The only variety comes in the different ways in which it rains: sideways, straight down, drizzle, wispy flecks, icy pellets, and whooshing down and up again. Or those mornings when Freddie has broken out of the field and I have to run down the lane toget him back with a bucket of pony nuts. Sometimes Mercury is with him, sometimes he stays in the field. But Freddie’s always gone to the same place, to be with his lady love.
After sorting the animals we either work in the sheds, cleaning mesh bags and equipment, or in the yard, fitting in the chores around the pattern of the tide. Everything must be spotless for the inspector’s visit. Sean’s cutting the grass with a big old petrol lawnmower and mending fences; I’m painting the window sills and door of the old barn, and we’re ruthlessly clearing any trace of debris.
Then, every day I stand ankle deep in the water while Sean puts back the bags we’ve graded on trestle tables. The area with oysters ready to go to the co-operative is getting fuller by the day. They’ll be collected just after the inspection, at the end of my month’s trial. Once Sean’s put the bags back in the water, he collects more. I stand around trying to look useful, but really I’m barely keeping the panic attacks at bay. Then I travel back on the tractor and work my socks off washing and grading. It’s cold, wet, and makes me ache and I hate every minute of it.
It’s Monday morning and Sean is dressed, drinking coffee and reading the tide times from a chart laid out on the kitchen table.
I’ve just out-run Brenda the goose and am puffing for breath. He gives me a puzzled look but doesn’t ask.
‘It’s the neap tide,’ he tells me. ‘We won’t get to the oysters this week; the tide won’t go out far enough. I’m at the sailing school. The last lesson finishes at five, so I’ll be home after that, but there’s not much we can do when the tide’s like this. Just keep an eye on things. We don’t want anything going wrong with the inspection just round the corner, so make sure no one comes near the place.’
I slide the kettle onto the stove, nodding and rubbing my hands together to warm them up. The front door closes, the empty coffee cup is on the table, and I’m allalone. I put the radio on. It’s Hector. I’m starting to like Hector’s cheery voice.
I throw some more turf on the fire and wonder what to do next. I could walk into town and go to the café. It’s stopped raining and it’s just windy out there. I saw Sean sailing this morning before he went to work; flying along he was.
Just then Grace pushes open the door and with her comes a huge gust of wind and the paper piles on the desk swirl up like the hurricane inThe Wizard of Oz. I spin around trying to catch them. They dance round me as I run to the door and slam it shut. The papers flutter to the ground and all over Grace, standing in the middle of the mess. There’s only one thing for it. I clear the table of tide charts, spare rope and old newspapers. I put the newspapers by the fire in the basket and the rope outside the front door, ready to take to the shed. I’m a bit worried about touching the charts. I look around for something useful to keep them in. When I first moved into my bedsit above Betty’s Buns, I had to make do for everything. But I was used to it. Moving was a regular thing for us. I’m not sure I ever spent Christmas in the same place two years running. I wasn’t always sure why we moved. It usually followed a lot of shouting. I’d hide in my room, and then we’d leave and within a few weeks I’d have a new uncle. I hated moving. But I hated having new uncles more. I wished it could have just been me and my mum and that I could’ve looked forward to Christmas in the same place.
Whenever we moved anywhere new I always had to make what I could from the packing boxes. I’d put them on top of each other to create a chest of drawers and use a crate with a towel over it for a bedside table. Then of course I moved into our show-home flat with Brian where everything was new. In a funny way, although I didn’t miss having cardboard boxes as a chest of drawers, I did miss not being able to make the flat into my home.
After a bit of rummaging around in the kitchen I’ve made a little organiser out of a cereal box and a milk carton. I roll the charts into it and put the whole thing on the window sill. The table is clear. Grace is watching me with a look of interest and puzzlement. I rub my hands together with satisfaction and then turn my attentionto the papers scattered all over the floor, some with large muddy paw prints on them.
I gather them up on the table. Hector has handed over to Ryan Tubridy on the radio and I find I’m smiling at the banter and chat, as though they have become my friends, only I don’t have to explain anything about my life to them. With all the papers from the floor picked up I look at the desk. I might as well have a go at it all, so I carry the precarious piles over to the kitchen table as well. I push back the sleeves on my baggy sweatshirt and set about putting them in some kind of order.
I create piles all over the kitchen table. Occasionally I look up, out to sea. The heron is there, as usual, on its rock. It’s such an ungainly bird and yet it seems like part of the landscape now, not out of place as I’d first thought. The rain changes in its ferocity against the window pane and every now and again the sun attempts to push through, until the clouds outnumber it, bullying it away.
I think this job might take up the morning, but I’m nowhere near finished as the sun has one final go at pushing through the clouds then starts to sink in the sky. I’m beginning to get a good idea of how Sean’s business is looking. There’s more red ink on these bills than black. There’s income tax and levies, animal feed, and generator repairs. There are papers all over the table, the settee, the chairs; some are sorted, some not. I stand up straight and stretch out my stiff back. Sean and I may not have much in common, or even particularly like each other, but for now anyway it looks as if we both need each other.
I go out and feed Freddie and Mercury and I’m delighted to find they’re actually in their field. It’s just a small thing but it puts a spring in my step. I give them an extra handful of pony nuts for good behaviour. Perhaps Freddie is finallystarting to give up on his lady love.
The chickens have taken themselves off to bed and I slide down their wooden door. Just the geese to go. I grab my stick, keeping my eye on Brenda; she in turn is keeping her yellow eyes on me.
I crouch down and slowly herd the geese towards their old stone shed, my stick in one hand. I feel like the bird man, hoping to take off at any minute. I’ve just about got them to the shed when Grace lets out a huge joyous bark and runs towards the lane. There’s a beep of the horn and I turn to see Sean’s red van pulling in through the front gates. As I do, Brenda takes her opportunity to launch herself at me, pecking at my shins. I drop my stick and run to the gate, mistiming my leap and throwing myself painfully against its bars. I look up to see Sean and Nancy watching me. Sean is shaking his head in disbelief and Nancy looks thoroughly amused. I clutch my bruised ribs. I can’t decide which is worse, staying out here and trying to get Brenda into her shed, or going into the cottage where Nancy and Sean will no doubt be laughing at my goosing. Then I remember the paperwork and, clutching my sides, I run to the cottage, hoping I can get there before Sean does.
Chapter Thirteen
‘What the hell has been going on here?’ I hear Sean roaring before I’m even at the cottage.
‘I can explain!’ I say, throwing myself in through the door. Nancy is blocking my path. I wonder if I should start with ‘You have to crack a few eggs to make an omelette’, but I don’t think he’s in a listening mood. But then Sean doesn’t listen, he just roars.
‘I pay you to work on my farm, not to go through my personal things. You’re here to help with the oysters, get ready for the inspection, and look after the animals, although by the looks of it, you’re not doing a very good job of that.’
Incensed, I start trying to tell him that I’m doing a perfectly good job, thank you very much, but my tongue ties itself in knots and my mouth just opens and closes. In fact, I’m so furious, I’m speechless.
‘Well, we can’t stay here tonight,’ says Nancy. ‘We’ll have to go back to mine.’ There is a tight smile in the corner of her mouth that tells me she’s relieved. Sean tuts loudly and goes to make a fuss of Grace. Then he turns back to the paperwork.
‘I thought I might be able to put it into your computer for you,’ I finally manage to spit out.
‘Computer?’ he says with a scoff. ‘Never used one. Never needed one and I’ve managed perfectly well until now.’
I’d love to beg to differ.
Nancy just looks amused and folds her arms. ‘I think you’re doing a great job of sorting things out,’ she says. I feel a little of my tension ease. At least someone can see what I’m trying to do, even if Sean can’t.
‘Now we can go to O’Grady’s tonight,’ Nancy links her arm through his. He doesn’t budge and looks at the piles of papers and then at me again. He is simmering under his big black cloud.
‘Sean, we can’t stay here and it looks like your assistant has got it all in hand.’ She tugs gently at him.
‘I wanted to get out in the boat,’ he says to Nancy without looking at her, narrowing his eyes at some of the paperwork. I hold my breath. The last thing I want is him standing over me while I finish putting all these into some kind of order.
