‘Oh yes, and I could do cookery questions,’ Evelyn joins in, and everyone looks down at theirdrinks.
‘Only trouble is, we need other teams to take part,’ Patsy says, and spirits dip again.
‘What about a good old music night,’ Grandad suddenly pipes up. ‘When I were a lad you couldn’t move in here on a Monday night, all the boys from the oyster beds would come in,’ he was pointing to the pub and the town beyond. ‘On oyster festival weekends, this place was jam-packed.’
‘Yes, Grandad,’ everyone choruses.
‘What about you, Fi? You’re the expert in media, what do you think we should do?’
‘I think …’ Everyone turns to look at me. I struggle to think of anything, anything at all. My mind goes totally blank and I blush bright red. I wish I could help Margaret, I really do. She’s waiting. I have to say something.
‘I … I … I think Grandad’s right. If you want this place jumping again, why not just bring back the oyster festival,’ I say. At least I’ve offered something and now perhaps Margaret will ignore me and they can all go back to what they were talking about before. The pub falls silent and they all stare at me and I have no idea why.
After that the group starts to break up. Patsy goes back behind the bar and Frank and John Joe get out the draughts. Margaret tops up our drinks from the bottle.
‘It’s complicated,’ she tells me. ‘It’s not just the memories it would bring back, opening old wounds. There’s no one here to take part any more. It just wouldn’t work.’
‘No, it’s a shame. They were the days all right …’ Maire says.
‘But it wouldn’t work,’ Evelyn does up her coat.
‘No, no.’ Rosie shakes her head. ‘It would never work. Not unless we had someone who knew about the media and things like that. Someone to run the festival.’ They all look at me.
‘Oh, sorry, I just won’t be here to help out. I’d love to but I’m not staying around.’ I have no intention of opening up any old wounds. Besides, my only media experience is answering the phones on a Saturday afternoon radio show. I pull on my waterproof, do it up to the neck so I’m hiding in it, make my excuses and leave.
‘See you next week,’ Margaret calls after me. But I won’t be coming back to put my foot in it all over again; from now on I’ll keep my head down.
Chapter Fourteen
It isn’t just the permanent rain that’s making the atmosphere in the cottage frosty. All the papers were tidied away by the time Sean got back the following day, and I’ve even created a filing system of sorts from boxes that I found in Rosie’s shop. But Sean’s still marching around complaining he can’t find anything and I’m silently fuming that he hasn’t even said thank you.
This next week promises a spring tide and Sean’s back working on the farm. There’s just two weeks until the inspection; until I can take what little money I’ve earned and leave.
We work practically in silence, only speaking when we need to. There’s no idle chit-chat, though Sean didn’t really do chit-chat in the first place. I still can’t bring myself to be much use in the water, but I do work like stink when it comes to washing and grading the oysters. I’m also a demon with the hosepipe, washing down the sheds. The harder I work in the day, the easier it is to sleep at night. And the harder I work, the more distance I seem to be putting between me and Brian. Physical exhaustion numbs the pain.
It’s the end of my fourth week on the farm and the night before the inspection.
I feel like I’ve scrubbed everything in sight and that I’ve had a hosepipe permanently welded to my right hand. I ache from the very top of my head to the tips of my toes. Even my earlobes ache from the cold. I’m wet andmy cheeks are red from the wind and rain. I have never been so happy to see the inside of the cottage. I peel off my waterproofs and Sean does the same. We don’t speak. There is a strange solidarity in our weariness though.
‘Let’s eat,’ Sean says, hanging his waterproofs by the door. He puts a bag of oysters on the table with a clatter and then heads to the kitchen. ‘You did well today, English,’ he says with his head inside the fridge, so I nearly miss it. He surprises me and I smile. At least we’re going to part on friendly terms by the sounds of it. ‘You take the bathroom first if you like, I’ll get some food on the go.’ He pulls out some carrots, celery, an onion and a large white chipped pie dish.
I’d like to be polite and offer him first go in the bathroom or suggest I cook, but my freezing joints won’t let me. If it was left to me tonight it would be a couple of slices of toast and bed.
‘We need an early night. Big day tomorrow,’ he says with the tiniest of winks, and I get the most stupid flush of embarrassment. He puts his hand in the red sack of oysters, pulls one out, taps it, then puts his knife in and opens it.
‘Quality control,’ he says with a smile, holding it to his nose. He sniffs, puts the shell to his lips and tips his head back.
‘Whoa,’ he says, looking like an addict who’s just had his fix. He offers one to me. ‘Sure?’ But I shake my head. I just can’t see the pleasure.
‘I’m going to grab that shower if you don’t mind.’ I’m still holding up my hand to refuse the oyster. I shan’t be sorry if I never see another oyster again after this month.
‘You go ahead. I’ll rustle up some food. Like I say, you’ve done well, English.’ He opens another oyster and tips his head back again. A silly shiver of excitement runsthrough me.
‘Hey, English,’ he calls me back as I’m heading to the bathroom. ‘I’m, er … I’m sorry about … before. I’ve been meaning to say, y’know, the other week, with the desk. I shouldn’t have shouted. You did a great job. I’m just not used to, y’know, sharing my private stuff.’
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. So it wasn’t all a waste of time then. I feel like a peacock, proudly puffing myself up. Then I have no idea what makes me boldly ask, ‘Does Nancy know?’ I’m talking about his money problems, of course, but I don’t need to spell it out.
He stops opening oysters for a moment. I tense up, wishing I hadn’t asked. I want the words to go back where they came from. But when he simply shakes his head I find myself breathing again.
