Chapter Twenty-Eight
It’s early evening a week or so later when I hear a car coming up the lane. A little silver Fiesta with long eyelashes over its headlights is bouncing its way towards us.
Sean and I are hosing down the shed, getting the oysters ready for tomorrow’s farmers’ market after a full day of grading and washing.
‘Ah no, I think you’ve got a visitor.’ He sweeps all the more forcefully.
‘Hi, Sean,’ Margaret beams as she jumps out of the car, making me cover a smile.
‘Did you not see the signs?’ Sean says grumpily. ‘No entry.’
‘Ah, Sean, I thought that was just tourists and oyster pirates you wanted to keep out.’
‘No, seriously, you could have an infection on your car that I don’t want near my oysters,’ he says, absolutely deadpan.
‘Hey, Margaret,’ I wave and go over to her. Margaret looks like the wind has been taken out of her sails. ‘What’s the matter?’
Just for a minute Margaret is able to ignore Sean and speaks to me as he walks off to the back of the shed.
‘Dan’s called a committee meeting at the pub, seven-thirty p.m.’ She’s looking worried. ‘I just hope he isn’t going to pull out. We haven’t had a single name for the shell-shucking contest or the Pearl Queen competition. I reckon he’s going to call it off. He won’t want to look a fool.’
‘Oh, Margaret.’ I put my arm around her. Sean turns back to me, frowning. The hosepipe is back on. Margaret pulls away and sniffs, holding her finger to her nose.
‘Phew, what’s that smell?’
I know. I put my fingers to my nose and sniff. There it is. The smell of the sea and oyster sacks.
‘Right, look, you go and get ready and I’ll meet you at the pub.’ Margaret still has her finger under her nose like a pencil moustache and is shooing me towards the cottage while she gets back into her car. I sigh. This is my life: oversized waterproofs and wellies and the smell of oyster sacks.
‘Actually,’ Margaret sticks her head out of the car, ‘come back with me. I’ll give you a makeover if you like.’ I’m ready to say no but she looks like the suggestion has cheered her up. How bad could it be?
‘OK, give me ten minutes.’ I run back into the shed to finish up. I ache and I can’t wait to have a shower and get clean. Maybe a makeover is just what I need. Sean’s still frowning.
‘So, you’re meeting up with Dan Murphy again, are you?’ He wipes his hands on a towel.
‘I don’t know why you don’t like him. At least he’s trying to help,’ I say before I can stop myself. I’m shocked. I don’t do arguments. Brian and I never argued, we just sort of skirted the issue. Another attack is out before I can stop it. ‘This festival is for you, y’know! To sell the oysters!’
‘Shh!’ He’s looking at Margaret who’s sitting in her car with the radio on.
‘She can’t hear anything,’ I tut.
‘I’m just being sensible.’
‘You’re being overdramatic,’ I say, using the towel. ‘These people want it to work as much as you do.’
‘Overdramatic? Well, it might have escaped your memory but I just lost an entire crop and I’m not prepared to do it again. I want this place and those oysters kept secret.’
‘But the point is to get people to see where they come from. You’re selling the package – the sea, the beach, the view, the clean air,’ I look around.
‘Careful, you’re beginning to sound as if you like the place.’ He raises one eyebrow and a half smile.
‘Oh you’re just … so … so … so … I’m going to the pub.’ I drop my broom loudly by the shed door in frustration. I can feel Sean’s surprise as he watches me walk over to Margaret’s car and get in.
‘Aren’t you going to bring any clothes?’ Margaret is leaning against her window.
There’s no way my pride is going to let me get back out of the car now. ‘How about I borrow something of yours? Make it a proper makeover,’ I say, hoping that Margaret might own some joggers and a sweatshirt I can borrow, or a pair of jeans and a T-shirt maybe.
‘Oh brilliant!’ Margaret perks up no end as she reverses the little car out on to the narrow track, just missing the gate post. And I suddenly realise that I have never seen Margaret in a pair of joggers or jeans, or anything that wasn’t dayglo or covered in sequins and sparkles.
It’s like asking Lady Gaga for loungewear and I start to wonder what on earth I’ve let myself in for.
I feel like a sausage at a bar mitzvah; everyone’s staring at me and giving me a wide berth. Margaret has spent well over an hour getting my look ‘just right’. But ‘just right’ for whom? I’m not sure.
‘You sit down, I’ll get the drinks.’ She’s still admiring her handiwork.
I get a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind the bar – at least I think it’s me.
I’m wearing a bright pink T-shirt with ‘Poke me!’ written on the front, denim shorts with pearls and diamantes, leopard skin leggings underneath and a fake leather jacket with more bling on the back.
The shoes are red and add another foot to my height.
Maybe finding somewhere to sit out of the way would be a very good idea.
I head for the corner of the pub where I sat on my first day here.
‘Over there,’ Margaret points to the group by the fire.
I turn the high heels in the other direction, slowly.
Evelyn’s glaring at me and it’s not the false eyelashes or the purple lipstick that’s offending her.
I know exactly what the problem is. It’s the brownies Gerald’s selling in the café.
I saw her come in while I was working on the computer.
She didn’t see me of course, tucked away, but she spotted the brownies straightaway.
‘What are these?’ she asked.
‘Try one, they’re delicious!’ Gerald enthused. Evelyn regarded them like a child eyeing a Brussels sprout. She slowly picked one up and took a bite.
A small group of schoolchildren had come into the café and spotted the brownies, buying a couple each with delighted cries. ‘Better than those scones yer have,’ the tallest lad in the group shouted.
‘Yeah, they’re disgusting,’ said a short girl with a fat tie.
Evelyn stormed out, taking the brownie with her.
‘Sorry,’ I mouthed to Gerald. He smiled and shrugged as a young mum came in and bought a tea and another brownie. I dipped further behind the computer and sent out an email asking about glass hire.
Now Evelyn is glaring at me across the pub. It doesn’t help that I feel like I’ve got a neon sign above my head saying, ‘Dog’s dinner!’
I look down at the red high heels I’m wearing and wish I could click them and just go home.
‘Hey!’ Dan arrives just in time to help Margaret over with the drinks.
‘Wow!’ He stops right in front of me and stares, his mouth open and his eyes wide.
I shift around uncomfortably, pulling at the hem of my shorts. I think it’s best Dan just gets this over and done with and we can have a few drinks to drown our sorrows.
‘You should dress up more often. You look amazing,’ he says enthusiastically in his usual loud voice.
He puts the wine down in front of me and then comes and sits next to me on the bench seat, making Evelyn budge up with a tut.
Margaret sits on the stool opposite. She’s wearing a similar style outfit, with a tight-fitting top.
I feel like a younger sister trying to imitate her older, cooler sibling.
‘So, how’s it all been going?’ Dan pulls off his jacket and I shuffle up, trying to avoid the arm that’s now resting along the back of the seat behind me. He pours the wine and I take a big sip to soothe my unease. A few more of these and I won’t feel like a dressed-up clown at all.
‘How’s Grumpy Sean?’ Dan leans into me and gives me a friendly nudge. I laugh, trying to swallow at the same time and nearly choking. A dark shadow falls over the table.
‘He’s just fine, thank you for asking,’ says Sean, and at that point I do choke and Margaret has to pat me on the back.
‘Sean!’ Dan doesn’t miss a beat. ‘Come and join us.’ He stands up. ‘What are you drinking?’ He pulls out his wallet but Sean shakes his head, lifting the pint he’s already bought to show Dan.
‘Sean? What are you doing here?’ Margaret’s face lights up.
‘Wanted to hear all the festival news.’ He looks straight at me.
‘After all, I probably should show more of an interest,’ he says, and takes a sip from his pint.
And then he slowly frowns, looking at my top, the shorts and leggings and shoes.
I find myself tugging at the tight T-shirt, feeling more ridiculous than ever.
‘He practically insisted. I had a table booked at Bar Eight, but there was no budging him tonight.’ Nancy appears behind Sean. My nostrils are filled with thick, spicy perfume. I rub my nose to make sure I don’t sneeze.
‘Hi, Nancy, good timing.’ Dan smiles even wider, if that were possible. ‘I didn’t know you were in town.’
‘No, well, trying to get himself away from this place isn’t always easy.’ She rolls her eyes at Sean, pointing her gin and slimline at him.
‘We were just about to discuss the festival as it happens.’ Dan picks up his pint.
Nancy turns to me and takes in my appearance, as if she hadn’t recognised me to start with. She raises her eyebrows and then sips her drink to hide her smirk.
‘Here, come and sit down. There’s plenty of room,’ Dan says, making us all budge up to make room for Nancy.
His large thigh is now resting against mine and I can’t move along any further.
Dan picks up his drink and raises it to me before sipping.
Sean is scowling. I take another big mouthful of my wine and feel the large flower clip in my hair slip and flop over. Margaret stands up next to Sean.
‘So, how are things going with you girls?’ Nancy asks, despite me being the same age as her. She pours the last of the tonic from its bottle into her drink.
Sean moves back to lean against the bar. Margaret follows him. Sean is staring at me. He’s still frowning, but I suppose I should be grateful he’s come and shown an interest, even if it is too late. If Dan pulls out, it will all be over.