Sean’s face seems to soften a little.
‘Too rustic. Forget the shells, gorse and stones. Keep it white and simple. I want it classy,’ Nancy instructs. ‘Tables and chairs?’ she directs at Sean.
Sean puts down his pint and nods. ‘From when the festival used to be run by my uncle and the others round here. They’re mostly long tables and benches.’
The locals turn to look at him but no one comments.
‘Oh no, we’ll need something better than that,’ Nancy cuts in. ‘Get the marquee company to lay them on.’
‘But won’t that be eating into profits?’ I protest.
‘If we manage to sell the tickets,’ Margaret looks like a deflated balloon. I reach out to touch her hand. ‘I can’t raise much interest in the press and no one has signed up for the shell-shucking – and there are only three entrants for the Pearl Queen contest, including me!’
Everyone sighs.
‘Shame,’ says Rosie. ‘I’ll enter the Pearl Queen competition, Margaret, if it helps.’ She pats Margaret’s knee.
‘Look, maybe it’s best to cut your losses. It was a great idea but people don’t associate Dooleybridge with oysters any more. They go round the other side of the bay for that, and anyone who wants to sell their oysters round here sends them to Dublin or France. That’s the only way to make it pay these days,’ Sean says flatly. ‘That’s what Nancy knows.’ Sean waves his hand at Nancy who looks like she’s silently seething.
‘It’s ridiculous,’ she says with a Gallic shrug. ‘How hard can it be to rustle up some media interest and deliver a classy meal for potential customers? I’m doing my bit. I have the customers and the contacts, but they’ll want to know there’s something worth coming for. Amateurs,’ she tuts testily. ‘I’m sorry about this, Dan. I really think I’vebeen let down by certain individuals here.’ She looks at me and then Margaret. ‘You said you were great on back-room work,’ she hisses to me.
Sean bristles. ‘Now hang on,’ he says, putting down his pint.
‘What?’ Nancy throws him a challenging look.
‘I don’t think you need to be so hard on everyone,’ Sean says to my surprise. ‘It just wasn’t ever going to work like this. I think we,’ he emphasises the ‘we’, ‘need to go back to the drawing board, in private.’ He nods his head in the direction of the door.
The rest of the group are staring at Sean and Nancy like an episode ofCoronation Street. Sean picks up his jacket. Nancy doesn’t move. Dan breaks the ice with a melodramatic cough. We all turn to him.
I would have liked to tell Nancy that I’d done everything she asked me to do, and that if only she’d done it my way then more of the locals would’ve been involved and interested. They don’t want a ‘classy’ do where they’re the hired help. They want a good old-fashioned oyster festival, like it used to be. But what would I know? I’m just the blow-in. I take another swig of wine. Dan coughs again. I wonder if he’s going down with something. Must be the damp air. He looks slowly around.
‘Well, I’ve had an email today. Mary Jo’s leaving me. She’s pregnant again. She’s taking a career break.’ He sucks in his lips.
‘Oh that’s lovely,’ I say without thinking, pushing aside the twinge of envy again.
‘I need the career before I can have the break,’ says Margaret sulkily.
‘I’d take the career any day,’ says Nancy with a shiver, looking at Sean.
‘Hmm, leaves me in the lurch a bit, however …’ Dan says, enjoying the audience’s attention.
‘Oh no, that means you’re going back and the festivalwill definitely be cancelled,’ Margaret wails. ‘You’re the only thing we actually got confirmed.’
Nancy takes a sharp intake of breath. If Dan’s leaving, Margaret’s right – there definitely won’t be a festival.
‘Actually, on the contrary. Mary Jo has been working on a deal and has just got it in place before she leaves.’ His eyes are bright. ‘She’s managed to secure a sponsorship deal. The TV company I work for want to come over and film the festival.’ He beams. ‘It’ll be a great finish to my book and great publicity.’
‘Bit hard if it’s just three people in the shuck-off and a bottle of flat fizz. No offence, mate, but this is going to make you look a bit of a prat,’ Sean says, fiddling with a bar mat.
Dan takes a deep breath and then says, ‘Not with a €10,000 prize for the shell-shucking contest it isn’t. And no offence taken,’ he shoots back at Sean.
‘What?’ Margaret’s hands shoot to her face and hold her cheeks.
‘Say that again?’ I ask in shock.
‘The TV company is putting up a €10,000 prize for the winner of the Dooleybridge oyster festival shell-shucking contest,’ he beams at me.
For a moment no one says a word and then Margaret screams and throws herself on Dan.
