The Oyster Catcher (25 page)

Chapter Forty-five

It’s a hive of activity back at the farm. Sean has opened up the field opposite as a car park, and there are plenty of cars there already, all parked in neat rows. Rose’s kids are doing a great job as car park attendants by the look of it. I park the van where I’m directed with big arm movements like windmills, and smiles to match.

Seamus and Padraig are putting tables and long benches out in the sunshine. Sean is making an old raft into a makeshift stage.

Rose and her sister are hanging out bunting.

‘That’s lovely. Who made it?’

‘Maire,’ they say in unison.

‘Gerald gave her all his ex-wife’s clothes. She’s been running it up into bunting all morning,’ Rose says from the ladder as she hangs it on the outside of the barn. The sun is pushing further up the sky. It sparkles off the water like thousands of tiny fairy lights. The heron is watching from his position on the jetty. On the rocks further out I can see movement.

‘The seals.’ Sean’s beside me. I can feel his hot breath.

‘The seals!’ I say excitedly before remembering that he and I may be working together for the festival but we’re not really speaking, despite my insides doing a bongo dance at his very presence. The tide is beginning to slip back down the shore, leaving patterns in the sand. Just like I hope today is the start of a new pattern that will keep coming back year after year.

‘Hey, Fi!’ I turn to see Frank leading Freddie who is whining in sheer joy. Mercury is following as is a little white donkey.

‘Frank! We only lost two donkeys.’

‘Freddie wouldn’t come without her. Besides the owner wanted shot of her. Can’t afford to keep her on. She can pull a cart and everything. I thought we could use it to bring in the oysters,’ he says. Freddie is standing beside his true love, happier than I’ve seen him in weeks. I look at Sean.

‘Room for another waif?’

He shrugs and smiles.

‘Maybe Freddie could give rides too?’ I say as Frank rubs his long ears.

‘Great idea.’ He gives me the thumbs up.

The farm is looking fantastic. I walk over to the old barn and Sean follows me. Inside there are tables laid out covered with white paper from a big roll we’ve found. At one end is a long table on its own where I’ve organised for the shell-shucking competition to take place.

‘The judges are on their way from Galway and Margaret’s got the list of entrants. The oysters are all ready in the shed.’ I’m going through my list out loud.

Inside the barn Maire is stepping back from a huge mirror she’s put on top of the stone fireplace. The surround is made from hundreds of oyster shells.

‘Maire, it’s wonderful!’ I’m stunned.

‘Thought this was just the place for it,’ she says with a smile. ‘Who knows, maybe someone will want to buy it. I’ve got a few other small ones if it’s OK to put them up?’

‘It’s the perfect place to show them, Maire. Let’s hope you get lots of buyers.’

Tea lights are being put down all the tables by Patsy’s wife and there’s a pile of plastic plates and cutlery.

I help move the blackboard over from the shed to write up the contestants’ names and their scores.

‘And can we get a table set up over there for the bar?’ I instruct Seamus and Padraig who do as I ask without question. There are more tables and chairs round the outside of the big room.

‘Actually, English, I need to talk to you,’ Sean says as I’m laying out the big bell and clipboards.

‘Not now, Sean. We’ll talk later, eh. Let’s just have today,’ I say. He says nothing then gives a tiny nod.

‘Where d’you want it?’ Patsy comes in carrying a huge barrel of beer on his chest.

‘Oh and this is Grainne, a freelance journalist from Galway. Found her down at the marquee site. Nancy organised for her to come, she wants to cover the day.’

‘Great,’ I say to the young woman. ‘It’s Margaret you need to speak to. She’ll be here soon. Make yourself at home. Or better still, make yourself useful,’ I say giving her a paintbrush and pointing towards a sheet that needs a sign painting on it.

‘Sure, And you’re …’

‘Fi, just Fi.’ I say.

‘Not from round here then,’ she says, holding a pen over her notebook.

‘No,’ I say, ‘I’m a blow-in.’ She gives me a look that says she’d like to know more, but I make a quick sidestep and leave her to paint while I go and find Dan who’s setting up the barbecue.

‘Hey!’ There’s smoke billowing out from the oil drum. Dan is waving his hands around. ‘You’re just in time.’ He pulls out a bottle of what looks like champagne from a cooler box under the barbecue.

‘Well, I’m not sure about celebrating. Dan, about the job …’

‘We’re celebrating because I’ve just about finished the book. I’ve written up all the notes and recipes from my travels. Just the last chapter to go.’ He peels off the foil and strains as he twists the cork.

‘The one where you write about finding your true spiritual home.’ I accept the sparkling, fizzing drink he hands me in a plastic glass.

‘Well, seeing as how there isn’t going to be any happy reunion with a long-lost relative, I’ve had another idea that put my roots very clearly on the map, very clearly indeed.’ He finishes pouring himself a glass. He holds it high in a toast,

‘So here’s to our future working relationship,’ he says and suddenly the music has changed to heavy rock before I can tell Dan I’m not taking the job. Sean is looking over at me. He’s scowling. I’m going to have to tell him that I won’t be his bit on the side. He’s engaged to Nancy and I can drink champagne with whoever I like. I lift my chin and clink glasses with Dan.

‘To new beginnings,’ Dan shouts. I look out at the bay. You’d never believe it was the same place I arrived in four months ago. I take a sip. Who needs Boston when you could be here, drinking champagne and looking out at that sparkling sea. Everything looks just perfect.

‘So, how?’ I ask, enjoying the heady rush the champagne is giving me. ‘How have you found yourself some real Irish roots,’ I shout and the music stops suddenly.

‘I’m going to buy some!’ He beams at me.

‘Buy some, how can you buy some ancestral roots?’ I take another sip.

‘Well, if I can’t actually find any real ancestors to put in the book. I can buy me a bit of Ireland.’

That makes me laugh.

‘OK, which bit?’

‘This bit!’ he says knocking back his glass. ‘I’m buying this farm.’ And I choke on the bubbles that catch in the back of my mouth and I wonder if it’s going to come back up.

‘But you can’t buy this bit. This is Sean’s bit.’

‘I have it on good authority that he’s not going to be able to pay his debts and this place will go up for sale. I’m ready with the cash.’

‘That’s rubbish. Of course he’ll be able to pay. The oysters are fine. Nancy has a load of buyers lined up. She’s going to be buying the oysters from him anyway. He’ll get the cash he needs.’ I put down the glass.

Dan raises his eyebrows.

‘Looks like things have changed while you were away.’

‘A lot has changed since I’ve been away.’ I narrow my eyes at him and begin to feel a steely determination growing inside me.

Margaret appears round the corner of the old barn.

‘Ah, there you two are! Thought you’d be up to no good.’

I can’t bear to tell her how much no good! She picks up the glass of champagne.

‘Good to see so many people here. Even Seamus and Padraig.’ She has her Pearl Princess sash over her arm.

‘Oh, did that journalist arrive?’ She looks around.

‘I got her painting a sign,’ I say looking sideways at Dan.

‘Let me show you the barn.’ I suggest. ‘Where’s Grandad?’ I ask as we walk into the old barn together.

‘I’m going back for him now. Oh my feckin’ God!’ Margaret stops and stares from the doorway. ‘It’s feckin’ perfect!’

‘Let’s just hope the public come,’ I say nervously. Whatever Dan means, this festival still matters to Sean by the looks of it. I watch him as he goes to inspect the oysters.

A crowd of women turn up clutching bowls of salad. I recognise them from the Pearl Queen selection night; the school teacher, some of the mums, the librarian. Then Freda turns up grinning,

‘Fish cakes!’ she announces, proudly peeling off the lid of a large plastic box. 

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 that 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 her, 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 fish cakes, served with sweet chilli sauce.

Grandad is sitting outside the old barn. I can hear him: ‘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 Johnny 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 here. 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 on the blackboard for the shell-shucking contest.

‘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 and 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 buyer. 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. 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 around, up and down like a ventriloquist’s dummy.

‘And he walked out.’ Margaret’s eyes sparkled.

That must be 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 Johnny 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 little 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 contestant is Swedish, two from Clifden, and Mad 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.

‘ʼScuse 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 me 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 competitor’s 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.

Another round happens, this time it’s Nancy’s French friend Henri, who gives Sean a smile as he rolls up his sleeves. There’s 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 help clear away and set up for the next round.

‘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 Johnny 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 looks full of concern. If Margaret’s right and Sean has walked out of his engagement party, this 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 cheering 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 ripples 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 and say light-heartedly. 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 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 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. Sean wanted to wipe the smirk of his face. He had his baseball cap on backwards and Sean felt an overwhelming urge to flick it off. But he took a deep breath. ‘Come on, focus,’ he told himself.

He had to beat Dan. There was no way he could let Dan take his farm and Fi from him. 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 is 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 focused tunnel.

‘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 prized 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. Fi 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.