling with tension. Johnny holds Frank’s stare before suddenly turning and nodding to his companion.

‘I will be back,’ he says with a wet smile to me. ‘Oh, happy birthday by the way,’ he says pushing past Rose who’s holding a happy birthday balloon and a tray of sandwiches. I know all the colour has drained from my face.

There’s a slamming of car doors and the sound of a car leaving down the lane at speed. Not until I’ve heard the car engine disappear can I breathe or speak.

‘Oh my God, thank you!’ I fall on Frank and then Margaret and then Dan who puts his arm around my waist.

‘Who was that?’ Margaret asks.

‘A low-life. Don’t ask. Just some guy Sean’s doing business with.’ I roll my shaking hands together.

‘Nice guys,’ Dan says and I slip out of his hold.

‘Frank, you were amazing.’ I hug him again.

‘Bare-knuckle fighter in his day, weren’t you Frank? Connemara champion,’ Margaret tells me.

‘I remember his last fight,’ Grandad says as Freda wheels him in carrying a cake on his lap.

‘Hey, this is great.’ Dan looks around the barn.

‘What are you guys doing here?’ I finally manage a flabbergasted laugh, part hysteria, part relief.

‘If Mohammed won’t come to the mountain, the mountain will come to Mohammed,’ Margaret claps her hands together seemingly completely forgetting about the guys she’s just seen off.

‘But what – what?’ I stammer. ‘Sean’ll kill me if he finds out I’ve had people here.’

‘But Sean isn’t here,’ says Margaret naughtily.

She’s right, I think. And right now there’s no way I want to be on my own. They’ve just saved me from … who knows what and I’m not about to send them away. Sean should be thankful to them. Who knows what might have happened if they hadn’t turned up.

‘Can’t have our festival organiser sitting on her own on her birthday,’ Dan puts down the beers.

‘Festival Girl Friday,’ I correct him with a smile.

‘Got any candles?’ Grandad asks.

‘I can’t believe you’ve all turned up for me.’ Now I am getting teary. Margaret hands me a small glass from her jacket pocket and pours a vodka into it.

‘Thank you,’ I say. The radio goes back on, sandwiches are put on a table, and candles in bottles come out of one of the boxes I was putting away. I down the vodka and then another. Must be the shock, I think, feeling a mixture of relief and gratitude. Besides, what harm can a few quiet drinks with some friends do?