‘They were my uncle’s. There was many a night I sat here with him watching for oyster pirates.’ He looks out to sea as if enjoying a cherished painting.
‘You love it here, don’t you?’ I say, seeing his face soften.
‘I do.’ He looks back at me as if I wasn’t just the hired help any more, but someone who understood what he was trying to say. It was like seeing through a tiny chink in the armour. ‘Which is why I have to pass the inspection tomorrow.’ Then he turns quickly towards the kitchen and I look out to sea with the binoculars. It’s like wearing 3D glasses to the cinema, designed to exaggerate your worst nightmares. It’s a small step, but there’s no way I could have done this four weeks ago.
‘Food’s up!’ Sean hands me a loaded plate. It’s piled high with steaming mashed potato, golden, crumbly pastry, chunks of beef, and dark brown, rich gravy. ‘Hope you like pie.’ He hands me a fork and then steps over my legs to sit down next to me. ‘I know you won’t eat oysters, but I thought you might be all right with this.’
I look down at my plate as his jean-clad thighs reach over me. I move up the settee as far as I can. Honestly, you’d think I’d never been near a man before, instead of living with one for five years before marrying him; but then, I never really got to know him, did I?
‘Right, eat up and then I’m going to stay up and keep watch. You can go to bed if you like.’ He starts tucking into his plate of hot potato and pie. I dig in too. It’s so good it’s like being wrapped up in a goose-down duvet.Behind us the fire cheerily warms the room. I fork the beef into my mouth. Then I put my fork into something I don’t recognise. I pick it up and look at it, sniff it and look at it again. Sean is mid-mouthful but can’t help but laugh.
‘OK, you got me.’ He holds up a hand and is fully enjoying his own joke. I look at him accusingly. ‘You wouldn’t eat them raw so I thought I’d try them cooked.’
‘Oysters? In the pie?’ I’m actually enjoying the joke too.
‘Just try one.’ He hands me the ketchup from beside him on the floor. ‘Try it with ketchup. Beef and oyster pie; it’s a classic combination.’
‘Really?’ I look at it again and then stick my tongue out and try to taste it by licking a little bit of sauce from it. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t.’ I still can’t explain my bad relationship with the sea. ‘What if it was a bad one, what if I got sick?’ I say wildly, hoping he’ll be fooled.
‘You’ve pulled it from the sea yourself. It couldn’t be fresher!’
I know he’s right, but I just can’t handle it. I shake my head and put the forkful down on my plate and he scoops it up and eats it. I pick out the rest of the oysters to the sound of his gentle laughter beside me, but finish the rest of the pie and scrape the plate clean.
‘Thank you, that was delicious. Be even nicer without the oysters,’ I joke, and take his plate.
‘You don’t know what’s good for you, English!’ he shouts after me as I head to the kitchen.
‘I’ll wash up,’ I say, and he moves into my place and picks up the binoculars. Things have definitely thawed in our working relationship. I’ll almost be sorry to go if we carry on getting on like this. Grace follows me, ever hopeful of a few scraps. I can’t even say how much I’m going to miss Grace. Once I’m settled I’m going to get adog of my own, I decide. No more living in flats with no-pet policies. I wash up and am drying my hands with the tea towel when I realise how important tomorrow is to me too.
‘I’ll stay up too,’ I say.
He looks up from his binoculars as if pleasantly surprised.
‘You don’t have to.’
‘I do. I’d hate it if anything happened now, before I went,’ I add. There’s a moment’s silence.
‘You’ve decided then, you’re moving on?’
I fold the tea towel more times than it needs folding. ‘Yes,’ I say quietly, unfolding it again and putting it on the work surface. ‘It’s been great, but I don’t think I’m ever going to make it as an oyster farmer.’
He tries to keep a straight face, but can’t, and we both laugh.
‘I’ll advertise, after the inspection,’ he says with gentle resignation.
‘Make sure it’s someone who doesn’t mind the wet,’ I tell him, putting on the kettle. ‘And who wears size six wellington boots.’
‘And someone who eats oysters,’ he joins in, going back to his binoculars. ‘I never did get you out on the hooker,’ he says, as if he genuinely thinks I’ve missed out on one of life’s greatest pleasures. I pull out mugs to make a tea and coffee.
‘Well, the hooker and me didn’t get off to a great start, did we?’
His face breaks into another rare smile behind the binoculars.
‘And make sure it’s someone who’s good with geese,’ I add, realising that he really isn’t quite so bad after all; even quite fanciable in a grumpy kind of way.
Chapter Sixteen
‘We can take it in turns to sleep and keep watch.’ Sean looks up as I hand him his coffee. This time I have to step over his legs to get onto the settee. Not easy with a boiling hot cup of tea. Grace once more fills the gap between our feet and the wall and I pull my feet up underneath me, wrapping my hands around my cup. We slip back into silence and our own thoughts.
