‘Oh my God!’ I shout and hug Margaret. The whole group is on its feet in excitement, chattering, shouting and hugging like we’ve won the Eurovision Song Contest. We haven’t. But we have got ourselves an oyster festival. Margaret whips out a phone and the flash of a camera goes off. We all cheer and order more drinks. Sean even manages a smile in my direction and the butterflies perform a quick unscheduled flyby in my stomach.
‘Looks like this festival has got legs after all.’ Dan raises his glass to Sean, who warily raises his pint back.
Chapter Twenty-nine
The walk home is dark and a bit wobbly. Probably all that white wine sloshing around inside me. Or maybe it’s the heels. My feet are killing me. I shine the torch I’ve borrowed from the pub in front of me. I just hope Dan’s plan works. This could be it! Nancy’s restaurant will get all the publicity and I’ll have helped Sean pay back the loan. All we have to do is keep the oysters safe. Dan has come through for us – well, Mary Jo has. Dan’s a good man, his heart’s in the right place.
As I think about Dan my mind immediately switches back to Sean’s smile. Had I imagined it? Had that smile been just for me in the pub tonight? Or was he simply pleased the festival was going to work?
I look up at the stars, remembering the silly names we’d given them the night before the inspection.
‘Hey, English!’ I hear his voice and shake my head. Way too much wine, I think.
‘English, wait up!’ I turn to see a figure jogging towards me. My heart begins to race.
‘Sean?’ I shine the torch right at him and squint as the familiar outline comes into view. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack.’
‘Sorry.’ He’s slightly out of breath. ‘You nearly blinded me.’ He’s holding up an arm to cover his eyes.
‘I thought you were staying in town with Nancy,’ I say, shining the torch away from his face and back to the pavement. He drops his arm.
‘Change of plan,’ he says matter-of-factly. ‘Early start.’
‘For you or for her?’
‘Both of us,’ he says, and we fall into step beside each other. Sean is walking in the road and I’m on the thin pavement. The sound of our feet is the only noise against the backdrop of whispering waves from the sea. Crunch, crunch, crunch; Sean’s boots march on. Clip, clip, clippety-clip; I try really hard not to trip up on the stony path but it isn’t easy in Margaret’s heels.
‘So,’ he finally breaks the silence. ‘Whose idea was the new look?’ I can’t see his face but I can hear his smile. I bristle.
‘Actually,’ I begin, before catapulting into his side and making him break my fall. Suddenly I start to laugh too. ‘Margaret’s. Terrible, isn’t it?’ I say. He’s still holding my arm.
‘Take them off!’ he instructs.
‘What? I can’t walk home barefooted!’ I protest.
‘You’re not going to. Take them off and climb on.’ He turns his back to me.
‘A piggy back?’
‘We’ll be here all night otherwise,’ he says.
I think about arguing but my feet are throbbing. I don’t know that I can make it on my own. I slip off the shoes and quickly jump on to his back – not something I would ever have considered without the wine.
As he carries me up the lane, I can hear the noise of the waves as we get closer to the farm. The tide’s in. I’m telling him about Evelyn and the brownies, which he finds very funny.
‘Shh,’ he says suddenly and stops. We hear it at the same time. He bends down and drops me with only a tiny oomph, then runs as fast as he can up the rest of the lane. I slip on the shoes and stumble towards the farm as best I can. Clip, clip, clippety-trip. Hop, stumble, clippety-clip. Sean is there way before me and as I come closer I see there’s a light out on the water.
‘Get Grace,’ he hisses. He’s over by the boat, undoing the ropes.
‘Be careful,’ I say in a low whisper. It’s dark out there. How will he see where he’s going?
I run to the cottage and let Grace out. She bounds out, nearly sending me head over heels in her excitement.
‘Get them, Grace! Pirates. Pirates!’ I grab my waterproof and wellies from inside the front door. I run down the stony bank to the shoreline, stumbling over loose stones as I go, but it’s an improvement on the high heels. The ground gets wetter and my feet begin to sink in the soft mud, throwing up its familiar smell. The torch light snaps up and shines right at me. I hold up my hand to cover my eyes. I can hear laughter. It sounds like more than one voice. I try and make out them out.
‘You feckin’ bastards!’ I hear a slap of sails and see a torch flashing around frantically. Sean’s got the boat out and is heading for them. ‘You bastards! You sons of bitches! Thieving shites!’ He carries on his tirade, waving a hand in fury as the boat slaps through the water. There’s a shout and another splash from near the pirate boat, like a bag of oysters being dropped and left behind. There are muffled argumentative voices and then the other boat’s engine changes from its annoying little hum to a high-pitched whine as it shoots off into the dark night, whooshing through the water.
‘Bastards! I’ll feckin’ kill ya!’ Sean’s still roaring as the little boat phut, phut, phuts off into the night and suddenly it’s all silent again.
