The Oyster Catcher (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-four

‘You suggested doing what?’ Sean face drops. I’ve rushed through my morning jobs to tell him my news. He’s leaning against the kitchen cupboard. Nancy is putting on her boots.

‘I suggested we bring back the oyster festival. It’s the obvious answer. You can sell oysters on the day and use it as a platform to get big buyers.’

‘Forget it. It’s a ridiculous idea. A village fête, that’s all it is,’ Nancy interrupts while pulling on her left boot.

‘But this way the whole town will be involved and Sean’s oysters will be the main talking point.’

‘I don’t know,’ Sean shakes his head. ‘There’s a lot of history …’

‘But it’s the perfect way to put the past behind you. Prove to them all that your uncle was right all along. The waters here in Dooleybridge are clean.’

For a moment he says nothing.

‘It’s fine the way things are. Sean doesn’t need to prove anything to anyone round here. I do the selling. Everyone’s happy. I will be taking all native oysters for my restaurant. It’s all sorted. They are exactly what I need to get the new restaurant of the year award,’ Nancy stands up and pulls herself up to her full height. I turn to Sean, which means turning away from Nancy.

‘And there’s this American TV chef Dan Murphy. We want to get him to be the face of the festival. He’s over here researching his family history.’

‘Did you say Murphy?’ Sean visibly stiffens.

‘Dan Murphy?’ Nancy suddenly looks interested. ‘He’s going to launch this festival?’

‘We’d like him to. He was the guy looking in the window the other night. He wanted to take photographs. He wasn’t responsible for the oyster raid,’ I tell Sean.

‘Hang on a minute, if you have a TV chef involved, this might work. It could be a great opportunity to launch the restaurant. With a celeb on board and true native Galway oysters on the menu, it could make all the difference to The Pearl.’ Nancy’s eyes are dancing like she’s on something.

Sean shakes his head.

‘People won’t come,’ he says.

‘Leave it to me,’ Nancy says, and Sean puts his cup in the sink.

‘This is why I didn’t tell you,’ he says quietly and walks out.

‘You can help me but don’t do anything unless you run it by me first. I need to meet this Dan Murphy and tell him what I need from him. In fact you’d better come with me and introduce me. Set up a meeting for Thursday. Evening. I can’t believe I haven’t thought of this before.’

You didn’t, I think, but don’t say so. In fact, Nancy’s involvement suits me fine. I don’t want to be in charge. I’m more than happy to let her be at the helm. If it helps Sean get his oysters sold then I’m all for it one way or another. And so I smile and say: ‘of course.’ Out of the window I can see Sean is gathering ropes and planning to tow the tractor from its watery grave.

‘I have to get on,’ I tell her.

‘Fine. I have to meet the decorators at the restaurant. I’ll pick you up Thursday, about eight,’ she says bossily and then scoops up her big handbag, swings her hair and swoops out. She waves to Sean. I pull on my waterproofs and go down to meet him at the water’s edge.

‘Grab this rope. We’ll pull this out before I go to work.’

The water seems darker than usual, the drizzle wetter and colder. There’s no small talk as we finally pull the dripping tractor out of the deep, dark sand. I thought Sean was going to be really thrilled with my plan. I get the impression he’s not happy with the idea, not happy at all.

The next couple of days pass in the same way. Sean only speaks when he needs to, otherwise, when he’s not at the sailing school, he’s got his head stuck under the tractor bonnet.

By Thursday I can’t stand the silence a moment longer. I make a coffee and open the back door. The wind and drizzle hit me in the face and I know the coffee’s going to be cold by the time I get it down to the tractor. I pull my coat round me.

‘I made you this,’ I say to Sean who barely acknowledges me. That’s it! ‘Look if you want me to cancel the oyster festival I will,’ I say with all the boldness I can muster, which isn’t a lot and comes out as a bit of a squeak if I’m honest. But I’ve said it. I can’t live like this and if it means cancelling the festival then so be it.

He stands up, his hair flopping round his face. He uses his forearm to push it back but it keeps falling into his eyes. He spots the coffee.

‘Thanks.’ He takes it from me and takes a sip. He pulls a face.

‘Cold?’

He nods and gives a little laugh. It’s the closest he’s come to talking to me since the mention of the oyster festival.

‘Did you mean what you said?’ He takes another sip of the cold coffee.

‘Yes,’ I say, my nerves subsiding. ‘If you hate the idea of it, I’ll tell Nancy we’re cancelling it. Tell her it was a ridiculous idea.’

He raises his eyebrows and works at cleaning his dirty hands.

‘I don’t think Nancy would agree with you. In fact, I’d say she’s pretty set on the idea now.’

The thought of trying to stop the force that is Nancy fills me with dread.

‘Look, maybe I should’ve talked it over with you first.’

‘Yes,’ he cuts across the end of my sentence, ‘you should’ve.’ He throws the rag onto the bonnet. ‘Climb up and start her up, will you?’ He nods to the tractor seat. ‘You can remember how to start it up can’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I say, like a teenager back-chatting a parent. Why can’t he just say he hates the idea and doesn’t want anything to do with it? I climb up into the tractor seat. God, he can be so irritating at times.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you first. I just thought it was a great way of getting the oysters sold and getting a really good platform for them. I thought I was helping.’ I check the tractor’s not in gear and that the accelerator isn’t stuck down by pulling it towards me with the toe of my welly. Sean is looking at me, deep in thought.

‘There’s a lot of history.’ He throws the cloth down angrily. For a moment I think about saying nothing else, but my mouth seems to be working independently from my brain.

‘And this is the way to put it right, for your uncle. If you have native oysters here, your waters are clean. Everyone should know.’ I want to help put it right but Sean is just so bloody hard to help.

‘Start her up,’ he says, picking up the oily rag again. Frustration is building up inside me. He may not like the idea but he’s sulking. The engine turns over, but only just.

Sean used the engine noise to block out the conversation. He was finding this really hard. The memories of that time kept flooding back to him. It wasn’t only about his uncle. He’d died thinking everything he cared about, everything he’d worked for, had been a failure. But it wasn’t just that. It was all the other memories it had brought back, about his arrival here in Dooleybridge. He’d arrived here only a week after being released from prison, but only days after being released from hospital. He’d come back here alone, and that was never how it was supposed to be. He and Emily had talked about coming back here together one day, once they’d seen the world. But they hadn’t seen the world and he’d come back alone. Just thinking about that time, arriving in the village just before the festival when the locals had put two and two together and come up with seventeen. It had all come flooding back to him and he didn’t seem to be able to find the words. Fi was doing her best He wanted to tell her but he found it so hard. Nancy knew of course, but never mentioned it.

‘Try again,’ he called to her.

‘Rrrrrrr, Rrrrrrrr, Rrrrrrrr.’ The engine groans.

‘Ah, come on!’ he shouted at the tractor and banged at the bonnet with his fist. Without the tractor he couldn’t even work with the few oyster bags he had left. Sean turned away and wiped his damp curls from his eyes with the crook of his elbow. He looked at the sea, grey and moody. The thing was, he realised, as painful as it was to remember, he needed Nancy’s restaurant to take off in order to sell the oysters. If he didn’t let this go ahead now, what the hell else was he going to do?

‘Try once more,’ I shout to him. I can see he’s frustrated. The accelerator seems to be working much more freely now. I wiggle it up and down with the toe of my big welly. He turns back to me as if he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders.

‘I don’t think it’s going to work,’ he shakes his head as he turns to me.

‘We can’t just stop trying,’ I say. ‘We don’t have any other choice.’

He looks at me for a moment and I wonder if he’s going explode. His face suddenly changes expression, as if all the air has been let out of a balloon about to burst.

‘OK,’ he says, suddenly very calm. He turns back to the engine and pulls a face as he works away.

‘Now!’ he shouts and I turn the key and stand on the accelerator.

Suddenly the tractor roars into life, sputtering and gasping as if it’s been electrocuted. Sean takes a couple of steps back. He gives me a satisfied nod and the engine settles down into a rhythmic hum.

I stand up and jump down from the tractor.

‘Good work, English,’ he says. ‘You’re a trier, I’ll give you that,’ he says and I feel myself swell with pride. I turn to go back to the cottage. I may have been able to persuade him to keep going with the tractor but it doesn’t look as if I’ve able to do the same about the festival. I can’t keep going with it if he hates the idea.

‘English! About this oyster festival …’ He stops me in my tracks. I turn round slowly. I have no idea how I’m going to tell Nancy or Margaret for that matter. I decide to have one last attempt at persuading him.

‘It’s a great opportunity to put your oysters back on the map, put Dooleybridge back on the map,’ I try my best.

For a moment he says nothing. Then he says slowly and quietly, ‘Providing we’ve got oysters to sell.’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘I’m just not happy with us setting this whole thing up and for there to be no oysters. It’ll be like a public hanging.’

‘You’re the best oyster farmer around here. It has to be worth the risk, doesn’t it?’

Again he says nothing. He slams down the lid of his tool box and starts to make his way up towards the barn. As he passes me he says, ‘Looks like I don’t have much choice.’

Is he saying what I think he’s saying?

‘So, you think it’s a good idea?’ I suddenly feel very relieved.

‘No, I’m not saying I think it’s a good idea!’

And my lifted spirits plummet like a bungee jump from a high building.

‘I’m saying, just make sure it isn’t a total fuck-up. I can’t afford for anything to go wrong.’

He marches back to the shed and I follow. At least he’s stopped sulking about it and he’s talking again. 

Chapter Twenty-five

‘So Sean likes the festival idea?’ Margaret claps her hands together.

‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say “likes”,’ I say cautiously to Margaret the next day as we pull up in the car park of one of Galway’s smartest hotels.

‘But he’s in?’

‘Well, let’s just say he’s coming round to the idea.’

‘Hi, how can I help you?’ says the tall blonde woman on the hotel reception. Margaret takes charge.

‘Hi, we’re looking for Dan Murphy. I believe he’s staying here?’

The receptionist doesn’t smile. She turns to her computer screen while I look around the foyer. There is a huge light-fitting dominating it and a lot of glass and silver shiny balls. Out of the hotel, across the busy main road is water, more water, no doubt leading round into the harbour where I went with Sean the day I thought I was going to be getting on a plane and leaving Ireland. The day I finally accepted my marriage had been a fake.

‘Who shall I say wants him?’

I spin back round. The receptionist is holding the phone and her hand is hovering over the dial buttons.

‘We’re …’ Margaret misses a beat.

‘Work colleagues. We have some news about his family tree he’s working on,’ I smile. The receptionist doesn’t, but dials the number. She speaks in such quiet hushed tones I can barely hear what she’s saying.

Margaret is giving me a ‘WTF?’look.

‘Well, you probably know his relatives. You know everyone.’

‘He’ll be down now. Take a seat,’ the receptionist instructs.

We do as we’re told and shuffle shoulder to shoulder over to the soft seats in the huge window and watch the traffic pass by. Margaret finds a magazine and turns straight to her horoscopes.

I watch the steps and see an old red Skoda pull into the drive. I recognise the driver and passenger. A large delivery truck is in their way and they honk their horn.  I’m about to point them out to Margaret when I notice the large bag of oysters, in a black mesh bag, on their back seat. The truck moves on and the Skoda carries on round the back of the hotel. It couldn’t be, could it? I could just be putting two and two together and coming up with seventeen but it does seem odd. I don’t even know if they are Sean’s oysters, but my gut feeling is shouting at me that they are!

‘It’s him!’ Margaret hisses from behind her magazine. I spin round quickly to see the receptionist pointing towards us.

‘Hi, I’m Dan Murphy, you wanted to see me …?’ His smile drops as soon as he registers who we are. He looks from me to Margaret, peeping out from above her magazine.

‘Hi again,’ she says brightly.

‘Hi,’ I say with a little wave.

Now he’s looking quite irritated.

‘What is this, some kind of joke? Come to set the Garda on me again, have you?’ He turns to leave. A couple in their sixties in matching Irish shirts, checking in at reception, turn to stare.

‘No, nothing like that,’ I try to say but thankfully Margaret steps up. She jumps up, practically bouncing with enthusiasm.

‘Actually, we’ve come to do you a favour. You’re tracing your family tree right?’ she asks as if it were totally true and we hadn’t just come up with that five minutes ago. I’m a bag of nerves.

‘If you want to trace your family tree then you should come back and meet Grandad. I could introduce you. He knows everyone who’s everyone,’ Margaret’s still beaming. I stand up and look out of the window as the old red Skoda reappears. Seamus and Padraig are smiling away like a pair of cats who have got the cream as they pull out into the traffic.

‘Isn’t that right Fi? Fi?’ I suddenly spin back to Margaret who is looking at me to back her up.

‘Oh right, yes …’ but I’m not sure what she’s said.

He’s looking at us warily, like we’re the last people he wants to see.

‘You want me to come back to Dooleybridge with you,’ he says slowly.

‘Yes.’ Margaret is beaming.

‘Yes,’ I add.

He looks sideways at us as if he’s being lured into some kind of trap.

Dan looks round in disbelief as he steps into the café, pushing past the hanging dressing gown, now reduced to 50 cents. He takes in the umbrellas in the bucket by the door, all at 20 cents each and then slowly looks at the other goods on sale, the bulging make-up bag, the worn slippers, and the slow cooker. Gerald is creating steam with his new urn. Dolly Parton is playing on the stereo.

‘Grandad, wake up,’ Margaret nudges Grandad who shakes himself into life. Dan puts his man bag on the chair next to him.

‘So, this is Dooleybridge’s coffee house?’ He’s still looking like he’s landed on Mars and I remember that feeling. I push a nylon nightie off the table and onto the shelf beside us. Dan looks at it like it’s going to bite him.

‘It was his wife’s,’ Margaret whispers.

‘Is she dead?’ Dan looks as if he’s going to run or be sick.

‘No, she left him. Went off with a Father Dougal lookalike after Tedfest and never came back. So he’s selling all her stuff.’

Dan’s eyes practically pop out of his head. I’m pretty surprised too; I always wondered what all this stuff was..

‘What’s Tedfest?’ he asks getting out a notebook and pen.

‘A festival on the Arran islands, over there.’ Margaret points in the general directions of the islands. ‘They all dress up as Father Ted characters for a weekend. It’s a great craic.’ Then she sighs. ‘See, even the ArranIslands have people going there.’

I touch her arm.

‘And this is where my family is from then,’ he looks around still adjusting to his new surroundings. ‘This is where the Murphys worked the oyster beds,’ he says warming to his theme. ‘From poor and humble beginnings …’

Margaret smiles and nods at me. It could be working. He might just want to spend more time here and get involved with the festival. I’m beginning to feel a bit better about getting him out here on false pretences.

‘I’d love to meet some of my family. It would make a great end to the book. Travelling across Ireland, all the food I’ve tasted on the way, the meals I’ve had, to finally end up here, coming home to meet my family.’ I swear his eyes have gone all misty. Margaret claps her hands together in glee. Dan has an eager expression on his face. ‘It would be great to actually interview one of them, some old aunt or something?’

Grandad suddenly sits up and cuts across him.

‘Oh there hasn’t been a Murphy round here for years.’ Margaret and I freeze. Gerald comes over to take the orders.

‘Tea for me, please,’ I say quickly.

‘Coffee please, Gerald,’ said Margaret.

‘Macchiato,’ Dan says and Gerald gives him a wary look.

‘That’s two coffees, Gerald,’ Margaret says helpfully. And Gerald nods.

‘Anything to eat, scones?’ His pen is poised. Margaret and I shake our heads and before we can warn him Dan says, ‘Oh a scone, lovely.’

Gerald hurries away, happy to have made a sale and Grandad chuckles.

‘So, about my relatives,’ Dan holds up his phone to Grandad, obviously recording him. Grandad gives it a suspicious look and gently pushes Dan’s hand away.

‘There haven’t been Murphys around here for years. Sold up, moved out. Their land went to developers. It used to be a great mussel farm but then developers tried to put in an executive estate looking out to sea. Those were the last Murphys I remember around here. Moved on after the last oyster festival.’

‘Housing estate, you say?’ Dan cuts into the scone and both Margaret and I watch with worry. It falls open, pale and dry. Dan looks disappointed.

‘Ghost estate more like. The houses were never finished. I think they got the plumbing in but after that they had to stop. Just by Sean Thornton’s place.’

‘Who’s he? Perhaps I could interview him,’ Dan looks at us and we look at each other. I couldn’t see Sean agreeing to that one.

‘Just by the farm you were at the other day, where I work; where he set the dog on you,’ I add helpfully, hoping that to put him off.

‘Oh,’ says Dan. ‘And the Murphys? Where did they go?’

‘America I think,’ Grandad reaches for his tea with unsteady hands. ‘Or was it New Zealand …?’

‘Like most people round here. There’s no work, nothing for them.’ Margaret joins in.

‘But you’re still here,’ Dan points out, putting butter on the scone.

‘Let’s just say I feel my destiny is here,’ Margaret says with a smile.

Just then Sean walks in and Margaret’s face lights up, proving to herself and everyone around her that she was right.

‘Sean!’ she says brightly. ‘This is Dan, Dan Murphy. We were just talking about you.’ She’s smiling so much I wonder if it’s making her face ache.

‘Coffee please,’ he says to Gerald.

‘Do you want to join us? We’re just discussing … planning things,’ I say.

‘No, you’re all right. Just on my way into town.’ He takes the coffee, pays for it then turns back.

‘A Murphy is it?’ he says to Dan.

‘Yes, I understand our families were once neighbours. Look, sorry about that misunderstanding the other day,’ Dan goes to stand up.

‘Take my advice and stay away from my land,’ Sean growls. I sigh. The pair hold each other’s stare for a moment and then Sean stalks out and Dan sits down. This is going badly wrong, Very badly wrong.

‘So, no family to speak of,’ Dan says flatly.

‘No, but I might be able to help you with some photos. Why not come up to the pub and we can see if we can see any of your family on the pictures on the wall. They might’ve taken part in the oyster festival. Talking of the festival, I do have another idea for the end of your book …’ Margaret hooks her arm through his and leads the way.

*……*……*

In the empty pub we’re looking round the pictures on the wall. Grandad’s bright as a button, like  the pictures have transported him back to happier times.

‘So are these all from past festivals?’ Dan asks as we study them.

‘And that one was the year it went to sudden death,’ Grandad says remembering each picture as if it was yesterday.

‘That’s Sean’s uncle, isn’t that right Grandad?’ Margaret points out a picture of a short man in a white apron tied around his middle. 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 if he misses a friend. He’s standing with five other men in the photograph. He’s in the middle, 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 make Grandad jump. He whips out his phone and ‘snap!’ takes a picture of it.

‘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 can be natural, or whether they’re contacts.

Margaret’s trying to steer two wayward dogs back across the road through the cars. She’s holding a cooked sausage she’s borrowed from the Spar shop opposite.

‘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 waving a sausage in the high street and Grandad has fallen back to sleep 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 again, ‘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, 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 picking 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, come back for the few bags they’ve missed.’ He puts down the guitar and goes to the fridge and pulls out a can.