Chapter Forty-Six
There’s a queue of cars as far as the eye can see, stretching down the lane. The sun is shining and I swear the rainbow ends right over Sean’s farm. It could be perfect if I wasn’t worried about Dan wanting to buy Sean’s farm. But it’s not for sale. Nancy and Sean won’t sell it.
Frank is leading the donkeys across the wet sand with children riding on their backs.
He has a cart that Juliet, as we’ve decided to call the white one, is pulling, and it’s loaded with oysters.
Dan is cooking oysters on the barbecue and people are standing around with drinks and plates of brown rolls, oysters, salad, and hot and tasty fishcakes served with sweet chilli sauce.
Grandad is sitting outside the old barn.
I can hear him speaking: ‘When I was a boy, all of this was oyster farms. This was our playground,’ he’s telling children sitting at his feet and grown-ups standing behind them.
He’ll be able to tell them story after story all afternoon.
I smile to myself. This is just how it should be.
‘Hello again,’ says a deep voice, and the smell of cigar smoke makes me retch. I turn to see Jimmy Power and his lad. ‘Looks like it’s all going very well,’ he says, licking his lips before sucking on his cigar.
He smiles a yellow-toothed smile at me and smoke oozes out from between them, like a dragon smiling on his prey. Grace barks at him. I put my hands on my hips.
‘What are you doing here? You’ll have your money when the festival is over.’
‘Just come to check on my investment. Lovely spot. Would be great for a house, looking down the bay here.’ He looks around, sizing things up.
‘You’re not going to build any houses,’ I say, clenching my fists.
‘That’s not what I heard,’ he says with a chesty chuckle.
‘Hey!’ Sean runs over to me. ‘I’ll take over here, English,’ he says.
‘But …’
‘I’ll deal with it. Thank you,’ he says firmly.
I walk towards the barn but keep looking back over my shoulder. Margaret is putting up the list of names for the shell-shucking contest on the blackboard.
‘We’re short a contestant for the last of the first rounds. Only got three,’ she’s looking at her list.
‘Why is Sean’s name on the list?’ I’m suddenly confused.
‘Because he’s entering.’ Margaret puts down her chalk, brushes off her hands and looks around.
Out of the little paned window I can see a film crew has arrived and they’re following Dan. He’s showing them around like prospective buyers. I grit my teeth. I turn back to Margaret, still not sure what’s going on.
‘So? Sean? Entering the shell-shucking? He always said no way …’
‘Well, looks like there’s a way now.’
I have to know what’s going on.
‘I’ve been trying to get you on your own,’ Margaret explains. ‘I had a text while I was at Gerald’s. A friend of mine was a waitress at The Pearl last night. She says that halfway through the party Sean stormed out. She says the engagement’s off.’
‘What, she called it off?’ I’m outraged.
‘No, he did! Said he realised he shouldn’t be marrying for any other reason than love. We should grab it with both hands when it comes our way.’
My jaw is now waggling up and down like a ventriloquist’s dummy.
‘And he walked out.’ Margaret’s eyes sparkle.
That must have been when he got back here. After I’d rescued the oysters.
‘So now what?’
‘Well, looks like the only way he can pay off his debts, without Nancy, is the shell-shucking prize money,’ she gestures to the board.
‘What, you mean if Sean doesn’t win this he’ll lose the farm to that scumbag out there?’ I’m not sure if I mean Jimmy Power or Dan.
Margaret nods and picks up the big brass bell.
‘Ready?’ she nods to the two judges who are enjoying oysters and bread, and then to me. I take a deep breath and nod back. ‘Let’s get this competition started!’ Margaret slips on her sash and tiara and rings the bell with gusto.
Sean is standing a little way from the other competitors, one foot up against the wall.
He’s rolling his shucking knife round and round in his hand, staring at it as if his life depends on it.
And it does. I want to go over and ask him about last night, but I can see it’s not a good time.
If what Margaret says is true, could this mean there might just be a chance for us?
‘So this is the first round of Dooleybridge’s resurrected oyster-shucking competition,’ Patsy shouts into the microphone.
‘Yay!’ There’s a huge cheer, the loudest from Margaret. She has a pen in one hand and a stopwatch in the other. Next to her is Grandad, beaming from ear to ear.
‘So, round one,’ Patsy reads out the list of four contestants as they make their way on to the stand.
One is Swedish, two from Clifden, and Frank.
Patsy blows his whistle and Margaret pushes down on her stopwatch.
The crowd noise begins to swell as the contestants quickly and methodically push their knives into the oyster hinge then prise off the top shell.
They work skilfully, their blades catching in the sunlight.
When each shucker has shucked all thirty oysters, they step back from the table, signal to Margaret and their time is noted.
The judges, one French, one a restaurant owner from Galway, and another a big seafood seller in the city, all step up to the table to inspect the boards. They move along the line, pointing out the oysters, looking for stray bits of shell and tidy presentation. The four men leave the stand.
‘’Scuse me, Fi? Fiona?’ Grainne, the journalist, interrupts my thoughts.
‘Sorry, miles away,’ I say.
‘I wonder if I could just ask you a few questions, about how you came to be in Dooleybridge. You were on your honeymoon, weren’t you?’ She’s holding her mobile phone out to record what I say.
My heart suddenly starts pounding like the noise of an impatient crowd. Nancy’s gone through with it! She’s told the journalist about me. I look around in panic and see Nancy in the doorway. She’s whispering to Dan, who nods and then makes his way to where the other competitors are waiting.
So, hell hath no fury, I think. Sean’s finished with Nancy and now she wants to bring me and him down. Looks like that’s where Dan’s got his information from too.
‘Fi?’ the journalist pushes.
The judges nod in agreement.
‘Sorry, I have to go.’ I dash up to help Margaret clear away the boards of oysters and set up for the next round.
This time it’s Nancy’s French friend Henri, who gives Sean a smile as he rolls up his sleeves. There’s also a Galway shucker and one from Clarenbridge, the winner of the world shucking competition three years in a row, and a Londoner.
‘Some of them seem to be slower than usual, not used to shucking the native oysters, it seems,’ Patsy says, like he’s commentating on Formula One motor racing. ‘And these oysters are from right here in Dooleybridge!’ A cheer goes up from the crowd.
But this round ends in disaster for the world title holder when he catches the corner of his board just as he’s finishing in front and the whole lot flips over and hits the ground.
There’s a groan and at the back of the room little betting slips are ripped up like confetti around Seamus and Padraig, who are rubbing their hands.
Grace dashes in to help clean up the tipped oysters while I run and get a mop.
‘Look, you might as well know,’ the journalist is waiting for me as I come out of the house, ‘I’m going to write about you and how you came to be here anyway.
So help me get it right,’ she shrugs. I look at the phone she’s holding out and then give my mop bucket a nudge, slopping soapy water over her high-heeled boots.
‘Urgh!’ she jumps back and I rush back to the barn. I clean it up and then get up on the stand with Margaret to set up again.
‘Nancy’s told the journalist,’ I whisper to Margaret as we put the oysters onto platters ready to hand round to spectators.
‘Told her what?’
‘About me!’
The crowd are getting drinks from the bar at the back of the barn. Nancy is standing at the back too, next to Jimmy Power and his son. She nods to Dan and then looks at me and smiles, revenge written all over her face.
‘What about you?’ Margaret looks puzzled as she wipes down the table.
‘About how I came to be here. About how I was jilted and my husband ran off with the best man,’ I hiss again.
‘Oh my God!’ She stands up suddenly and it looks like the penny has dropped and smacked her over the head. Dan is making his way to the stand and everyone is watching him. Margaret straightens the last couple of oysters.
‘How do you know?’
‘That journalist has just told me. I’m going to have to get out of here—’
‘Everything all right?’
I jump and turn. It’s Sean. I feel lightheaded for a second or two.
‘English? You OK?’ His face is full of concern. If Margaret’s right and Sean has walked out of his engagement party, this competition really is his only chance now to pay off the loan and keep his farm.
Dan is smiling as he takes to the stand. The sharks are circling and I feel as if someone has walked over my grave.
‘Fine, fine,’ I say. ‘The oysters look great,’ trying to cheer him along. ‘Everyone’s loving them.’
‘Tasted one?’ He half smiles and all my fury melts.
I shake my head and say, ‘Good luck.’ There’s so, so much more I want to say, but for now ‘good luck’ will have to do. He stares at me and I can’t stop looking back into his eyes.
‘Look, I really need—’ he starts to say and touches the tips of my fingers. Sparks of electricity run through me.
‘Fiona? It’s Fiona Goodchild, isn’t it?’ The journalist is beside me again. I snatch my hand away and turn to her. Sean gives her a dark look. I go to walk away and Sean grabs my wrist.
‘You’re sure you’re OK?’ I nod and look at Nancy whose face is frozen. Sean lets go of my arm. ‘We need to talk, as soon as I’m done here,’ he says firmly.
‘OK,’ I say as he takes off his jacket. He’s wearing a white T-shirt, the top of his arm rippling with tension as he rolls the knife in his hand. He takes his place on the stand. I don’t want anything to distract him. He has to win this. I can’t watch.
I try to edge away from the journalist and into the growing crowd. She follows me.
‘I’m sorry. I can’t talk now, I’m busy … festival to run and all that … busy, busy, busy,’ I try to sound light-hearted. Patsy is counting down. A hush falls over the barn and all eyes are focused on the stand.
‘Three, two, one …’
It was hot in there. He ran the back of hand across his forehead.
Beads of sweat were making him blink. He rubbed his face again with the back of his hand.
If ever he needed to concentrate, it was now.
He wasn’t bothered that Nancy was there.
She and he were history. His only regret was taking his eye off the ball as far as his sales were concerned.
He’d trusted her, when all the time his trust had been misplaced, he realised.
He looked to his left. It was a Finnish competitor.
They nodded to each other and the Finn smiled.
Then he looked to his right. It was Dan.
He felt himself tense up. Were he and Fi an item now?
Was she leaving with him, going to America?
He was taking away the woman he realised he loved.
Who else would go out in a storm to save the oysters and delay her move to a new country to help at a local festival?
Who else could make him laugh when they were grading oysters in the pouring rain, work by hand when the generator broke down and keep him from giving up, even now.
He dared a quick glance up. The journalist was still talking to her and she looked like she was trying to get away.
He glanced to his right again. Dan looked wolfish.
He had his baseball cap on backwards and Sean felt an overwhelming urge to flick it off and wipe the smile off his face.
But he took a deep breath. ‘Come on. Focus,’ he told himself.
He had to beat Dan. There was no way he could let him take his farm and Fi.
Sean had wanted to throw him off his land when he’d turned up with his pathetic offer to buy the farm that morning.
He and Nancy were in it together, he was sure.
Winning this was a far better way to show Dan what he could do with his offer.
He felt his jaw twitch. His eyes came into focus as he picked up the first oyster. His oysters, round and ridged. It sat in the palm of his hand. He just had to win the prize money, pay off the loan, and he was back in business.
‘Three,’ he heard Patsy shout. The noise of the crowd began to disappear as he entered his own tunnel of concentration.
‘Two!’ His determination deepened. He gripped the oyster tighter. His knife was poised for war. He needed to win this, but he realised he needed Fi more and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her again. He’d already thought he’d lost her once.
‘One!’ He focused on the hinge of the muscle and pushed the knife towards it.
Everything had gone silent. He prised open the first oyster and slid the knife across the top shell.
It felt good, just like old times. He would win this and then he would ask Fi to stay.
His eyes flicked up momentarily towards the door where Fi was exchanging cross words with the journalist. She was about to run out.
The journalist followed. He couldn’t lose her again.
‘Hey, English!’ he shouted as he saw her trying to leave and the journalist following her. ‘No! Don’t go!’ And his knife clattered to the floor.