Chapter Thirteen
‘What the hell has been going on here?’ I hear Sean roaring before I’m even at the cottage.
‘I can explain!’ I say, throwing myself in through the door. Nancy is blocking my path. I wonder if I should start with ‘You have to crack a few eggs to make an omelette’, but I don’t think he’s in a listening mood. But then Sean doesn’t listen, he just roars.
‘I pay you to work on my farm, not to go through my personal things. You’re here to help with the oysters, get ready for the inspection, and look after the animals, although by the looks of it, you’re not doing a very good job of that.’
Incensed, I start trying to tell him that I’m doing a perfectly good job, thank you very much, but my tongue ties itself in knots and my mouth just opens and closes. In fact, I’m so furious, I’m speechless.
‘Well, we can’t stay here tonight,’ says Nancy. ‘We’ll have to go back to mine.’ There is a tight smile in the corner of her mouth that tells me she’s relieved. Sean tuts loudly and goes to make a fuss of Grace. Then he turns back to the paperwork.
‘I thought I might be able to put it into your computer for you,’ I finally manage to spit out.
‘Computer?’ he says with a scoff. ‘Never used one. Never needed one and I’ve managed perfectly well until now.’
I’d love to beg to differ.
Nancy just looks amused and folds her arms. ‘I think you’re doing a great job of sorting things out,’ she says. I feel a little of my tension ease. At least someone can see what I’m trying to do, even if Sean can’t.
‘Now we can go to O’Grady’s tonight,’ Nancy links her arm through his. He doesn’t budge and looks at the piles of papers and then at me again. He is simmering under his big black cloud.
‘Sean, we can’t stay here and it looks like your assistant has got it all in hand.’ She tugs gently at him.
‘I wanted to get out in the boat,’ he says to Nancy without looking at her, narrowing his eyes at some of the paperwork. I hold my breath. The last thing I want is him standing over me while I finish putting all these into some kind of order.
‘Sean, will you just get back in the van? You can go out on the boat anytime. Besides, you’ve been out on boats all day!’
He looks around anxiously.
‘Where are my charts?’
‘On the window sill.’ I point to their new container and he relaxes slightly.
‘See, all in hand,’ Nancy tells him.
There’s an uncomfortable silence before he finally says, ‘Just make sure it’s all back where it was by the morning,’ and turns and stalks out.
‘Don’t mind him. He’s not used to help,’ says Nancy.
‘I think you’re doing a great job.’ She smiles; well, her face does but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
The van engine is already running. Nancy throws her head back so her long, shiny dark hair swings and her hand trails elegantly behind her as she sweeps out, leaving the door open.
The papers fly up all over again. I sigh deeply.
It’s going to be a long night. Or, I think, still furious, I could just leave it all.
Like he says, I’m not paid to look after his paperwork.
I look around with a sinking heart. The thought of starting over again now is thoroughly depressing.
So, I grab my waterproof instead, find another two sticks and this time get the geese into bed.
‘That’s one-all, Brenda!’ I call to her as I march off, swinging my arms, towards the town.
I stand outside the pub, wondering whether to go in.
I mean, I know Margaret said for me to come, but I’m sure they wouldn’t miss me if I didn’t.
It’s not like I could really help them with their committee meeting.
Margaret’ll have forgotten she even invited me.
I’ve had my walk and calmed down. I could just go, walk back to the cottage.
But the thought of another long night with only Sean’s paperwork and my own thoughts for company makes me push open the door.
Then I do what I always do, put my head down, say nothing, and hope no one notices I’m there.
Margaret’s by the bar and spots me straightaway.
‘I knew you’d come,’ she beams. She’s changed her hair.
It’s smoothed to one side tonight, and her Dayglo earrings are purple.
‘It’s great to see you. I got a bottle,’ she leans over the bar and grabs a glass, pours me a white wine, and hands it to me.
I’m usually a vodka and Coke girl, but it’s very kind of her and I take the drink.
‘Here, Grandad, there’s a pint for you.’ She puts a pint of Guinness down in front of Grandad, who’s in his wheelchair next to the fire.
‘Come and sit down and see who you haven’t met,’ she calls for me to follow her.
So much for keeping my head down. But Margaret makes me smile.
She’s the sort of person who takes life by the horns, it seems. She puts her drink on the table and bounces along the bench seat, making room for me by the fire.
In my heart I know I’ve only come to spite Sean because I’m cross with him.
It’s probably best if I just have the one drink, tell them my name, where I’m from, how long I’m planning to stay, and then leave.
I’ve made my point. Just because I’m working for Sean, it doesn’t give him the right to be so uptight.
‘Great, so we’re all here,’ Margaret says with great authority as the ladies from the petrol station arrive.
‘Rosie, this is Fi. This is Rosie and her sister Lily,’ Margaret says. ‘Fi’s working for Sean Thornton.’ Her voice is loaded with excitement.
‘Yes, we’ve met. And how long are you here?’ Rosie says, pulling up a stool, as does Lily. Their large chests take up more than two seats and we all shuffle round a bit.
‘Just until after …’ I check myself. Best not mention the inspection.
I don’t know why but I don’t want to do anything else to get on the wrong side of Sean.
We still have to work together after all.
‘Just for another couple of weeks,’ I say, thinking the end of my trial period can’t come soon enough, even if I haven’t worked out where I’m going to go next.
‘Shame. Good to have some fresh blood here.’ Rosie sips her pint of cider. ‘Some new ideas is what we need,’ she says, and her sister agrees, taking a big swig of hers.
‘Fi is an all-rounder, a multi-tasker, isn’t that right, Fi?’ Margaret announces to everyone.
‘Oh, well, um …’
‘Is that right?’ Rosie asks. ‘What do you do back home?’
‘Well, I, um …’ I take a sip of my drink as my mouth goes dry. ‘I work in a coffee shop and at a local radio station.’ I’m suddenly feeling in the spotlight and under pressure again.
‘Really, oh, that’s fab. You’re just what we need,’ says the woman in the crocheted blue hat. I recognise her from the café.
‘That’s Maire, Maire runs The Artbox. She’s an artist and runs painting lessons if you’re interested.’ Margaret says it so firmly that I almost feel I should take up painting. But I smile and shake my head. I can just about manage a stick man.
‘Haven’t had a single student all summer,’ says Maire, picking up her knitting.
For a moment they lose interest in me, and Rosie and Maire discuss the lack of holiday-makers and tourists.
I have to say, it’s not your ideal holiday destination.
The whole town could do with a facelift.
I look around the pub. I hadn’t really taken it in when I was in there before.
There are pictures on the walls, a lot of them in black and white.
Men in aprons are holding cups, standing in front of tables covered in white tablecloths with bunting above them.
Before I have a chance to look closer I get a dig on the arm.
It’s Grandad. No one’s told me his real name, just ‘Grandad’.
‘When I was young you couldn’t move in this pub on a Monday night.
Monday night was always music night,’ he tells me, reaching for his pint with shaking hands.
I lean forward to pass it to him. He takes it with a nod and sips.
‘All the lads would be in here after a day on the oyster beds.’ He’s talking to me but his eyes are seeing scenes from days gone by.
Everyone else is talking to each other and I sit quietly and listen, still looking at the photos.
‘Families stayed together. They had glue. Now there’s nothing for them,’ he says.
‘All that’s left is the memories.’ He turns back to look at me.
‘So you have to make them good ones,’ he chuckles into his shaking pint.
‘What are the pictures of?’ I ask.
‘Ah, those were the days, the Dooleybridge oyster festival. People came from miles away …’
‘Right!’ Margaret bangs the table with her glass and makes me jump.
Grandad is still enjoying the memories as Margaret silences the group. ‘Couldn’t hear yerself think in here in those days.’
Margaret goes round the group for my benefit.
There’s Rosie and her sister Lily, Maire from The Artbox, Evelyn and John Joe, Margaret, Patsy the landlord and his wife Sínead, Grandad, Tina from the hairdresser’s, David the postman, Gerald from the café, Darragh who owns the souvenir shop and is landlord to Maire, Tina and Gerald.
‘Thanks for coming,’ says Margaret. ‘This meeting has been called because … well, look around you. What do you see?’ Everyone, including Margaret and me, looks around.
Patsy the barman is standing with us, a tea towel over his shoulder.
No one is waiting for drinks. The two barflies Padraig and Seamus are nursing pints, but other than that it’s just them and us.
‘Nothing,’ Rosie keeps looking, ‘what am I looking for?’
‘Nothing. That’s exactly it, Rosie.’ Margaret slaps her clipboard on the table.
There’s a communal intake of breath.
‘It’s June. The older kids have been off school for nearly a month. In a couple of weeks the national schools will be off for the summer too. And no one is coming here.’
‘Might as well shut up shop.’ Maire shakes her head while knitting.
‘We need something to bring in the crowds. Show them what we’ve got. I grew up here, I don’t want to leave like everyone else. I want people to come and see what a brilliant place Dooleybridge is,’ Margaret says passionately.
‘What have we got?’ asks Tina through her long fringe.
‘Well, there’s—’
‘This place for starters,’ Patsy cuts across Margaret. ‘If I don’t get some good summer trade now I’ll be forced to shut my doors.’ He looks around at the few drinks he’s sold. ‘It costs me more to run the place.’
‘Ah, no, don’t say that.’ Rosie takes a big slug of her cider and Patsy’s wife Sínead puts an arm around him.
‘That’s how it is,’ Patsy shrugs, and pats Sínead’s hand.
‘There’s this place!’ Margaret says, trying to inject some enthusiasm into proceedings.
‘And mine!’ Gerald joins in with a smile, holding his pint on his belly.
‘And there’s the beach,’ Evelyn joins in. ‘My kids spent hours on the beach when they were little. Rain or … whatever the weather.’
‘Yes, but kids want more than that these days.’ Rosie speaks as the voice of authority on the matter and everyone listens. ‘They want funfairs, water parks, Wi-Fi everywhere they go …’
Maire puts her knitting into her lap thoughtfully.
‘I’ve got the world wide web …’ Gerald looks like he’s watching a deflating balloon.
‘We need ideas to bring the holiday-makers back. That’s why we’re here,’ Margaret pushes on valiantly.
Grandad leans towards me. ‘In my day you couldn’t get on the beach for holiday-makers.’
‘Yes, Grandad,’ they all chorus.
Margaret rolls her eyes and lets her blank clipboard and pen fall heavily to her side, as though she’s fighting a losing battle.
I wish I could help but I don’t really know the area and I certainly wouldn’t have any ideas.
I just made cakes when I worked at Betty’s, that’s all I’ve ever done. Now I scrub oysters.
‘I fancy a night at the dogs,’ Rosie nudges her sister, who smiles in agreement.
‘Oh yes, a night at the dogs always goes down well. A family night, like,’ says Evelyn.
‘It’s supposed to be something to bring the punters here, not a night out in Galway,’ Margaret looks exasperated.
‘We could do a table quiz,’ says Rosie, getting excited.
‘Oh yes, I’m great on geography questions,’ says Maire, picking up her knitting again.
‘And you could do celebrity ones, Lily,’ Rosie nudges her sister.
‘Oh yes, and I could do cookery questions,’ Evelyn joins in, and everyone looks down at their drinks.
‘Only trouble is, we need other teams to take part,’ Patsy says, and spirits dip again.
‘What about a good old music night,’ Grandad suddenly pipes up. ‘When I were a lad you couldn’t move in here on a Monday night, all the boys from the oyster beds would come in,’ he was pointing to the pub and the town beyond. ‘On oyster festival weekends, this place was jam-packed.’
‘Yes, Grandad,’ everyone choruses.
‘What about you, Fi? You’re the expert in media, what do you think we should do?’
‘I think …’ Everyone turns to look at me. I struggle to think of anything, anything at all. My mind goes totally blank and I blush bright red. I wish I could help Margaret, I really do. She’s waiting. I have to say something.
‘I … I … I think Grandad’s right. If you want this place jumping again, why not just bring back the oyster festival,’ I say.
At least I’ve offered something and now perhaps Margaret will ignore me and they can all go back to what they were talking about before.
The pub falls silent and they all stare at me and I have no idea why.
After that the group starts to break up. Patsy goes back behind the bar and Frank and John Joe get out the draughts. Margaret tops up our drinks from the bottle.
‘It’s complicated,’ she tells me. ‘It’s not just the memories it would bring back, opening old wounds. There’s no one here to take part any more. It just wouldn’t work.’
‘No, it’s a shame. They were the days all right …’ Maire says.
‘But it wouldn’t work,’ Evelyn does up her coat.
‘No, no.’ Rosie shakes her head. ‘It would never work. Not unless we had someone who knew about the media and things like that. Someone to run the festival.’ They all look at me.
‘Oh, sorry, I just won’t be here to help out.
I’d love to but I’m not staying around.’ I have no intention of opening up any old wounds.
Besides, my only media experience is answering the phones on a Saturday afternoon radio show.
I pull on my waterproof, do it up to the neck so I’m hiding in it, make my excuses and leave.
‘See you next week,’ Margaret calls after me. But I won’t be coming back to put my foot in it all over again; from now on I’ll keep my head down.