Chapter Six
‘Damn it!’ I start grabbing at the coats and boxes that are blocking my path.
When I think the coat rack looks much the same as before, I stand up, pull on a coat and grab my bag, ready to make a run for it. Well, a hobble anyway.
Suddenly Grace jumps up from lying on the wooden floor beside me and barks madly. I jump and then freeze. He’s back.
The wooden door flies open.
‘Woohoo!’ He’s rubbing his hair and smiling like all his Christmases have come at once. He’s carrying a small red net bag over his shoulder. ‘That’s fresh out there. Do you not fancy a spin yourself, no?’ He points towards the sea.
I shake my head vigorously. It’s the very last place I plan to go. I’m on to him; he’ll get me in the boat and then onwards to who knows where …
‘No. No, thanks,’ I say firmly. ‘Actually …’
He’s pulling off his coat and going to stoke the fire.
‘Let me know if you fancy it.’ He puts more turf from the basket into the fire and shuts its doors. This must be the subtle approach to getting me on to the boat. Wonder what happens when that fails? Well, I won’t be here to find out.
‘Now, let’s have a coffee and sort out what needs doing round here.
’ He turns to me, rubbing his hands, and then takes in the coat and my bag.
My heart leaps into my mouth. I can practically see his good mood evaporating.
I don’t move or say anything. Finally he breaks the silence.
‘Had enough already?’ he says with the disappointment of a school teacher who had high hopes for his pupil.
‘It’s just …’ I falter, then find my backbone and hold my head up. ‘I’m not sure this is for me.’ I don’t know what’s going to happen next. It’s not like he’s going to offer me a lift to the railway station and I can’t run, not in these shoes. I have to persuade him just to let me leave.
‘I see.’ Sean turns away from me and back to the stove, opening it up and poking at the turf he’s just put in there.
He throws in some more and then pulls a red cast-iron kettle onto the hot plate.
‘Well, it’s certainly not everyone’s cup of tea.
’ There’s a hardness in his voice. It all feels a bit surreal, as if I’m turning down a perfectly normal job, not the chance to join his stable of prostitutes.
‘I’m sorry,’ I hear myself saying.
He sighs and shrugs.
I decide to take the bull by the horns. ‘Look, if you could just take me back to the town. I’ll never breathe a word of this, I promise.’
There’s a long silence in which the kettle comes to a cheery boil and he picks it up and goes to the kitchen area, looking for mugs.
‘Shame, I thought you were going to be the answer to my prayers.’ He finds two.
‘Then of course there’s Grace. I need someone to look after her.
’ He looks at the dog and she wags her tail.
Now that bit of the job I wouldn’t have minded.
‘Isn’t there someone from the town who could help you?’ I suggest helpfully.
‘I like to keep my business to myself. You’ve seen them. Bunch of busybodies. They’re only interested in passing on each other’s news, mostly bad. I like to keep my business and my life away from the town.’
I know why, I think to myself. There’s something unpredictable about his manner.
I just want this to be over. I take a deep breath.
‘Look, I don’t know what’s going on here or where you planned to take me, but I’m a bit long in the tooth to be some kind of sex slave.
Really, you’d hardly get anything for me.
I’d be a terrible prostitute. I don’t even like holding hands in public. I’d be useless to you,’ I blurt out.
He stops pouring the hot water and turns and stares at me, mouth open.
‘What?’ he says, his dark eyes flashing.
I take a step back and eye up the poker by the fire.
‘I haven’t a feckin’ clue what you’re on about, but I think its best that you go,’ he says angrily.
He slams down the kettle. Then slowly turns back to me.
His face begins to change, like he’s processing the information.
‘Oh my God, you think … you think …’ he repeats, pointing a finger at me.
I’m feeling uncomfortable. Then to my amazement he starts to smile and then lets out a small chuckle.
I’m flabbergasted that he could find this so funny.
The chuckle grows until he throws back his head and laughs out loud. See, definitely unpredictable.
I look away, waiting for his hysteria to subside.
‘You thought I had a hooker, a prostitute.’ He clutches his sides and I begin to shift from foot to foot with frustration and embarrassment. I have a strange feeling this is not going the way I was expecting it to.
‘Well, that’s what you told me!’ I fold my arms across my body, indignant.
‘It’s a boat … s’called that.’ He grips his sides and can barely breathe. Every time he looks at me he bursts into laughter all over again.
I’ve had enough of this. ‘Wait a minute. Are you telling me your hooker is your boat?’
He nods wildly, brushing away the tears. When he’s finally finished he straightens up. Every now and then a whimper of laughter escapes, but seeing my set face, he makes an effort to straighten his own.
‘I’m sorry.’ He holds up both his hands. ‘It’s my fault. I apologise. I should’ve explained.’ The smile tugs at the corners of his mouth again.
I’m feeling really cross now. My arms are still tightly folded and I’m tapping my toe.
‘Please, let me. Sit down.’ He pulls out a chair for me.
‘I’ll make the coffee. I promise you I’m not trafficking sex slaves or setting up a brothel.
’ He’s still holding out the chair. ‘It’s just me here, plus Grace and my boat.
Please, sit down.’ I take a step towards the chair.
Not for the first time recently, I feel like I have ‘sucker’ written on my forehead.
As I don’t have many options right now, I sit down.
He puts a coffee pot on the table in front of me and motions to me to help myself.
‘I’m a tea drinker,’ I say, not meeting his eyes.
He sucks through his teeth teasingly. I look up. He’s smiling at me this time, not laughing at me. He looks in the cupboards and manages to find a single abandoned tea bag. He throws it in a cup and pours on boiling water.
‘So you really are an oyster farmer then?’ I ask the question I should have asked yesterday.
‘Yes, I really am an oyster farmer, and I really do need an assistant. Not a prostitute …’ He quickly composes himself again. ‘I really didn’t mean to scare you,’ he says more seriously, pouring himself hot coffee.
We establish that the boat is a hooker, a traditional Galway fishing boat that used to be his uncle’s.
‘Look, I’ve got my inspection coming up for my oyster farmer’s licence.
I’ve been here for three years and I need to pass it to keep my business.
And it’s June. I’ll be starting work at the sailing school just outside Galway, teaching youngsters to sail at summer camps.
It helps make ends meet. And …’ He’s suddenly very serious again, ‘I can’t be everywhere at once. ’
‘So what does the job actually entail?’ I sip the tea and start to feel human again.
‘I’ll need you to help with the oysters themselves, bringing them in for grading and finishing them off ready to go to market. Then there’s the other animals to look after, and we need to make sure everything is as clean as it can be before the inspection.’
‘But I don’t know about oysters.’ I sip the tea again.
‘You don’t need to. You leave the actual growing bit to me. I’ll tell you when I need your help, but like I say, mostly it’s cleaning and house-sitting.’
It didn’t sound like my ideal job, but at least I wasn’t being sold as a sex slave.
‘It’s a precarious business, oyster farming,’ he says.
‘It’s not like we can call in a vet if the stock gets sick.
And we can’t move them into shelter if the weather gets bad.
But one of our biggest problems is theft.
There’s the oystercatchers for starters – they’re a species of bird,’ he explains at my puzzled look.
‘They like to feed on my oysters. And then there’s the oyster pirates.
The people who think they can come in and help themselves to your stock just because it’s in the sea.
I’ll need you to be here, keeping an eye on things. ’
He stops talking and picks up the red mesh bag he’s brought in with him. ‘What do you think of these?’ He empties the contents onto the kitchen table with a clatter, putting his arm round them to stop them falling off.
Even I can work this one out.
‘They’re oysters.’
‘That’s it?’ He tilts his head slightly and I can see he’s looking for more. But I can’t think of anything else to say.
‘Yes.’
He hesitates and then reaches for one. I lean back a bit.
I don’t mean to, it’s an automatic reaction.
He sits on the edge of the table, watching me with interest. He pulls out a knife from a pocket in the sleeve of his coat, pushes the knife into the hinge and twists it until it pops open.
Then he slices along the top edge, pulls away the top shell, and shows me the slippery, slimy oyster inside.
‘Want to try one?’
The back of my hand shoots up to cover my nose. I grimace and shake my head. I can’t help it.
‘No thanks, I don’t like seafood,’ I say, muffled because my hand is still over my nose and mouth.
He cocks his head again and a smile spreads across his face. ‘Sure?’ he asks, his smile broadening, irritating me.
‘Sure,’ I say firmly, still holding the back of my hand to my mouth.
He looks at it then tips it into his own mouth. ‘Good,’ he says, chewing and swallowing. ‘Now all I have to do is leave them to it.’ He smiles briefly and gathers up the rest of the oysters.
I decide to say something before he does. ‘I take it that you don’t want me to stay on, what with me not liking oysters?’