‘Look, like this …’ He comes round to my side of the table and is now standing behind me. He suddenly puts his large hand over mine, holding the knife. My heart starts to quicken, as does my breathing. His fingers wrap around mine and my heart and my breathing quicken again. There’s a fizz of excitement in my stomach, like a passing crowd of butterflies have just done a Red Arrows fly-by in there, zooming in and out. I grip the oyster harder and push; his arms around me tense up and he pushes too and the shell starts to move. He wraps his other arm around me, his fingers cupping my other hand, and I can feel his warm breath on my neck. I think I may have stopped breathing altogether. Oh God, here comes the butterfly fly-by again.
Suddenly the knife slides into the oyster.
‘Great,’ he says, and his words dance on the skin of my neck. ‘Now, twist it to and fro until it pops.’ He loosens his grip on my hands but doesn’t leave me. I twist, rocking it this way and that, and then it pops.
‘As a champion shell-shucker once said, in order to open the oyster you have to first work out what’s keeping it closed,’ he says quietly. ‘There’s a muscle on the top and on the bottom. Slide the knife along the top edge of the oyster.’ He guides me and I feel the oyster muscle. He pushes my hand forwards and I cut at it. Clear juice starts to dribble out all over our hands and onto the table but we don’t move.
‘There, pull away the top of the oyster shell,’ he says, and I do. I’ve taken off the top shell and inside is the soft, fleshy, plump oyster.
‘We’re not finished yet,’ he says. ‘Now, slice under the oyster, there’s another muscle that needs to be cut before it’s free and can come out of the shell.’
I slice.
‘Good, now flip the oyster over in its shell and it will start to produce brand new liquor.’ I flip over the creamy oyster and it does just as he says. He lets go of my handsand I start to breathe again in short bursts, but my heart is still racing.
‘Now, all you have to do,’ he cups my right hand again and lifts it up, ‘is eat it.’ He holds it to my lips. The butterflies rush in and do a much more impressive fly-by, making my whole body shudder. I look at him then down at the oyster and bottle it. I shake my head. He gives a half-smile and puts the oyster to his own lips, tips it back, chews and swallows. I watch his throat muscles squeeze and move up and down, my own moving involuntarily at the same time. I’m staring at his throat and the oyster has gone. I’m breathing heavily again. My face is so close to his I can smell the salt on his skin. I can see his lips are wet. He bites at them, sucking in the last of the juice.
‘Now you’re on your own,’ he says, suddenly stepping back and returning to his side of the table. I feel like I’ve been blindfolded, spun around and then told to walk in a straight line. I wonder if he’s done it on purpose, if he knows the effect it’s had on me. I pick up an oyster, flustered and cross. I hold it in the towel and force the knife in. I twist and pop. I slice, open, slice, flip, and the juice runs free again.
‘Very good,’ he smiles, and I’m blushing, possibly glowing. It must be the exertion, I tell myself as I stand back from the table to admire my first shucked oyster just as our first customers roll up. But I don’t shuck. I spend the day seating customers, taking the money and serving them wine, leaving the actual shucking to Sean. It reminds me of being back in The Coffee House back home, which gives me an idea. That evening, with the radio playing and the fire dancing merrily, I set to work making lots and lots of chocolate brownies.
The next morning Freddie is halfway down the lane again. We’ll have to rename him Romeo and the white one Juliet at this rate. They’re obviously very much in love. I get himhome and let out the hens, and they mingle around my legs as I put down the food. Then it’s Brenda and her gang’s turn. I out-run her easily now. I double-check Freddie’s gate tie and then take Grace on the path around the bay to the rocky headland that leads to the second bay where the native oysters are nestling in their beds. You can’t get any further on foot. But it looks quiet and undisturbed and that’s the most I can hope for. A shiny black head pops up from the water. The seals! I sit down on a rock, pull my hood up against the drizzle and watch as two, four, six seals bob around, playing in the water in front of me.
Eventually I pull myself away from them and make the walk into town with Grace at my side and a large Tupperware box under my arm. I hesitate as I approach the café, but when I step inside it’s empty and I breathe a sigh of relief.
‘What can I get you?’ Gerald smiles broadly and the urn gives an enthusiastic rumble behind him.
‘Actually, Gerald,’ I say, gathering confidence as I speak, ‘I was wondering if I could do something for you.’
‘Really?’ He wipes his hands, shows me to a table and sits down opposite me. ‘If it’s about a job, I’m afraid I just haven’t got anything.’ He looks around at the empty café. I shake my head. I decide to let the brownies do the talking. I open the Tupperware box and the smell of warm chocolate wraps itself around me like a hug, filling the little café. Gerald’s enjoying the same feeling by the look on his face.
‘I’ll get some tea,’ he says.
When he’s back with the mugs he hovers his hand over the Tupperware box. ‘May I?’
I nod and he reaches in and pulls out a fat, gooey brownie. He looks at it like a jeweller studying a diamond. Then he bites. I watch his face. At first he doesn’t react, but then his eyes close, his head rolls back, and finally heopens his eyes again and smiles the widest smile.
‘My dear, they’re marvellous, but I’m not sure I can afford to buy them from you. You can see how business is.’ He looks around again. ‘Thursdays are busy because it’s court day in the local library, but other than that, this is the worst summer I’ve ever had. Between you and me, if things don’t pick up this will be my last season.’
I feel for Gerald. It’s a lovely café; well, it would be if he’d get rid of his ex-wife’s belongings.
‘Actually, Gerald, I was wondering if I could give you these to sell in exchange for me using the computer. I don’t want any money, just a straight swap for computer time.’
‘Really?’
‘I can make more if you don’t think there’s enough …’ I look at his gobsmacked face.
‘No!’
‘No?’
‘No, I mean, no, there’s plenty. That would be great. Let’s see how these sell and I’ll let you know if I need any more. And you work away. Use the computer as much as you like. You’re the only one round here who does, apart from Margaret, of course, but she’s got her own hand-held thingy. Delighted to do business with you.’ He stands up and takes the brownies. I go straight to the computer and start looking up local marquee companies and sending out emails about public liability insurance. It’s lovely sitting in the corner of the café, watching Gerald and the occasional customer. I like it here.
Chapter Twenty-eight
It’s early evening a week or so later when I hear a car coming up the lane. A little silver Fiesta with long eyelashes over its headlights is bouncing its way towards us.
Sean and I are hosing down the shed, getting the oysters ready for tomorrow’s farmers’ market after a full day of grading and washing.
