‘Ah no, I think you’ve got a visitor.’ He sweeps all the more forcefully.
‘Hi, Sean,’ Margaret beams as she jumps out of the car, making me cover a smile.
‘Did you not see the signs?’ Sean says grumpily. ‘No entry.’
‘Ah, Sean, I thought that was just tourists and oyster pirates you wanted to keep out.’
‘No, seriously, you could have an infection on your car that I don’t want near my oysters,’ he says, absolutely deadpan.
‘Hey, Margaret,’ I wave and go over to her. Margaret looks like the wind has been taken out of her sails. ‘What’s the matter?’
Just for a minute Margaret is able to ignore Sean and speaks to me as he walks off to the back of the shed.
‘Dan’s called a committee meeting at the pub, seven-thirty p.m.’ She’s looking worried. ‘I just hope he isn’t going to pull out. We haven’t had a single name for the shell-shucking contest or the Pearl Queen competition. I reckon he’s going to call it off. He won’t want to look a fool.’
‘Oh, Margaret.’ I put my arm around her. Sean turns back to me, frowning. The hosepipe is back on. Margaret pulls away and sniffs, holding her finger to her nose.
‘Phew, what’s that smell?’
I know. I put my fingers to my nose and sniff. There it is. The smell of the sea and oyster sacks.
‘Right, look, you go and get ready and I’ll meet you at the pub.’ Margaret still has her finger under her nose like a pencil moustache and is shooing me towards the cottage while she gets back into her car. I sigh. This is my life: oversized waterproofs and wellies and the smell of oyster sacks.
‘Actually,’ Margaret sticks her head out of the car, ‘come back with me. I’ll give you a makeover if you like.’ I’m ready to say no but she looks like the suggestion has cheered her up. How bad could it be?
‘OK, give me ten minutes.’ I run back into the shed to finish up. I ache and I can’t wait to have a shower and get clean. Maybe a makeover is just what I need. Sean’s still frowning.
‘So, you’re meeting up with Dan Murphy again, are you?’ He wipes his hands on a towel.
‘I don’t know why you don’t like him. At least he’s trying to help,’ I say before I can stop myself. I’m shocked. I don’t do arguments. Brian and I never argued, we just sort of skirted the issue. Another attack is out before I can stop it. ‘This festival is for you, y’know! To sell the oysters!’
‘Shh!’ He’s looking at Margaret who’s sitting in her car with the radio on.
‘She can’t hear anything,’ I tut.
‘I’m just being sensible.’
‘You’re being overdramatic,’ I say, using the towel. ‘These people want it to work as much as you do.’
‘Overdramatic? Well, it might have escaped your memory but Ijust lost an entire crop and I’m not prepared to do it again. I want this place and those oysters kept secret.’
‘But the point is to get people to see where they come from. You’re selling the package – the sea, the beach, the view, the clean air,’ I look around.
‘Careful, you’re beginning to sound as if you like the place.’ He raises one eyebrow and a half smile.
‘Oh you’re just … so … so … so … I’m going to the pub.’ I drop my broom loudly by the shed door in frustration. I can feel Sean’s surprise as he watches me walk over to Margaret’s car and get in.
‘Aren’t you going to bring any clothes?’ Margaret is leaning against her window.
There’s no way my pride is going to let me get back out of the car now. ‘How about I borrow something of yours? Make it a proper makeover,’ I say, hoping that Margaret might own some joggers and a sweatshirt I can borrow, or a pair of jeans and a T-shirt maybe.
‘Oh brilliant!’ Margaret perks up no end as she reverses the little car out on to the narrow track, just missing the gate post. And I suddenly realise that I have never seen Margaret in a pair of joggers or jeans, or anything that wasn’t dayglo or covered in sequins and sparkles. It’s like asking Lady Gaga for loungewear and I start to wonder what on earth I’ve let myself in for.
I feel like a sausage at a bar mitzvah; everyone’s staring at me and giving me a wide berth. Margaret has spent well over an hour getting my look ‘just right’. But ‘just right’ for whom? I’m not sure.
‘You sit down, I’ll get the drinks.’ She’s still admiring her handiwork. I get a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind the bar – at least I think it’s me. I’m wearing a bright pink T-shirt with ‘Poke me!’ written on the front, denim shorts with pearls and diamantes, leopard skin leggings underneath and a fake leather jacket with more bling on the back. The shoes are red and add another foot to my height. Maybe finding somewhere to sit out of the way would be a very good idea. I head for the corner of the pub where I sat on my first day here.
‘Over there,’ Margaret points to the group by the fire. I turn the high heels in the other direction, slowly. Evelyn’s glaring at me and it’s not the false eyelashes or the purple lipstick that’s offending her. I know exactly what theproblem is. It’s the brownies Gerald’s selling in the café. I saw her come in while I was working on the computer. She didn’t see me of course, tucked away, but she spotted the brownies straightaway.
