Chapter Eight #2
‘Hold on,’ he shouts over his shoulder and the tractor, trailer and I lurch forward.
I do as I’m told and hold on tight. Then we begin to rock and dip our way back to shore.
It can’t come soon enough. Grace is running behind the trailer, regally lifting her long legs high out of the water, like a hound at the wheels of her master’s coach.
I was completely useless out there. I know Sean must be thinking I was a complete waste of space. I have to show him differently. I can’t let him think he’s made a mistake.
Sean stared straight ahead. He knew he mustn’t expect too much on the first day, but he’d hoped for a little more involvement, or even interest. She was hopeless.
He looked around at his beds. If the licence went through he might be able to buy more spat and expand in the next few months.
Maybe he’d try and get out on the boat and go round to the second bay before Nancy came back for him later that evening.
But he had lots to do and an assistant with a severe case of first-day nerves wasn’t helping.
But, he thought with everything crossed, let’s hope that’s all it was, first-day nerves.
Otherwise he’d never be ready for the inspection. He sighed and put his foot down.
The trailer seems to swing around even more as the tractor pulls on to the stony shore and up the steep bank.
I cling on so hard that the tips of my fingers hurt.
It would be crucifyingly embarrassing to actually fall off now.
That really would confirm everything I’m sure Sean already thinks about me.
The tractor and trailer swing round towards the gate and just for a scary second or two I don’t think I’m going to be able to stay upright.
But then I feel the tractor start to reverse.
‘Head down,’ Sean calls over his shoulder and I do exactly as I’m told. I crouch as low as I can so he can see over me as he reverses the trailer up to the shed doors.
Finally the engine shuts off and I stand up. By some miracle I haven’t made a complete prat of myself by falling off and suffering any serious injuries under the wheels.
‘Let’s get the spat done and then we can get into the sheds.
’ Sean jumps down from the tractor and looks up at the darkening sky.
He opens the shed doors and reaches just inside for two big plastic crates.
He puts them either side of the trailer and points for me to stand on one.
It wobbles but I find my balance and wait for instructions.
I go to pull off my gloves but he stops me.
‘Leave those on, you’ll need them. Cuts from shells can hurt, but if you get any under your nails then you’ll really know about it.’
The drizzle turns to rain.
‘We have three types of rain here,’ Sean says as he pulls some of the bags off the trailer and drops them by my crate. ‘It’s raining, it’s just stopped raining, and it’s just starting to rain.’ He smiles at his own joke, dropping another bag by me.
‘Now then, empty this bag of baby oysters into this sieve here.’ He picks up a large garden sieve and puts a big plastic bucket on the trailer.
‘Anything that doesn’t go through can move up into the next size bag; the other stuff can go back in the bags they came out of.
Then we’ll sit them in the water.’ He nods to the shoreline that seems to be creeping closer.
‘Tide’s coming in so we’ll take them back out to the tables in the morning. ’
I put a foot on both sides of the crate to steady it and take the bag from him.
The rain is getting heavier. Rivulets of water are running down my raincoat like molten silver.
I reach up and pour the shells into the sieve, blinking back the rain.
I keep my head down and keep going, focusing on the tiny oyster shells until I reach down and discover there are no more bags.
I look over to Sean on the opposite side of the trailer where he’s doing the same.
I jump down and grab a couple more bags from his side and sieve them.
It’s absolutely lashing down by the time we’ve finished them all.
Then Sean finally says the two most welcome words: ‘Coffee break.’
I put the last little oysters that haven’t grown into their bag and look up. I catch my breath. The sea has crept up even further.
‘Then we’ll move into the sheds,’ Sean shouts. ‘This lot will have to stay back after school and learn to grow,’ he smiles, pushing back his hood and looking at the baby oysters. Droplets of water run off his wet hair, which has sprung into spirals.
I hand him the bags and he lowers them gently into the shallow water. Waves are hitting his legs and I jump back with each one. He doesn’t, of course. When the last one is in he points to the cottage.
Inside, the warmth from the little pot-bellied stove is lovely and welcoming.
I stand and let the water roll off me. Sean has a coffee and I have hot water with a slice of lemon, having had the last tea bag that morning.
We sit at the scrubbed pine table, me at the end so I don’t have to look out to sea.
‘With the inspection coming up we need to get everything scrubbed. By the end of the week the spring tide will be over. Then we’ll start cleaning, every bit of equipment, everything.
I’ll be working in town in the day so I’ll organise jobs for you to do and be back in the evenings, unless I’m in town with Nancy.
’ He tips back his mug and slugs his coffee. ‘Right, to the sheds.’ He stands up.
I finish my drink and stand up too, showing him I’m ready to work. He hands me my coat. It’s wet and cold, as are my dungarees when I pull them back on. There are puddles of water all over the floor. I pull out my woollen hat from my pocket. It’s cold and wet, much like I feel.