‘Boston, of course. You run my office, organise the diary, make sure I get to events, that kind of thing. I can find you an apartment and the pay’s pretty good.’ He’s looking straight ahead, like the poker player who knows he’s holding the winning hand.
Oh my God, this was everything I could have hoped for! A new job, far away from here. A fresh start.
The hens let out another almighty squawk and I still can’t see Grace. I have to find out if everything’s OK.
‘Just give me an hour or so to get my stuff. I’ll meet you back at the chalet.’
‘Arr, for feck’s sake!’ Sean shouted as he looked in a cupboard for painkillers and ended up knocking packets of neatly stacked cereal boxes to the floor. Even Grace didn’t jump forward to hoover up the bits, just stood patientlybehind him. He clutched his back. He was cross, mostly with himself. He shouldn’t have gone away. He shouldn’t have trusted his business to someone else. He was cross for taking his hands off the reins. A drunken blowout, here, for feck’s sake! So close to the oysters. He’d made it clear no one was to come to the farm.
If he was honest, though, he’d been so riled because he’d found the farm so different to how he’d been expecting it. He thought she’d be here on her own. He’d wanted to thank her for her hard work and loyalty, but she’d had plenty of company. In particular that Dan. He thought she’d have better taste. It was Margaret leading her astray; she was even starting to dress like her. But she wasn’t Margaret, she was lovely-looking as she was, natural. He stopped and pulled himself up. What was wrong with him? Now he was talking as if he fancied her.
‘Aww!’ he cried out again, pain shooting up through his lower spine. He dropped to the floor and lay there until the pain stopped. Grace whimpered and lay down by his side.
But she’d caused him trouble too, he reminded himself, looking up at the plastered ceiling. If it wasn’t for her, he wouldn’t have lost all those oysters in the first place. And now she’d let the world and his wife up on the farm, anyone could have found out about the native oysters. And on top of that she’d organised his house, the sheds and his business to within an inch of its life and he couldn’t find a feckin’ thing! He needed to find the painkillers, and then get the oysters into the van and get to market before he lost his pitch to the olive guy. When he got back, he’d go and check the oysters.
He went to lift himself up.
‘Aggghhh!’
He needed help, he thought resignedly. He needed Fi. He couldn’t do this without her, but there was no way she’d come back now. He’d seen her leave withDan, wrapped in his arms.
‘Arggggghhh!’ he yelled again, loudly, and collapsed back onto the floor.
The hens cluck round me like a returning friend. Even Brenda has second thoughts about chasing me and flaps around, delighted to be let out of her shed. I feed Freddie and Mercury. Down by the shore the oyster bags are in the shallows, waiting to be pulled out to go to market.
I take a deep breath and knock on the cottage door. There’s no reply. I knock again.
‘Go away!’ comes the reply.
I steady myself. I’m not scared of Sean Thornton.
‘I’ve come for my stuff,’ I say crossly, and then Grace barks. ‘Sean, I’ve come for my stuff.’ But he doesn’t reply. Well, it’s still my home too until I get my things, and I push down the door handle and march in.
I catch my breath. Sean’s lying on the floor. His face is pale, his eyes deep-set and dark.
‘Don’t go getting all panicky on me. I’m just doing some back exercises,’ he says, grimacing.
‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ I say, and rub Grace’s head, then she bolts outside. But I am worried. He’s obviously in a lot of pain.
I go into my room to fetch my things, wondering what to do.
‘I’m going then,’ I say, with a carrier bag of belongings, mostly made up of a torn and trashed wedding dress.
‘OK,’ Sean says.
Oh, he was so annoying.
‘Do you want a hand getting up?’ I offer.
‘Nope, just lying here, stretching out my back.’ He goes to make a move and yells in pain. ‘Just need to stretch out and then I’ll get to market. Was looking for painkillers but some idiot’s moved them.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ I drop the bag and go to him.
‘’S OK,’ Sean says again. He’s pale and there are beads of sweat on his forehead.
‘Who did this?’ I take hold of his upper arm and help him to sit up. ‘Was it Jimmy Power and his lad?’
Sean screws up his face. ‘What?’
