The Oyster Catcher (16 page)

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 oysters.

‘Ah no, I think you’ve got a visitor.’ He sweeps all the more forcefully.

Margaret’s had her hair dyed, blue this time, almost turquoise. Sean leans on his broom.

‘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, 7.30 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 hose pipe 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, 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, too big 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 make-over 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 make-over is just what I need. Sean’s still frowning.

‘So, you’re meeting up with Dan Murphy again, are you?’ Sean 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 even shock myself. I don’t do arguments. Brian and I never argued. We just sorted of skirted the issue. Another outburst 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 over-dramatic,’ I say using the towel. ‘These people want it to work as much as you do.’

‘Am I? 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 point 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 back 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 make-over,’ I say.

‘Oh brilliant!’ Margaret perks up no end as she reverses the little car out on to the narrow track, just missing the gate post.

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. 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, the opposite way to that in which these high heels are pointing. I turn them in the other direction, slowly. Freda’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 them straight away.

‘What are these?’

‘Try one, they’re delicious!’ Gerald had enthused. Freda regarded them like a child eyeing a Brussels sprout.

She’d slowly picked it up and bitten into it. A small group of school children 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 back.

‘Yeah, they’re disgusting,’ said a short girl with a fat tie.

Freda had stormed out, taking the brownie with her.

‘Sorry,’ I’d 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 emails asking about glass hire.

And now Freda 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!’

Margaret’s done smoky eyes and bold lips on me, apparently. I’m wearing a black-and-white striped dress with a black short cardigan and red high heels. And more than ever I 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 my hem. 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,’ Dan 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 Freda budge up with a tut. Margaret sits on the stool opposite. She’s wearing a similar style dress, with tight-fitting top and full, short skirt. 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. Dan pours the wine and I take a big sip to sooth my unease. A few more of these and I won’t feel like a dressed-up clown at all.

‘How’s Grumpy Sean?’ he leans into me and give 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?’ Dan pulls out his wallet.

‘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 slowly frowns, looking at my dress and shoes. I find myself tugging at the cardigan feeling more ridiculous than ever.

‘He practically insisted. I had a table booked at Bar 8, but there was no budging him tonight.’ Nancy appears behind Sean and squeezes into where Dan was sitting. My nostrils are filled with thick, spicy perfume. I rub my nose to make sure I don’t sneeze. Dan stands next to Sean.

‘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.

‘Let me get some more drinks,’ Dan says clapping his hands. He’s helped by Sean and then squeezes himself in between Nancy and myself, making us all budge up. His large thigh is resting against mine and the fireplace is stopping me from moving any further up. Dan picks up his drink and raises it to me before sipping. Sean is scowling. I take another a big mouthful of my wine and feel the large flower from behind my ear slip and flop over. Margaret stands up next to Sean.

‘So, how’s it all looking?’ Nancy asks, pouring her first drink into her fresh one. Sean moves back to lean against the bar. Margaret follows him. ‘How are things going with you girls?’ Nancy asks, despite me being the same age as her. 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 is going to pull out, it will all be over.

‘I have a marquee sorted,’ I say distracting myself from his stares. Maybe we could still make this happen without Dan, I think optimistically, but I know that’s not really possible.

Nancy nods.

‘What about seating, chairs, and tables?’

‘Actually Sean has a load of them in the old barn.’ I’d seen them when I was painting the window sills before the inspection. ‘I thought we could give them a good wash down, and  decorate them, like in the old festival pictures. We could cover the tables in white rolls of paper and put oyster shells out with salt and pepper in. And have large stones from the shore for table numbers. And put gorse in pots for flowers.’

Sean’s face seems to soften a little.

‘Too rustic. Forget the shells, gorse, and stones. Keep it white and simple. I want it classy,’ Nancy instructs. ‘Tables and chairs?’ she directs at Sean.

Sean puts down his pint and nods. ‘From when the festival used to be run by my uncle and the others round here. They’re mostly long tables and benches.’

The locals turn to look at him but no one comments.

‘Oh no, we’ll need something better than that,’ Nancy cuts in. ‘Get the marquee company to lay them on.’

‘But won’t that be eating into profits?’ I protest.

‘If we manage to sell the tickets,’ Margaret looks like a three-day-old-balloon, deflated. I reach out to touch her hand. ‘I can’t get much interest in the press and no one has signed up for the shell shucking and there are only three entrants for the Pearl Queen Contest, including me!’

Everyone sighs.

‘Shame,’ says Rose. ‘I’ll enter the Pearl Queen competition, Margaret, if it helps.’ She pats Margaret’s knee.

‘Look, maybe it’s best to cut your losses. It was a great idea but people don’t associate Dooleybridge with oysters any more. They go round the other side of the bay for that, and anyone who wants to sell their oysters round here sends them to Dublin or France. That’s the only way to make it pay these days,’ Sean says flatly. ‘That’s what Nancy knows.’ Sean waves his hand at Nancy who looks like she’s silently seething.

‘It’s ridiculous,’ she says with a Gallic shrug. ‘How hard can it be to rustle up some media interest and deliver a classy meal for potential customers. I’m doing my bit. I have the customers and the contacts  but they’ll want to know there’s something worth coming for! Amateurs.’ She tuts testily. ‘I’m sorry about this, Dan. I really think I’ve been let down by certain individuals here.’ Nancy looks at me and then Margaret. ‘You said you were great on back room work,’ she hisses to me.

Sean bristles. ‘Now hang on,’ he says putting down his pint.

‘What?’ Nancy throws him a challenging look.

‘I don’t think you need to be so hard on everyone,’ Sean says to my surprise. ‘It just wasn’t ever going to work like this. I think we,’ he emphasises the ‘we’, ‘need to go back to the drawing board, in private.’ He nods his head in the direction of the door.

The rest of the group are staring at Sean and Nancy like an episode of
Coronation Street
. Sean picks up his jacket. Nancy doesn’t move. Dan breaks the ice with a melodramatic cough. We all turn to him.

I would have liked to tell Nancy that I’ve done everything she’s asked me to do and that if she’d done it my way then more of the locals would’ve been involved and interested. They don’t want a ‘classy’ do where they’re the hired help. They want a good old-fashioned oyster festival, like it used to be. But what would I know? I’m just the blow-in. I take another swig of wine. Dan coughs again. I wonder if he’s going down with something. Must be the damp air. He looks slowly around.

‘Well, I’ve had an email today. Mary Jo’s leaving me. She’s pregnant again. She’s taking a career break,’ He sucks in his lips.

‘Oh that’s lovely,’ I say without thinking, pushing aside the little twinge of envy again.

‘I need the career before I can have the break,’ says Margaret sulkily.

‘I’d take the career any day,’ says Nancy with a shiver, looking at Sean.

‘Hmm, leaves me in the lurch a bit, however …’ Dan says, enjoying the audience’s attention.

‘Oh no, that means you’re going back and the festival will definitely be cancelled,’ Margaret wails. ‘You’re the only thing we actually got confirmed.’

Nancy takes a sharp intake of breath. If Dan’s leaving, Margaret’s right. There definitely won’t be a festival.

‘Actually, on the contrary. Mary Jo has been working on a deal and has got it in place, just in time before she leaves.’ His eyes are bright. ‘She’s managed to secure a sponsorship deal. The TV company I work for want to come over and film the festival.’ He beams. ‘It’ll be a great finish to my book and great publicity.’