‘There!’ he suddenly shouts excitedly, making me spill some of my drink, as a burst of stars arc across the sky.
‘Was that …’
He nods, his eyes wide with excitement.
‘I’ve never seen a shooting star!’
‘You have now … make a wish,’ he says. I dry my hands on my trousers and do as he says, not feeling ridiculous. I close my eyes and wish that life could always be like this, uncomplicated.
He tops up the glasses again and we both sit back, our feet on the window sill, making up our own silly shapes in the stars. The cushions that were between us have fallen on the floor and Grace is using them as a pillow.
‘That one’s a unicorn,’ I say, pointing, ‘with a wand.’
‘A unicorn, more like a set of drums,’ he argues, and points again. I lean in to look where he’s pointing.
‘I can’t see it,’ I say, right up against his arm.
‘There,’ he points again and laughs and turns to me. Our faces are up close and for a moment the laughter stops, time seems to stand still and our eyes lock together. I can feel his breath and my stomach flips over and back again. Grace nudges my legs and I fall back to my side of the settee and stare straight out at the stars. Did I just imagine it or could we have kissed if I’d wanted to?
‘I have never seen anything so beautiful,’ I say, focusing my attention back on the night sky. ‘I didn’t get it before. All that rain and no real green fields. But I think I get it now.’
‘Get what?’ He takes a sip of whiskey.
‘Why people talk about Galway Bay. Write songs about it, you know. I won’t forget this …’
We carry on, lost in our thoughts and pointing out sillystar patterns, eventually leaning shoulder to shoulder, without realising it, as the early hours of the morning set in and sleep finally comes to both of us.
Chapter Seventeen
Whooof,whooooof,whoooof,whooooof!Grace’s battle cry catapults me from my deep sleep. I try to move but a sharp pain shoots up through my neck, crippling me. I clutch my hand to it and lift my head stiffly from its resting place: a shoulder and a denim shirt that I don’t recognise.
‘Where the …?’ My mouth is dry, my head fuzzy. A blast of cold air freezes me as a door opens behind me. Grace jumps up, throwing my legs into the air. I go to spin round and a sharp pain shoots up my neck again. I am suddenly fully aware of whose shoulder I’ve been sleeping on. I force myself to sit bolt upright, despite it hurting. Beside me, Sean’s stretching out slowly and yawning loudly. I daren’t look round, I just can’t make eye-contact. Falling asleep on your boss is about as embarrassing as it gets.
‘Well, well, well,’ a French voice with an Irish lilt says behind me. ‘What’s this?’
I’m half standing. The colour drains from my face. I don’t need to spin round to know that Nancy is standing in the doorway. I feel like I’ve been caught with my hands in the biscuit tin.
Sean’s up off the settee, swinging his legs over the arm.
‘Hey, Nance.’ He’s over and beside her in a flash, picking up the empty whiskey glasses as he goes. I can’t tell if he’s as embarrassed as me or delighted to see her, having had to spend an evening with me. Probably the latter. I hear him kiss her. I rearrange the cushions on the sofa, hoping my blushes will subside. Although why I’m blushing I have no idea. I’ve nothing to hide. I’ve donenothing wrong, but can’t work out why it feels like I have.
‘Oyster pirates,’ Sean’s explaining, matter-of-factly. But why wouldn’t he be matter of fact? Nothing happened. It’s all in my head. It was the whiskey, the stars, the moonlight, letting down my guard a bit, knowing I’m leaving. Except that in the moonlight and with a couple of whiskeys inside me, either one of us could’ve leant in and taken a kiss if we thought the other one had wanted it too. Thank God he hadn’t. I rearrange the cushions all over again.
‘Tried to take our stock last night,’ he’s explaining from the bathroom. ‘We’ve been taking it in turns to stay on watch.’
I can’t help but notice he’s told a little white lie. Why? A little jolt passes through me. He can’t be feeling the same as me. He’s probably just trying to save my embarrassment, which is really kind. My mind flits back to his warm breath on my face. Was it me? Or was it him? I can’t remember. I push it aside.
‘Who were they?’
‘Huh?’ I catch my breath and spin round to Nancy, cushion still in hand.
‘The pirates, who were they?’ She’s looking at me for a straightforward answer and I’m staring blankly back.
‘You were watching for oyster pirates. Then what happened?’ she prompts me again, then sighs and turns back to Sean in the bathroom. She must think I’m really stupid. Yet how could I explain that the stars had put on some kind of private extravaganza for my benefit, and how beautiful it had been? How could I explain that I’d listened and learnt about oysters and that I saw Sean in a whole new light? I think about his face, how it lit up, how he came alive. So different from the grumpy farmer I’d first met. This is a man who cares, very, very much, and that can’t make him a bad person. In fact, I rather liked the Sean I got toknow last night. I liked him a lot.
‘Sean, what happened?’ Nancy’s shouting through the bathroom door. But the sound of taps running drowns her out.
The oyster pirates hadn’t come back, or at least I don’t think they had. I go to the kitchen and put last night’s glasses in the sink. Nancy is looking at them and then back at me. I’m feeling uncomfortable, but I don’t know why, because nothing happened. I repeat this in my head. Maybe the problem is that I wish it had. The thought surprises me so much that a glass slips from my hand into the sink I’m filling with hot water and washing up liquid, splashing me with soapy suds.
