Chapter Thirty-Seven
For the next week I rise early, feed the chickens, collect the eggs, retrieve Freddie from his early morning escape, make coffee and breakfast for Sean, and brownies for Gerald.
Then I begin the work with the oysters. Every morning I drive the tractor a little further into the water so I have to jump in a little deeper.
Then I load the van and drive to one of the farmers’ markets in other nearby towns, setting up my pitch and serving up oysters.
With Sean out of action and no hope of him working at the sailing school, it’s the only way.
Come the evening, after doing the farm chores, I deliver the brownies to Gerald and go home to prepare supper for Sean and myself.
As the week draws to an end I have blisters on my blisters, my nails are broken and torn, my once-sleek bobbed hair is wavy and long and only contained by the hat I seem to wear all the time.
But strangely I feel more alive than I think I ever have.
It feels so … real. It’s just me, out in the fresh air, collecting the food that’s to be sold on to keep the farm running.
I have never been so tired, but never so content either.
Most evenings it’s some kind of egg supper for Sean and I.
The hens are laying every day, their days as battery hens before Sean rescued them a dim and distant past. It feels daft for me to sit in the living room eating alone while Sean eats in his bedroom, so I’ve taken to sitting on the end of his bed while he tells me about the oyster festivals he used to visit, the farms he’s worked on and the restaurants he’s shucked in.
For the first few days he can’t sit up and I have to cut up his food and help him eat it. It’s hard for both of us to start with. Our embarrassment’s almost palpable, him having to rely on me and me having to be so intimate with my boss, a man I’m finding more and more attractive by the day.
‘Nancy called up today,’ he tells me as the week draws to a close. He’s propped up on pillows and I’ve just got back from Moycullen market. There’s another shop-bought baguette beside his bed.
‘Oh, really?’ I say, carrying a tray with mushroom soup and bread on it.
‘She didn’t stay long. You know Nancy. Can’t wait to get away from here, especially when I’m no use to her.’ He looks almost back to his old self.
‘She must be dying to get her hands on you once you’re well.
’ I bite my lip. ‘I didn’t mean that to come out like that.
I meant you can really get together. I mean, she must miss you.
’ My tongue is tying itself in knots as I try hard not to tell him what I heard on the phone, how I think she’s shutting him out of the deal.
Sean shrugs. ‘It worked for us. Neither of us wanted anything more.’ He looks at the tray.
The word ‘wanted’, past tense, doesn’t go unnoticed.
Am I imagining it? He looks up at me and just for a moment we hold each other’s gaze.
I reach down and put his tray in front of him and the back of his hand touches mine, setting off explosions deep inside me.
‘I put oysters in yours,’ I nod at his soup.
‘But not in yours?’ He smiles at me and I shake my head.
‘Let’s not get carried away.’ I smile back.
‘No, let’s not,’ he says quietly, and my explosions fizzle out, hissing and spitting as they go. He picks up his spoon the wrong way up and goes to eat his soup, then rights it again quickly.
‘So how’s the festival shaping up?’
Now this is a surprise, Sean taking an interest in the festival.
‘Good, thank you. Still won’t change your mind about entering the shucking competition?’ I sip at my soup.
Sean shakes his head. ‘I just don’t think I’d be welcome.’
I want to argue with him but think better of it.
‘Margaret’s been doing great work on the publicity,’ I carry on brightly.
‘We’ve got a website and everything. She’s been out with me taking photographs of the customers eating oysters, and of the town.
She wants to do a whole gallery of “then and now” pictures.
In fact, she’s left Dan’s camera in the van. I’ll have to get it back to her.’
He says nothing for a moment and then puts his spoon down next to the empty bowl.
‘There’s a box,’ he says, ‘with photos in it. Would you bring it to me?’
I know exactly the one he means: the one over the coat rack that I knocked down on my first day.
I sit next to him on the bed and we go through the black-and-white pictures of his uncle and the colour ones of him. Underneath the pictures Sean tugs at something.
‘What is it?’
He pulls it out triumphantly.
‘My old shucking knife. My uncle bought it for me when I was eighteen.’ He holds it in his hand, enjoying its feel, as if he were slipping on a pair of handmade shoes. I sigh.
‘What’s the matter?’ He puts down the knife.
‘It’s just … our festival isn’t going to be anything like this. This is what the locals want; they want it how it used to be.’
‘Here, have these. Tell Margaret she can have them for her website as long as I get them back,’ he hands me the pictures and puts the knife beside him on the table.
‘I will,’ I yawn, and clear away the bowls.
‘You’re shattered. Get some rest. Take the camera and photos in the morning,’ he says.
I decide to do just that. Tomorrow will be the last day of this spring tide, which means tonight is high tide. It’s calm and bright as I fetch the camera in from the van.
It’s dark when I hear the familiar sound of the outboard motor. I jump up. The moon is clear and bright. I can see the boat from my window. Sean is fast asleep. I look around and grab the camera from beside my bed. This time I’ll get them to stop.
I pick my way along the familiar path round the bay, skirting the deep mud and tackling the little stone steps with ease. I reach the end of the path where I watched the seals and from where I can see the boat all too clearly.
‘Oi!’ I shout, throwing a stone into the water. This time when they look up I press the button on the camera.
Flash! Its bright light bounces off the water and their two surprised faces.
Flash! It goes again and I hear their voices low and arguing.
Splash! The bag of oysters is dropped back into the water.
Flash! I hear the engine start up and the men swearing under their breath.
I can feel the huge grin on my face as I pick my way back over the rocks and along the path to the cottage and quietly slide back into my bed, the camera tucked safely into my wardrobe.
The following evening on my way back from Galway I stop off at the pub for a drink. Dan is there, propping up the bar and tapping on his laptop.
‘Hey, let me get you a drink,’ he says as soon as he sees me. He stands and goes to hug me but then takes a step back and pats my shoulder.
‘Eau de oyster seller no doubt,’ I laugh, pulling up a bar stool. I spot Padraig and Seamus straightaway, trying not to look in my direction. Padraig is actually pulling his hat down over his face with his finger.
‘How did you do today?’ Margaret asks.
‘Great. Loads of customers and I got my pitch back.’ I take the glass of wine she pours for me.
‘And Sean?’
‘Getting better every day. Up and about.’ I take a sip of the wine.
‘In fact he’s nearly ready to be out and about and then I can really bring him up to speed with everything that’s been going on while he’s been ill,’ I say loudly and take another sip.
I can’t swerve what needs to be said any more.
I’ve spent my life taking the path of least resistance and look where it got me.
I take a deep breath and plaster on a smile.
‘Oh, just need to get your camera, it’s in the van.
Took some lovely shots of the bay last night.
Maybe you could use them on the website,’ I tell Margaret.
I slide off the stool and walk close to Padraig and Seamus and say in a low whisper, ‘And if you ever come near his oysters again, I’ll show him the photos I took of you last night.
And let’s be honest, we’ve all heard about Sean Thornton’s reputation … ’
I bring back the camera and put it on the bar.
‘Did you save any you wanted?’ Margaret reaches over and takes the camera.
‘I did.’ I give the pair another look, but inside I’m shaking like a leaf. Then they nod back, which I take to mean we understand each other and the whole business is over and done with. I take another really big swig of wine and inside I’m doing a happy dance.
‘All ready for the Pearl Queen party on Friday?’ Margaret squeals and claps her hands together.
‘Yes. Can’t wait. Many entrants?’ I start to relax.
‘Uh huh,’ she says. ‘Ten so far, including me.’
‘Are you allowed to enter?’ I think out loud.
‘Yes, of course. As long as I’m not judging it as well,’ she assures me. ‘Dan’s a judge, so’s Patsy, and the editor from the Galway Gazette.’
‘You entering?’ Dan shuts down his computer and turns to me.
‘Oh yes, do!’ Margaret says, putting glasses back on the shelf. ‘It’ll be great craic! I could do your make-up again!’ She starts to get even more excited.
I hold up my hand. ‘No, I won’t be entering. But I’m happy to help out with anything that needs doing on the night,’ I say, and wonder what on earth I’m going to wear. Not one of Margaret’s creations again. They look great on Margaret, but not on me.
Evelyn, John Joe and Maire come into the pub. Seeing Maire gives me an idea. Maybe I do know what to wear after all.
‘OK, well maybe I’ll get you to mop my brow or something like that,’ Dan jokes. ‘Say, how’s Sean getting on up there?’ he asks with genuine concern, which is good of him considering how I stood him up on that day I went to market and turned down his job offer.
‘Good, thanks. On the mend. Maybe I could persuade him out next weekend.’ I sip my drink.
‘Yes,’ he nods. ‘And you’re managing everything at the farm? No other oyster problems?’ I presume he’s talking about how I ran them over in those first few weeks; unless he means Seamus and Padraig.
‘No, no problems at all,’ I beam proudly.
‘Good, good. Y’know, we’d still make a good team, you and me. I still haven’t given up on us working together. But maybe there’s a better way …’ He gives me a smile and tips up his pint. His eyes are glinting.
‘What do you mean?’ I’m intrigued.
‘Just saying that I’m working on a business plan and you might be just the person to help me with it. In fact it was you that gave me the idea.’
‘Really?’ I can’t think that I could’ve come up with anything useful.
‘I’ll know by the festival. Could be just right for both of us,’ he says, and I can’t help feeling curious.