Chapter Fifteen
He’s standing in front of the window, a man in a baseball cap, blocking out the sunset. He’s turning slowly, holding a smartphone horizontally at arm’s length, panning across the oyster beds. Only now he’s slowly turning … towards me.
I snatch up the towel and just manage to throw it around me, clutching it to my chest before he turns and looks straight through his fingers at me.
I don’t know who’s more shocked, but finally I manage to shriek and then so does he, dropping his hands, his sunglasses falling from his forehead to his face.
Clutching both his hands on top of his head, he runs.
Shit! No way is all our hard work going to be jeopardised now. I throw back the bathroom door with a bang.
‘Sean, Sean!’ I run into the kitchen. ‘Sean!’ I yell again at the top of my voice, above his music and his singing.
Even Grace takes a while to notice me from her place in front of the fire.
The room’s full of the most amazing smells: caramelised meat, red wine, herbs, roasting potatoes, coming from the oven.
Sean’s standing with his back to me at the kitchen work surface. There’s a lamp plugged in on the side throwing light on to the chopping board he’s wiping down.
‘Sean!’
He finally spins round. Grace jumps up and barks. Clutching the towel, I lunge forward and press the off button on the CD player.
‘Oh, good God!’ he says, suddenly making me very aware that I’m standing in his kitchen with just a towel wrapped round me.
‘Never mind good God! This is urgent! There’s a man, in a hat, with a camera.
Filming. Outside the window …’ I garble and point.
What if it’s one of those pirates, oyster thingies he told me about?
I couldn’t bear it if they were stolen now, not when we’ve worked so hard.
Sean doesn’t need any more explanation. He throws down his kitchen knife and is at the door in two strides, calling Grace behind him.
She jumps into action, letting out her war cry.
Sean throws back the door and, stepping into his wellington boots, runs outside behind Grace who’s already giving chase.
I follow to see the man in the hat jumping into a black 4×4 and departing at speed, showering gravel in his wake as he drives away.
Grace barks for all she’s worth, but the black 4×4 is already disappearing down the lane.
Sean’s shaking his head, having given up running after it.
He’s bent over, holding his knees. I’m still on the steps, anxiously wondering what damage they’ve done.
Slowly Sean stands up and begins walking back towards me, still shaking his head.
‘I didn’t recognise the car,’ he frowns. ‘Could be from out of town.’ He calls Grace to him and makes a fuss of her.
The yard itself still looks immaculate. A far cry from when I first arrived.
Broken fencing has been fixed. Wetsuits and wellies have been tidied, and even the little bit of grass on the bank is trimmed.
The front door of the old barn has been painted and I even planted up a few wall flowers I bought in Rosie’s petrol station in some old lobster pots and put them either side of the old barn door.
‘I’m going to check the sheds and the stock,’ Sean calls over his shoulder. ‘Keep an eye on the dinner,’ and he stalks away.
‘No, wait, I can help.’ I start to follow. He turns, puts his hands on his hips and raises an eyebrow.
‘I don’t think so,’ he says, like a school teacher dealing with a challenging pupil.
I bristle. He obviously still thinks I’m the wet-behind-the-ears girl from the city.
I go to put my hands on my hips and remind him who’s done most of the tidying round here, when the towel slips a little and I remember it’s all I’m wearing.
A black cloud of insects suddenly gathers over my head.
A tiny smile tugs at the corners of Sean’s mouth; at least I think it’s a smile.
And now that the immediate panic is over, I’m suddenly feeling very awkward.
The dark cloud lowers over me and begins to sting my skin.
A gang of mosquitoes is obviously settling in for a full-on feast. I run inside, straight back to the bathroom, where I let the towel drop, rub my hair madly and then jump straight back into the shower.
When I re-emerge fully dressed into the kitchen, which still smells divine, Sean’s back inside and the living room’s had a change round.
He’s moved the table and pushed the settee away in order to be able to look out of the window at the oyster beds.
He’s peering at them through big, heavy binoculars. I straighten a box of fallen paperwork.
‘You keep an eye out while I serve up.’ He hands me the binoculars. ‘The last thing we want is for the bastards to come back tonight.’
The binoculars are heavier than I expected.
I step forward and take over where he’s been standing.
It’s awkward negotiating the newly positioned settee and table.
Nothing else has been moved to make space for them, and as I step forward, so does he.
Just for a moment we’re chest to chest and I try to tilt myself back so as not to be touching but nearly topple backwards.
He catches my elbow. I catch my breath. Just for a moment we hold each other’s stare and my insides unexpectedly leap.
I look away quickly. It’s not good to be this close and intimate with your employer, I scold myself, even if it is only for one more day.
He’s wearing his blue knitted jacket with the hood.
Its toggles press into me, emphasising how close we are.
Just for a second or two I realise I’ve stopped breathing, and when I start again my chest rises up and down even more than before.
I practically fall onto the settee, snatching the binoculars from him as I go.
‘Heavy, aren’t they?’ I chirp, trying to forget the closeness we’ve just encountered. For a moment I felt like my whole body had been kick-started from a hundred-year sleep.
‘They were my uncle’s. There was many a night I sat here with him watching for oyster pirates.’ He looks out to sea as if enjoying a cherished painting.
‘You love it here, don’t you?’ I say, seeing his face soften.
‘I do.’ He looks back at me as if I wasn’t just the hired help any more, but someone who understood what he was trying to say.
It was like seeing through a tiny chink in the armour.
‘Which is why I have to pass the inspection tomorrow.’ Then he turns quickly towards the kitchen and I look out to sea with the binoculars.
It’s like wearing 3D glasses to the cinema, designed to exaggerate your worst nightmares.
It’s a small step, but there’s no way I could have done this four weeks ago.
‘Food’s up!’ Sean hands me a loaded plate.
It’s piled high with steaming mashed potato, golden, crumbly pastry, chunks of beef, and dark brown, rich gravy.
‘Hope you like pie.’ He hands me a fork and then steps over my legs to sit down next to me.
‘I know you won’t eat oysters, but I thought you might be all right with this. ’
I look down at my plate as his jean-clad thighs reach over me. I move up the settee as far as I can. Honestly, you’d think I’d never been near a man before, instead of living with one for five years before marrying him; but then, I never really got to know him, did I?
‘Right, eat up and then I’m going to stay up and keep watch.
You can go to bed if you like.’ He starts tucking into his plate of hot potato and pie.
I dig in too. It’s so good it’s like being wrapped up in a goose-down duvet.
Behind us the fire cheerily warms the room.
I fork the beef into my mouth. Then I put my fork into something I don’t recognise.
I pick it up and look at it, sniff it and look at it again.
Sean is mid-mouthful but can’t help but laugh.
‘OK, you got me.’ He holds up a hand and is fully enjoying his own joke. I look at him accusingly. ‘You wouldn’t eat them raw so I thought I’d try them cooked.’
‘Oysters? In the pie?’ I’m actually enjoying the joke too.
‘Just try one.’ He hands me the ketchup from beside him on the floor. ‘Try it with ketchup. Beef and oyster pie; it’s a classic combination.’
‘Really?’ I look at it again and then stick my tongue out and try to taste it by licking a little bit of sauce from it. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t.’ I still can’t explain my bad relationship with the sea. ‘What if it was a bad one, what if I got sick?’ I say wildly, hoping he’ll be fooled.
‘You’ve pulled it from the sea yourself. It couldn’t be fresher!’
I know he’s right, but I just can’t handle it. I shake my head and put the forkful down on my plate and he scoops it up and eats it. I pick out the rest of the oysters to the sound of his gentle laughter beside me, but finish the rest of the pie and scrape the plate clean.
‘Thank you, that was delicious. Be even nicer without the oysters,’ I joke, and take his plate.
‘You don’t know what’s good for you, English!’ he shouts after me as I head to the kitchen.
‘I’ll wash up,’ I say, and he moves into my place and picks up the binoculars.
Things have definitely thawed in our working relationship.
I’ll almost be sorry to go if we carry on getting on like this.
Grace follows me, ever hopeful of a few scraps.
I can’t even say how much I’m going to miss Grace.
Once I’m settled I’m going to get a dog of my own, I decide.
No more living in flats with no-pet policies.
I wash up and am drying my hands with the tea towel when I realise how important tomorrow is to me too.
‘I’ll stay up too,’ I say.
He looks up from his binoculars as if pleasantly surprised.
‘You don’t have to.’
‘I do. I’d hate it if anything happened now, before I went,’ I add. There’s a moment’s silence.
‘You’ve decided then, you’re moving on?’
I fold the tea towel more times than it needs folding. ‘Yes,’ I say quietly, unfolding it again and putting it on the work surface. ‘It’s been great, but I don’t think I’m ever going to make it as an oyster farmer.’
He tries to keep a straight face, but can’t, and we both laugh.
‘I’ll advertise, after the inspection,’ he says with gentle resignation.
‘Make sure it’s someone who doesn’t mind the wet,’ I tell him, putting on the kettle. ‘And who wears size six wellington boots.’
‘And someone who eats oysters,’ he joins in, going back to his binoculars. ‘I never did get you out on the hooker,’ he says, as if he genuinely thinks I’ve missed out on one of life’s greatest pleasures. I pull out mugs to make a tea and coffee.
‘Well, the hooker and me didn’t get off to a great start, did we?’
His face breaks into another rare smile behind the binoculars.
‘And make sure it’s someone who’s good with geese,’ I add, realising that he really isn’t quite so bad after all; even quite fanciable in a grumpy kind of way.