Chapter Five
‘Ah, for feck’s sake! What have I done?’ Sean looked up. He let the Atlantic blast beat his face, clearing his confused mind and making him feel alive.
His thick, curly hair blew across his face in a cross wind.
He grabbed at it and pulled it back into the nape of his neck.
Sean shut his eyes. He was tired, but being out here, where he was happiest, was the best rest he could get.
It was where he always came to think through his problems. His mind flicked back to his latest dilemma. Had he made a terrible mistake?
He looked up at the deep red sails, the colour of a good red wine. The three sails worked together, scooping up the wind. They were full, deep and cupped like the shape of an oyster.
He knew nothing about this woman other than she’d done some sort of work in food production and a bit of work in the media …
oh, and she was English. Other than that, nothing.
He breathed in deeply, the fresh salty air giving him the head rush he needed to feel more relaxed, better than any drink he’d ever had.
What if she knew more than she was letting on, hoping to see his set up, find out how he was still making a living at this game?
Or maybe she was working for someone else, someone after his land.
His mind was whirring with possibilities.
Why would a woman with no connections around here rock up out of the blue and want to be his assistant? It just didn’t make sense.
The water lashed at the mahogany sides of the boat. The ropes slapped at the mast as he let out the sails, and his spirits lifted again as he felt the thrill of the boat moving even faster through the water.
She was either just what he was looking for – someone who had no idea about the people around here, him, or his oysters – or she was trying to play him for an idiot.
Sean heard the beating of wings and looked to his left to see his daily companion, a small silver and white heron, keeping pace beside him.
His huge wings were moving up and down, carrying his large body as fast as they could.
Seagulls dived effortlessly across him, but he kept going, steady and loyal.
Sean’s mind turned to the villagers he’d seen yesterday.
He’d watched their gossiping, wondering what he was up to, even having the nerve to ask for work.
But let them talk; he’d put up with their gossip and their doubtful looks when he’d first arrived and moved in with his uncle all those years ago.
It was the same when he finally took over the farm.
Their silly chatter didn’t bother him. He didn’t want to give them anything to really talk about, though, which was why when he’d met Fi she’d seemed like the answer to all his problems. Now, though, he wasn’t quite so sure.
He looked across at the little town and the coastline around it, bare, rural, rugged bog.
It was in those waters that the real jewels lay.
He looked towards the other side of the bay.
Over there they had a reputation for having the best oysters just about anywhere in the world, just like Dooleybridge once had.
But not any more. Oyster farmers had gone out of business.
Families had packed up and moved away, gone to the city or abroad.
Nothing had ever been the same since the rumours had started just before his uncle died.
He swallowed hard. Over there they had everything that the community on this side of the water had lost.
A large wave hit the front of the boat. It dipped and rose, sending an arc of cold spray over him. He stood up and let out a tension-releasing roar. He teased and cajoled the sail ropes, urging the boat to go even faster. Still the grey and silver heron kept pace, despite its ungainly body.
The rain came and followed him all the way home, but he didn’t mind.
Rain was part of the deal out here. Besides, perhaps it was the rain that helped his oysters grow.
One day he hoped everyone would know about his oysters, that they would be known as some of the best in the world, but first he had to get through his licence renewal in just a few weeks time.
There was no way he could get the oysters ready for market, get the farm ready for the inspection and start his new job. This Fi was his only hope.
In the distance he could see his farm; his oyster beds would be starting to poke up through the water soon. He had to get a move on. He felt as he did every time he saw this place, like he was coming home, and he knew that he’d do whatever it took to save it.
As he reached the little wooden jetty the boat dipped and swayed.
The heron landed on the gangplank and marched up and down, waiting for a treat to come his way.
Sean pulled out his knife from his sleeve pocket, opened up an oyster from his red mesh bag, and tossed it to the heron.
It clattered on the wet wood and the heron pecked greedily at it.
‘You lucky beggar,’ said Sean, and smiled.
There were lights on in the cottage, Sean noticed.
The fire he’d stoked before he left was letting out little plumes of smoke from the metal pipe chimney.
He might not know much about his new assistant, but she didn’t know much about him either.
Maybe he hadn’t been mad to take her on; maybe it was just what he needed.
Having moored the boat, he picked up the red mesh bag.
Let’s see if this woman really did know about oysters; it was a risk, but one he needed to take.
He slung the bag over his shoulder and lit a cigarette, then began to make his way up the shore towards the cottage.
It had been a long time since he’d come home to lights on and a lit fire.