Chapter Twenty-Five #2
Grandad nods. ‘Tom.’ He tuts and shakes his head and I don’t know if it’s because he blames him for the trouble in Dooleybridge or because he misses a friend. Tom’s standing in the middle of five other men in the photograph, holding a large silver cup.
‘But none of Sean?’ I ask absently.
‘No, he was always busy entering competitions everywhere but here,’ Margaret says. ‘All over Europe from what I’ve heard. Was quite a champion shucker, until he came back—’
‘Hey, there’s a Murphy!’ Dan cuts across us and makes Grandad jump. Dan whips out his phone and takes a picture. ‘Such a shame that this is all I’ve got for the end of my book,’ he says out loud. ‘I’ll get Mary Jo to come in and photograph things properly.’
I nudge Margaret heavily. Suddenly there’s an almighty ruckus outside, dogs are barking.
‘Ah, feck it, the dogs are chasing the post van again.’ She flings back the door and bellows at them.
‘Well, thanks for your help. I’d better be going.’ Dan puts his phone away and takes a final look around the walls for any he might have missed.
‘Wait!’ I say with a funny sort of squeak, looking for Margaret to come back and explain our idea. He stops and looks at me. He has bright blue eyes and I wonder whether they are natural, or whether they’re contacts.
Margaret’s trying to steer two wayward dogs back across the road through the cars.
‘I’m sorry, but I really have to go.’ Dan looks at his phone. ‘We’re leaving tomorrow and we have an early start. But thanks for the pictures. Shame, I’d hoped for something more.’
Frustrated that Margaret is missing and Grandad has fallen asleep, I blurt out, ‘You could always stay.’
He looks at me and his smile widens.
‘Well … wow! You’re a fast worker. I mean, I wondered if there was some kind of connection between us after, y’know, the bathroom incident, but this has come as a bit of a shock. Give me a minute to think on it. I mean, I like you and all that, but we hardly know each other.’
My mouths gapes like a fish out of water.
‘Have you told him?’ Margaret is back and out of breath.
I shake my head, staring at her like a rabbit in the headlights, not knowing which way to run.
‘Look, basically, this could be a great end to your book. We want to get the Dooleybridge oyster festival back up and running and we want you to be the face of it.’
‘Me?’ He swells and looks even more excited.
‘You’re from round here, you’re returning to your homeland, it could make a great finish to your book. You, back in the bosom of your ancestors.’ Margaret beams.
I could never have said it like that. It looks like she’s pressed all the right buttons, too.
‘Oh, I don’t know … On the other hand, if I stay around here I could have some peace and quiet to actually write the damn thing.’ He’s nodding thoughtfully to himself. Margaret’s holding her breath. Then he looks at me. ‘And you’re part of this festival revival, are you, um …’
‘Fi,’ Margaret says helpfully.
‘Fi,’ he says with a shiny white smile, staring right at me.
I clear my throat.
‘Yes, I’m …’
‘It was Fi’s idea. She thought you’d be perfect,’ Margaret says with gathering enthusiasm.
‘Well, I …’
‘In that case,’ Dan clasps his hands together and gives me one of his very blue looks, ‘I’d better get myself some accommodation sorted and you can tell me all about it, Fi.’
I try and smile but I get the funny feeling, thanks to Margaret, that someone’s just got the wrong end of the stick.
Nancy sounds her horn loudly just before eight and I don’t keep her waiting. I grab my waterproof and bid Grace goodbye. Sean is plucking away on his guitar by the fire.
‘You can come if you like,’ I offer before leaving.
He smiles back and shakes his head. ‘Best one of us stays here. Just in case we get any returning visitors, coming back for the few bags they’ve missed.’ He puts down the guitar, goes to the fridge and pulls out a can.
Not only do I have to work out how we’re going to pull off this festival in eight weeks, but I also have to put right any misunderstanding between me and Dan. I’d hate to think he was going to miss his flight tomorrow because he thought I fancied him. I am strictly off romance of any description.
Nancy looks me up and down as I climb into the passenger seat of her clean car, and at the muddy footprints I make in the footwell.
‘No Sean?’ she says by way of a greeting.
I shake my head. ‘He’s watching out for the oyster pirates.’ Although I suspect he’s glad to have the excuse.
She sniffs and then starts up the engine and heads for town, just missing Freddie and Mercury who are standing by the white donkey’s gate. I should get out and take them home but she’s careering down the road, firing out instructions as we go.
‘Marquee; it’s got to be classy. Make sure you organise it from the city, not from some hill farmer out here. Tickets, promotions, newspapers …’
‘I was thinking we should try and make it as close to how the festival used to be as possible. Grandad was telling me all about it. The locals seemed to be a big part of it, and the whole town would turn out. I was thinking we could have a local band, activities for the children,’ I offer up.
‘Good God, no! We may be using local oysters but that’s about as parochial as it’s going to get. It’s got to be classy. It’s got to compete with the festival in Galway and over in Clarenbridge. It’s got to be bigger and better.’
We obviously have totally different ideas about how the festival should be run.
‘You do know we’ve only got eight weeks to get this together, don’t you?’ I tell her.
‘I’m sure you’ll manage it.’ She turns to me and gives me a big smile. ‘Anyone who can get Sean Thornton’s cottage as sorted as you have is capable of rising to a challenge.’
I think she’s giving me a compliment but there’s a look in her brown eyes that just unnerves me.
‘Besides, you don’t want to let Sean down now, do you?’ she adds much more quietly.