‘And is it true you’ve moved in with Sean Thornton?’ Margaret folds her arms like the bully in the schoolyard.
I take a deep breath. I’m shaking. I can’t bear being the centre of attention, singled out.
‘Yes,’ I say quietly again, hoping this will clear everything up. ‘I’m working for him. Now if you’ll excuse me please.’ I try to get round her. Again she shifts in front of me.
‘So, you’re not living with him as in “living with him” then?’ she continues.
I want to say, ‘Who I stay with and where is none of your business.’ But I don’t. That’s not my style. Head-on conflict was never my thing.
‘Two-timer!’ Grandad pipes up.
‘No, that’s not his girlfriend in the car, it’s his dealer,’ Frank corrects him.
‘Is it? A dealer? In the black BMW?’ Evelyn reels off the number plate.
I go to make a quick escape. She side-steps me again, moving Grandad’s wheelchair a tad so I’m wrong-footed. Only this time I’m so determined to make it that I crash straight into her and my tea plunges to the floor, soaking me and forming a great big puddle around me.
‘Lift, Maire,’ Evelyn instructs, and she and her friend lift their feet with precision timing looking like two inquisitive meerkats. I notice Maire is wearing floral wellies. Tepid tea drips from my hands and down my front. The barmaid’s hands fly to her mouth and in all fairness shelooks horrified by her actions.
‘Oh God! I’m so sorry,’ she says, grabbing a cloth from the café owner’s waistband. He’s arrived with a mop and bucket and starts swilling the tea around. The barmaid is trying to mop me down. My eyes may have shown a rare flash of fury.
‘I really am sorry,’ she says. ‘Let me get you another. Here, sit down.’ She points to a chair. The café begins to empty as the café owner cleans up. The smell of bleach is too much for some.
‘No, really, I’m fine.’ I brush away the barmaid’s dabbing hands in my attempt to leave.
‘No, you can’t go, not like that. Here, Gerald, get another tea there and a bun,’ she instructs.
‘I’m fine,’ I repeat, but no one seems to be listening to me.
‘But not one of Evelyn’s scones,’ she calls to Gerald, and then, checking that Evelyn has actually left, says more quietly to me, ‘They taste of fish,’ and smiles. I look at her for a moment and wonder if I’ve heard her right. And then I can’t help it, I laugh. Maybe it’s some kind of nervous reaction, an emotional release, but Evelyn’s fishy scones make me laugh. The barmaid joins in too, her confrontational stance disappearing like the rain.
‘That’s better,’ she smiles, showing her neat white teeth. ‘Now, bring the tea over, Gerald. I’m sooooo sorry,’ she repeats in her husky voice, like she’s been smoking roll-up cigarettes all her life.
She guides me to a seat and I realise resistance is futile. Apart from anything, I still haven’t had a cup of tea this morning. I look at the clock. I have to be back soon. Sean will be home and the tide will be out. Strange, I think, how quickly my life is being led by the tides. The barmaid sidles in opposite me.
‘Sorry,’ she repeats again, only this time I don’t thinkshe’s talking about the tea. ‘I didn’t mean to come on so strong there. It’s just not often we get blow-ins, and young ones at that.’
‘Don’t worry, love, I was the last blow-in, came from Dublin twenty years ago,’ Gerald joins in with a whoosh from the urn. ‘They still think I’m the newcomer.’ He comes over and sets down the tea. ‘They’ll find something new to interest them soon enough. Just tell them your name and where you’ve come from and how long you’re planning to stay and they’ll leave you alone after that.’ He gives the table a swift wipe and adjusts a pair of reading glasses on the shelf next to me. ‘Now then, scone?’ he asks, and I look at the barmaid and we both laugh. I shake my head and he wanders back behind the counter looking puzzled.
‘Jeez, Gerald. We keep telling you, they taste of fish!’ the girl shouts after him playfully.
Gerald picks up a scone and sniffs it. ‘It’s you! It’s your tastebuds!’ he bats back.
I smile at the banter and take a sip of the tea. It’s fabulous. Not like the tea at home, which is usually just wet and warm. This actually tastes of tea.
‘You look like you needed that. I’m Margaret, remember? We met in the pub.’ She sticks out a hand; her nails are painted bright blue. I think about what Gerald just said: tell them your name, where you’re from and how long you’re staying, and then they’ll leave you alone.
‘I’m Fi, Fi English. I’m from the UK. Just staying for a month or so,’ I say, hoping that will be enough.
‘And you and Sean, you’re not …?’
I shake my head.
‘Great!’ she says. ‘Just like to know the competition, if you know what I mean.’ She’s grinning broadly, clearly besotted with my prickly boss.
I knock back the rest of my tea feeling surprisingly revived. ‘Thanks for the tea.’ I start to stand up. ‘And the scone advice,’ I smile, and Gerald gives us amock scowl.
‘Working with Sean then?’ Margaret persists.
