‘Patsy, call the Garda. This man stole Sean Thornton’s oyster crop last night.’ She could just as well have said ‘J’accuse!’
‘Righto,’ says Patsy, slinging his tea towel over his shoulder and making his way out of the bar to the back room.
‘Hey now, hang on! I didn’t stealno oysters! I was just looking, that’s not a crime is it?’
‘It is if you’re looking to steal them!’ Margaret, as self-appointed prosecutor, continues, and the crowd at the table by the fire all bang their glasses and mutter, ‘feckin’ right’ instead of ‘hear, hear’.
‘I wasn’t stealing any oysters!’ There’s a hint of desperation creeping into his voice, as though he’s about to get lynched. His companion shakes her head, looking worried for him. ‘Honestly, I’m no thief! Look, I’m Dan Murphy, from Boston.Murphy’s Seafood Suppers? TV series?’ He looks at Margaret for some recognition but gets none. ‘Mary Jo, get her a copy of the book. Tell you what, I’ll sign it for you,’ he says, as if trying to soothe a frustrated toddler. Mary Jo nips out of the front door.
‘I don’t care if you’re Michel Roux himself!’ Margaret persists. ‘You can’t just come round here helping yourself to people’s oysters. It’s their livelihood. This place was built on oyster farming. We used to be known worldwide for our oysters and our oyster festival.’
‘I know! That’s why I came. My family is from here. I’m researching a new book about my family’s ancestry, visiting some traditional Irish pubs, eating in oyster houses, following the food trail across the country.’ Mary Jo comes back in and hands him a book. ‘Look, it’s me! Dan Murphy.’ He shows her the smiling photo on the front cover. ‘I did come to the farm the other night,’ he says in a lower voice, and tempers seem to be calming a little. ‘I thought it was a beautiful place and I wanted to take some photos for the new book. Then I saw,’ he raises an arm in my direction, ‘in the … buff.’ Sniggers from the two barflies and Frank who gets an elbow in the ribs from Evelyn. Rosie and Lily both have their heads cocked adoringly to one side, staring at Dan. ‘So I jumped in my car and scarpered. I’m sorry, really I am. I didn’t mean to scare you. In fact, if anyone got scared half to death it was me when that dog went for me. But honestly, I wasn’t planning to steal any oysters.’
There’s silence.
‘I’ve seen your programme, you’re lovely … I mean, it’s lovely,’ says Rosie, and Lily nods in agreement. Dan’s smile spreads across his face again. He looks to be back in his comfort zone. He offers the book to Rosie, who accepts it with a giggle, especially as he signs it: ‘To Rosie, with love, Dan’.
‘Garda’s on his way,’ Patsy announces, and I suddenly get that sinking feeling. What if I was mistaken? I didn’t actually see his face. But if Dan Murphy didn’t steal the oysters, who did?
‘So you see, Officer, I didn’t steal any oysters, I was just taking some shots for my new book. It’s a great setting.’ He pulls out his phone and starts showing the photos he took. ‘And then I accidentally scared the living daylights out of this young woman here.’ Dan is telling the story again, only this time he’s sitting down at a small round table with a pint in front of him. Garda Eamon is taking down all the details in his black notebook.
‘What makes you think it was this man?’ the Garda looks at Margaret who’s got one hand on her hip. She points at me with the other one.
‘She told me,’ says Margaret. ‘She was there.’
Garda Eamon looks at me and rolls his eyes. ‘You again?’ he says, as though I’m the local troublemaker, and ridiculously I feel like it.
‘Well, he was looking in through the window one night and then the oysters were gone. What else was I supposed to think?’
‘Sorry about the trouble,’ says Garda Eamon to Dan, giving me another sideways look.
‘No problem, have a book,’ Dan says, giving him one from the pile Mary Jo has brought in from the car. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘Don’t mind if I do, I’ll have a pint.’ Garda Eamon takes off his hat and lays it on the bar. ‘So you’re researching your ancestors, you say, what was their name?’
I’m furious with myself. Rosie and Lily are fawning over the photos in the book. And it’s not the food they’re looking at. Even Evelyn is a little excited about having a ‘celebrity’ in the town.
‘Grandad would be the one to tell you. He knows everything there is to know about these parts.’ Garda Eamon nods to a sleeping Grandad.
‘All I know is they were oyster farmers here. Heard stories about the oyster festival.’
Margaret and I sit at the other end of the bar and pour two more glasses from the bottle. I knock it back, hoping it’ll take away my embarrassment. I listen to Dan telling everyone how it was in his blood, oysters and restaurants, and how he’s so proud to be back where it all began for his family. I find myself saying ‘blah, blah, blah’ in my head.
‘I’m never going to fit in around here,’ I say to Margaret. I feel even more of an outsider than ever. This Dan Murphy is suddenly being treated like a local because he’s got a relative who once came from here. However hard I try I’m never going to fit in.
‘Hey, maybe you could open our table top quiz – a celebrity guest!’ says Rosie.
‘Yes, or do a cookery demonstration for us,’ shouts out Evelyn.
‘Or a sponsored leg wax,’ says Lily, and they all go quiet and look at her.
Margaret and I finish the bottle, deep in our own thoughts. All I know is I can’t leave Dooleybridge yet. I have to find a way to help Sean get his business back on track before I can do that. He’s given me a second chance and I have to try my best. I can’t mess this up now. I need to find a way to pay off my debt, and I think the answer may just be staring me right in the face. I swing round to the group by the fire.
‘You know, you were right, Maire.’ I wave my glass in her direction.
‘Was I, dear?’
‘This town needs to forgive and forget. The past is the past. It needs its oyster festival back.’ She stops doing Evelyn’s knitting for her.
