‘That’s right.’ Grace is whining impatiently now.
‘Oyster farmer, are you?’ She stirs her tea with a plastic spoon.
‘No, I’m more of a Girl Friday. Doing a bit of everything.’ Having given the locals all they wanted I do up my coat. Now I can go back to the farm and get on with my work.
‘What’s your star sign?’ she asks cheerily.
I shrug. ‘I’m not sure.’
She sighs good-naturedly.
‘Well, when’s your birthday?’
‘August twenty-first.’ This is a bit more than my name and where I’m from.
‘Leo! Brilliant!’ Margaret bangs the table. ‘Just what we need around here. A leader. Someone who can take charge. You can be on our committee,’ she beams at me.
‘Com … committee? What committee?’
‘The Dooleybridge Events Committee. This used to be a popular holiday stop. Couldn’t move for traffic in the summer. Now the traffic’s all one way, out of here. We want to put Dooleybridge back on the map. Something to bring the crowds, like the Volvo Yacht Race or Band Aid. Only trouble is, we haven’t actually come up with any events yet. But we will,’ she beams again.
‘Oh no, I don’t think so,’ I stutter. ‘I’m not really the committee type. Besides, I really won’t be here that long.’
‘Oh, just come along. We’re a friendly bunch and we meet every week. Come to the pub, next Monday, seven o’clock. Bring some ideas. You might as well be there while they talk about you, instead of them doing it behind your back.’ She sips her tea with a smile. I hurry for the door. ‘I’ll let the others know,’ Margaret calls after me.
Chapter Twelve
Sean’s waiting for me and he’s not happy.
‘Come on, tides won’t wait, y’know,’ he barks, and I run to get my boots with Grace following close behind.
‘Thought you’d run out on me again,’ he says as we march towards the water. He gives me a sideways glance from under his scowling eyebrows, like he doesn’t trust me.
‘Just went to the café for tea.’ I try and keep up. ‘Got the third degree.’
‘Ah.’ He rolls back his head, understanding.
We reach the tractor.
‘Don’t take any notice of the nosy beggars. Don’t tell them anything either,’ he says, his eyebrows lifting a little. He tosses the keys in the air and catches them. ‘Suppose they wanted to know your life story?’
I think about Margaret. It wasn’t so much my life story she was after, but more his. She’s obviously in love with him. She actually seemed quite harmless in the end. And she really wants to do something for her town, which doesn’t seem like such a bad thing to want to do. I’ve never been in one place long enough to feel strongly about its future. I quite like that about her. She’s obviously a girl who wears her heart on her sleeve, not tucked in the back of the wardrobe like me.
‘Actually they asked me to join their committee,’ I say, defending Margaret.
‘A committee? What kind of a committee?’ Sean is doing up his waterproof jacket.
‘The Dooleybridge Events Committee,’ I say, suddenly wishing I hadn’t.
‘An events committee? Here in Dooleybridge?’ Sean throws back his head and laughs. ‘I’ve heard it all now. That’s like saying we need a committee to deal with our drought conditions!’ He looks up at the drizzling sky and then starts up the tractor, the noise of the engine seeming to join in his loud laughter. He gestures for me to get on the back of the trailer. ‘You’re not going to, are you?’ he shouts over the engine noise.
‘Not sure,’ I say evasively. Of course I’m not going to go. I’m sure I couldn’t think of any ideas. But, in a funny way, it felt good to be asked. And I don’t like being told what to do. Sean Thornton might be my boss, but he’s not my keeper.
‘Good. I find it better to keep my personal life away from the town, you might find that too. Hold on!’ Sean tells me.
If I want to go to the committee meeting, I will, I think firmly.
For the following week I’m a slave to the pattern of the tides. Some nights Sean is there, others he isn’t. But it’s the same every morning: I get up, feed the donkeys, open the hen house, and try to put the food in the feeder before they tip it over, and each morning I try to out-run Brenda the goose who’s desperate to have a piece of my backside. I’m now clearing the gate in one swift movement. Oh, and I’ve named her Brenda after Brian’s mother, who was also beady-eyed and vicious.
