‘I knew you’d do it.’ Maire claps her hands.
‘Do what?’ says Margaret, turning round to join me.
‘The oyster festival,’ says Maire. ‘Fi here is bringing back the oyster festival,’ she beams. It’s the best way I can think of to help Sean sell his oysters at a good price.
‘There’s not much time. You can’t get a festival together in eight weeks,’ says Evelyn.
‘We can all help: ideas, volunteers …’ Margaret is getting excited. ‘See, I told you, born leader. I knew you could front up the festival.’
‘Oh, I’m not going to front it up. What we need is that man there to be the face of the festival.’ And all eyes turn to look at Dan Murphy.
Chapter Twenty-four
‘You suggested doing what?’ Sean’s face drops. I’ve rushed through my morning jobs to tell him my news. He’s leaning against the kitchen cupboard. Nancy is putting on her boots.
‘I suggested we bring back the oyster festival. It’s the obvious answer. You can sell oysters on the day and use it as a platform to get big buyers.’
‘Forget it. It’s a ridiculous idea. A village fête, that’s all it is,’ Nancy interrupts while pulling on her left boot.
‘But this way the whole town will be involved and Sean’s oysters will be the main talking point.’
‘I don’t know,’ Sean shakes his head. ‘There’s a lot of history …’
‘But it’s the perfect way to put the past behind you. Prove to them all that your uncle was right all along. The waters here in Dooleybridge are clean.’
For a moment he says nothing.
‘It’s fine the way things are. Sean doesn’t need to prove anything to anyone round here. I do the selling. Everyone’s happy. I will be taking all native oysters for my restaurant. It’s all sorted. They are exactly what I need to get the New Restaurant of the Year award.’ Nancy stands up and pulls herself up to her full height. I turn to Sean, which means turning away from Nancy.
‘And there’s this American TV chef, Dan Murphy. We want to get him to be the face of the festival. He’s over here researching his family history.’
‘Did you say Murphy?’ Sean visibly stiffens.
‘Dan Murphy?’ Nancy suddenly looks interested. ‘He’s going to launch this festival?’
‘We’d like him to. He was the guy looking in the window the other night. He wanted to take photographs. He wasn’t responsible for the oyster raid,’ I tell Sean.
‘Hang on a minute. If you have a TV chef involved, this might work. It could be a great opportunity to launch the restaurant. With a celeb on board and true native Galway oysters on the menu, it could make all the difference to The Pearl.’ Nancy’s eyes are dancing like she’s on something.
Sean shakes his head. ‘People won’t come,’ he says.
‘Leave it to me,’ Nancy says, and Sean puts his cup in the sink.
‘This is why I didn’t tell you,’ he says quietly, and walks out.
Nancy turns to me. ‘You can help me, but don’t do anything unless you run it by me first. I need to meet this Dan Murphy and tell him what I need from him. In fact, you’d better come with me and introduce me. Set up a meeting for Thursday. Evening. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before.’
You didn’t, I think, but don’t say so. In fact, Nancy’s involvement suits me fine. I don’t want to be in charge. I’m more than happy to let her be at the helm. If it helps Sean get his oysters sold then I’m all for it one way or another. So I smile and say, ‘Of course.’ Out of the window I can see Sean is gathering ropes and planning to tow the tractor from its watery grave. ‘I have to get on,’ I tell her.
‘Fine. I have to meet the decorators at the restaurant. I’ll pick you up Thursday, about eight,’ she says bossily, then scoops up her big handbag, swings her hair and swoops out. She waves to Sean. I pull on my waterproofs and go down to meet him at the water’s edge.
‘Grab this rope. We’ll pull this thing out before I go to work.’
The water seems darker than usual, the drizzle wetter and colder. There’s no small talk as we finally pull the dripping tractor out of the deep, dark sand. I thought Sean was going to be thrilled with my plan for the oyster festival, but I get the impression he’s not happy with the idea, not happy at all.
The next couple of days pass in the same way. Sean only speaks when he needs to; otherwise, when he’s not at the sailing school, he’s got his head stuck under the tractor bonnet.
By Thursday I can’t stand the silence a moment longer. I make a coffee and open the back door. The wind and drizzle hit me in the face and I know the coffee’s going to be cold by the time I get it down to the tractor. I pull my coat round me.
