‘Yes,’ I say with more confidence than I’m feeling.
Just as Sean is switching off the lights in the feed shed, Nancy’s BMW turns into the drive.
I give a little wave and Sean gives an apologetic shrug. She sticks her head out of the car window.
‘You’re not ready! Hurry up!’ she calls, and the window whirrs shuts.
‘Right …’ He shuts the feed shed firmly and jogs round to the cottage steps, whereas I can hardly walk.
In my room I peel off my clothes. Despite the waterproofs, I’m wet through to my undies. I decide to brave the erratic shower to warm up. By the time I’ve finished and dressed in more clothes that Sean’s found for me, the fire is cheerily flickering away, Grace is eating and Sean’s in the bathroom. Nancy is pacing up and down the living room in her coat, her black high heels clipping across the floor. She shivers.
‘So, you’re English?’ she enquires.
‘Yes,’ is all I can think of saying. I can’t tell her I ended up living in Cardiff; too complicated.
‘What brings you out to Galway?’ She looks like this is the last place she wants to be.
‘Oh, y’know. It was time for a change,’ I say, not wanting to add that my new husband ran out on me and so I’m stuck here.
‘Hmmm, you should’ve gone to France. The weather is so much better. Oh, where is he? Sean! I’m waiting in the car!’ she shouts.
‘Have a nice evening,’ I say, as she heads out of the door. I turn to the kitchen and wonder what to do about supper.
‘Don’t turn round if you’re easily offended,’ Sean says. I can hear wet footsteps behind me and he’s making his way through the living room to his bedroom. My God, is he actually naked? I fling open the refrigerator and stick my head in, looking for something to eat. I keep it there until I hear his door click shut. He really is too much. Nancy beeps her horn outside.
‘I won’t be back tonight,’ Sean announces as he comes back into the living room, pulling on his battered wax jacket. He’s wearing a crumpled cream shirt.
Nancy leans on the horn again. He ignores it. Sean Thornton is obviously not a man who likes taking orders.
‘You shouldn’t have any problems. I’ll leave the tractor keys just in case.’ He puts a small set of keys on the table and heads for the door saying, ‘Right, have fun,’ over his shoulder.
I hear tyres spin and then the car roars off towards the road. And then there’s … silence. I look around hopefully but there’s no television, no computer, no nothing.
I sit down on the settee and eat bread and cheese. Every bone in my body is aching. My cheeks are burning with tiredness and exercise. I long to sit in front of the TV and tell Brian about the things I’ve done. For the first time that day I get a pang of homesickness. It’s a physical longing and a sick feeling.
I decide to go to bed, but I can’t sleep. The homesickness grows, like an aching in the pit of my stomach. The silence is terrifying. No people, no cars, no music. I get out of bed and switch on the lamp. Then I pull on my sweatshirt. It smells of Brian. I call Grace. She trots in and lies down by my bed. I pull the sweatshirt over my nose and finally fall asleep with the light on and Grace snoring by my side, trying to imagine I’m at home in my bed with Brian by my side.
Chapter Ten
I’m armed with a large stick and hen pellets. I don’t know what I’m going to do with the stick but it’s making me feel braver. I’ve managed to feed Freddie and Mercury by hanging over the gate to put buckets down with outstretched arms. The hens flew at me to get to their food and I ended up dropping most of it, but they seem happy pecking it off the ground. Now it’s the turn of the geese.
I open the gate to their field. I can hear them stomping around, demanding to be let out. If I let them out they’ll run at me. I remember their yellow staring eyes from yesterday. I have my arms wide, my hat pulled down, and I feel like I’m staking out the enemy. My heart is pounding. What if they all fly at me at once? They have huge wings and I remember reading somewhere they can break your arm with one beat. With a huge deep breath I pull back the latch. Out they rush. I drop the bucket and run. The gate is in reach but as soon as I stop to open it a goose is going to goose me. There’s only one thing to do. I focus and then practically throw myself over the gate in a gymnastic move I wasn’t able to master in my school days. I land in a heap. It makes my aching body cry out in pain, but I’ve cleared the gate. A goose is eyeballing me, strutting up and down in frustration. Its wings are still outstretched, its beak open, seeing me off. I stand up stiffly and stare. It’s not coming beyond the fence. I did it!
I turn back towards the cottage. My body hurts with every step I take, but onthe plus side, it’s stopped raining. I try not to look at the sea, as though I’m avoiding eye-contact with it. I find it helps.
As well as the house being empty, the cupboard’s empty too. No tea. I can’t function without tea. I have no idea when Sean will be back, and by the looks of it we can’t start work with the oysters until the tide is out. I’m going to go and track down some tea.
‘Grace!’ I call, and she catapults back into the house, her legs flying in all directions. Her tail knocks over the stack of CDs and a leaning paper pile.
My shoulders, my feet and my back ache with every step. Grace gambols along behind me down the lane, then I put her on the lead and we follow the road, squeezing into the low stone walls when a car passes.
The petrol station is a surprise. Downstairs is a small supermarket and upstairs a range of cheap clothing and outdoor wear in amongst buckets, spades and pony nuts. I gather up some joggers, T-shirts, a hoodie, tennis socks and pants.
‘It’s promised rain,’ says the big-busted woman behind the counter as she rings up my clothes, tea bags and milk.
‘Sorry?’ I ask, pulling out a note from my coat pocket.
‘It’s promised rain,’ she repeats with a smile.
