Chapter Twenty-Three
‘No one must know what?’ Nancy repeats.
‘Just talking tide times,’ Sean says, shoving his hands in his pockets like a boy just caught stealing sweets from a shop.
Nancy folds her arms and taps a black booted foot. Sean copies her body language and I can see he feels put on the spot. Nancy raises an eyebrow and Grace lies down, trying to make herself really small and pretend she’s not there.
‘No, really,’ Sean says, failing to pull off a good lie. ‘We were just talking about oyster pirates and tide times and …’ he waves his hand around.
‘And …?’ Nancy asks. I swallow hard, feeling Sean’s predicament. Does he own up to them or does he keep them secret like he’s just told me to do?
‘And … the native oysters growing in the second bay,’ he says very quickly, failing to skirt round the question any more.
‘So you’ve got native oysters and you didn’t tell me?’ Nancy starts pacing up and down the living room.
‘I’m going into town, anyone want anything?’ I try and lighten the mood, but they ignore me.
‘I wanted it to be a surprise.’ Sean’s trying to smooth things.
‘A surprise! It’s certainly that. Especially since I’m your oyster broker. When were you going to tell me?’
I slide out the front door and pull my hat down to avoid the midges. It’s a Monday night and the committee will be meeting in the pub.
‘Hey, when d’ya leave?’ Margaret throws open her arms when she sees me and makes me smile.
‘Change of plan,’ I say, pulling off my coat. ‘There was an accident at Sean’s place last night.’
The committee’s gathering, slowly trickling into the pub. Margaret grabs my arm and clutches it.
‘What happened? Is Sean OK?’
‘Oh, nothing like that, he’s fine, well, not fine exactly. It wasn’t that kind of accident, no one was hurt.’ She finally releases my arm.
‘You had me worried there,’ she says, and visibly relaxes, taking a large slug of white wine. ‘So what did happen?’
‘It was stupid. Some oysters got …’ I lower my voice, ‘… stolen.’ I keep it low. ‘And then some got damaged in seeing them off.’
‘Oh God, so what’s he going to do?’ She puts a straw in her wine and sucks through it.
‘Buy new stock,’ I answer as simply as possible.
The pub is beginning to fill up; that is, Evelyn and John Joe have come in, along with the two barflies and Frank.
‘I’ll get the drinks,’ I say, and squeeze out from the bench seat. I stand in between Frank and Padraig and Seamus.
‘Evening,’ they say in unison.
‘Nice evening?’ says Seamus. And then I remember that he saw Margaret and me on the bench.
‘Oh, quiet.’ I wave a hand.
‘Really? I heard there was a bit of a commotion up at your place?’ Padraig says, putting his hand on his waist.
‘Nothing we couldn’t handle,’ I say, but narrow my eyes, feeling like they’re laughing at me. I grab the bottle of wine and two glasses and make my way back to the table. I’m about to tell Margaret, but at that moment Evelyn and John Joe followed by Frank come and join us.
‘So, ideas! Anyone come up with anything?’ Margaret asks. The barflies are looking at me and I try and concentrate on what she’s saying. ‘A film night, maybe?’ she’s suggesting.
‘What about a fishing competition?’ There’s a murmur of approval from the men.
‘Or a spa night?’ says Rosie.
‘What d’you think, Fi? Think holiday-makers would come for any of those?’ Maire asks. I take a big sip of drink, then a deep breath, and am about to say what I need to say when the door opens and in comes a face I’d recognise anywhere.
‘Ah, two pints of your finest please, barman,’ says a broad American accent. I glance at him then look out of the window and notice the big black 4×4 parked out there. Just like the one at the farm the other night.
‘Jesus Christ!’ I splutter into my drink.
‘I don’t think he’ll make it to the spa night, dear,’ says Evelyn, who’s got out her knitting and is showing Maire.
I duck down behind Margaret.
‘Fi, what are you doing for feck’s sake?’
‘Dropped an earring,’ I say stupidly, clutching my left ear. See, I just can’t think on my feet.
‘Wow, this is quite a place,’ I hear the man at the bar saying.
‘Fi, we’ll find it in a minute. Now, will you get up off the bench,’ Margaret says crossly, ‘you’re disrupting the meeting. Now, what were you going to say? We need to decide on something. Come on!’
‘I can’t!’ I hiss.
‘Can’t what?’ Margaret bends down to meet my face.
‘I can’t let him see me.’ I nod towards the man at the bar.
‘So this is where it all happened? This is where my forefathers sat before me.’ He’s looking round the bar.
He’s tall, about six foot. He has neatly trimmed black hair around his ears and a baseball cap firmly on his head with sunglasses on the top.
His teeth are bleached white. If I didn’t dislike him so much for what he’d done I’d say he was, in fact, quite good-looking.
‘I feel like the returning hero, coming home,’ he gloats.
‘Returning hero, my foot!’ I sit up, but still with Margaret in front of me to shield me.
‘Fi, what are you talking about?’ Her face is up close to mine.
‘He’s the one who stole Sean’s oysters. He’s the oyster pirate!’ I hiss and point. ‘Him in the baseball cap.’
Margaret spins to look at him. She doesn’t need telling twice.
‘Hey!’ she shouts. I cringe. ‘You!’ She points and comes out from behind the table.
The American turns to face her in surprise.
The young woman with him takes a step back.
He looks left and right and then puts his hand to his chest, sticks out his chin a little and mouths, ‘Me?’ He looks surprised but not displeased.
He turns to smile at his companion, who doesn’t look so convinced.
‘Yes, you!’ Margaret starts to stalk over to him, still pointing her finger.
I can’t help but wish I had just a little of her chutzpah.
Margaret’s the sort of person you’d want in your corner.
But I also realise I need to be in hers if we’re to be friends.
I jump up and stand by the table in support.
‘What on earth do you think you’re doing here?’ Margaret accuses him. But strangely he smiles some more and then reaches into his inside pocket and pulls out a pen. He turns and picks up a cardboard mat from the bar. Margaret stares at him in disbelief as he holds the pen to the mat.
‘What’s your name, sweetie?’ he smiles, showing some very white teeth. I’m now standing right behind Margaret and we’re both looking at the beer mat.
‘My name?’ she fires back angrily. ‘How about you tell me your name and I get the Garda up here to arrest you?’
‘Arrest me?’ he laughs, but his smile slips just a little. He looks at me and his smile slips a lot.
‘Oh no, oh hang on!’ He lets his hand fall with the beer mat still in it. ‘That was a misunderstanding.’ He waves the pen between the two of us. Margaret takes a small step forwards.
‘So you admit you were at Sean Thornton’s farm?’
I don’t have the words to do what she’s doing. My cheeks are bloody blushing again and my feet are starting to look for the black hole.
‘Well, yes, but—’ He shrugs and Margaret cuts him off.
‘Patsy, call the Garda. This man stole Sean Thornton’s oyster crop last night.’ She could just as well have said ‘J’accuse!’
‘Righto,’ says Patsy, slinging his tea towel over his shoulder and making his way out of the bar to the back room.
‘Hey now, hang on! I didn’t steal no oysters! I was just looking, that’s not a crime is it?’
‘It is if you’re looking to steal them!’ Margaret, as self-appointed prosecutor, continues, and the crowd at the table by the fire all bang their glasses and mutter, ‘feckin’ right’ instead of ‘hear, hear’.
‘I wasn’t stealing any oysters!’ There’s a hint of desperation creeping into his voice, as though he’s about to get lynched.
His companion shakes her head, looking worried for him.
‘Honestly, I’m no thief! Look, I’m Dan Murphy, from Boston.
Murphy’s Seafood Suppers? TV series?’ He looks at Margaret for some recognition but gets none.
‘Mary Jo, get her a copy of the book. Tell you what, I’ll sign it for you,’ he says, as if trying to soothe a frustrated toddler. Mary Jo nips out of the front door.
‘I don’t care if you’re Michel Roux himself!’ Margaret persists. ‘You can’t just come round here helping yourself to people’s oysters. It’s their livelihood. This place was built on oyster farming. We used to be known worldwide for our oysters and our oyster festival.’
‘I know! That’s why I came. My family is from here.
I’m researching a new book about my family’s ancestry, visiting some traditional Irish pubs, eating in oyster houses, following the food trail across the country.
’ Mary Jo comes back in and hands him a book.
‘Look, it’s me! Dan Murphy.’ He shows her the smiling photo on the front cover.
‘I did come to the farm the other night,’ he says in a lower voice, and tempers seem to be calming a little.
‘I thought it was a beautiful place and I wanted to take some photos for the new book. Then I saw,’ he raises an arm in my direction, ‘in the … buff.’ Sniggers from the two barflies and Frank who gets an elbow in the ribs from Evelyn.
Rosie and Lily both have their heads cocked adoringly to one side, staring at Dan.
‘So I jumped in my car and scarpered. I’m sorry, really I am.
I didn’t mean to scare you. In fact, if anyone got scared half to death it was me when that dog went for me.
But honestly, I wasn’t planning to steal any oysters. ’
There’s silence.
‘I’ve seen your programme, you’re lovely …
I mean, it’s lovely,’ says Rosie, and Lily nods in agreement.
Dan’s smile spreads across his face again.
He looks to be back in his comfort zone.
He offers the book to Rosie, who accepts it with a giggle, especially as he signs it: ‘To Rosie, with love, Dan’.
‘Garda’s on his way,’ Patsy announces, and I suddenly get that sinking feeling. What if I was mistaken? I didn’t actually see his face. But if Dan Murphy didn’t steal the oysters, who did?
‘So you see, Officer, I didn’t steal any oysters, I was just taking some shots for my new book.
It’s a great setting.’ He pulls out his phone and starts showing the photos he took.
‘And then I accidentally scared the living daylights out of this young woman here.’ Dan is telling the story again, only this time he’s sitting down at a small round table with a pint in front of him.
Garda Eamon is taking down all the details in his black notebook.
‘What makes you think it was this man?’ the Garda looks at Margaret who’s got one hand on her hip. She points at me with the other one.
‘She told me,’ says Margaret. ‘She was there.’
Garda Eamon looks at me and rolls his eyes. ‘You again?’ he says, as though I’m the local troublemaker, and ridiculously I feel like it.
‘Well, he was looking in through the window one night and then the oysters were gone. What else was I supposed to think?’
‘Sorry about the trouble,’ says Garda Eamon to Dan, giving me another sideways look.
‘No problem, have a book,’ Dan says, giving him one from the pile Mary Jo has brought in from the car. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘Don’t mind if I do, I’ll have a pint.’ Garda Eamon takes off his hat and lays it on the bar. ‘So you’re researching your ancestors, you say, what was their name?’
I’m furious with myself. Rosie and Lily are fawning over the photos in the book. And it’s not the food they’re looking at. Even Evelyn is a little excited about having a ‘celebrity’ in the town.
‘Grandad would be the one to tell you. He knows everything there is to know about these parts.’ Garda Eamon nods to a sleeping Grandad.
‘All I know is they were oyster farmers here. Heard stories about the oyster festival.’
Margaret and I sit at the other end of the bar and pour two more glasses from the bottle.
I knock it back, hoping it’ll take away my embarrassment.
I listen to Dan telling everyone how it was in his blood, oysters and restaurants, and how he’s so proud to be back where it all began for his family.
I find myself saying ‘blah, blah, blah’ in my head.
‘I’m never going to fit in around here,’ I say to Margaret. I feel even more of an outsider than ever. This Dan Murphy is suddenly being treated like a local because he’s got a relative who once came from here. However hard I try I’m never going to fit in.
‘Hey, maybe you could open our table top quiz – a celebrity guest!’ says Rosie.
‘Yes, or do a cookery demonstration for us,’ shouts out Evelyn.
‘Or a sponsored leg wax,’ says Lily, and they all go quiet and look at her.
Margaret and I finish the bottle, deep in our own thoughts.
All I know is I can’t leave Dooleybridge yet.
I have to find a way to help Sean get his business back on track before I can do that.
He’s given me a second chance and I have to try my best. I can’t mess this up now.
I need to find a way to pay off my debt, and I think the answer may just be staring me right in the face. I swing round to the group by the fire.
‘You know, you were right, Maire.’ I wave my glass in her direction.
‘Was I, dear?’
‘This town needs to forgive and forget. The past is the past. It needs its oyster festival back.’ She stops doing Evelyn’s knitting for her.
‘I knew you’d do it.’ Maire claps her hands.
‘Do what?’ says Margaret, turning round to join me.
‘The oyster festival,’ says Maire. ‘Fi here is bringing back the oyster festival,’ she beams. It’s the best way I can think of to help Sean sell his oysters at a good price.
‘There’s not much time. You can’t get a festival together in eight weeks,’ says Evelyn.
‘We can all help: ideas, volunteers …’ Margaret is getting excited. ‘See, I told you, born leader. I knew you could front up the festival.’
‘Oh, I’m not going to front it up. What we need is that man there to be the face of the festival.’ And all eyes turn to look at Dan Murphy.