Chapter Thirty-eight
The next evening I pull into the drive and notice it straightaway. The hooker is missing. There’s nothing there. My heart starts pounding. How will I tell Sean about this one? Then, just as I’m about to get back into the van and go and call the Garda, it comes into view round the corner of the bay. Its big red sails are full and fat. Sean is sitting with his hand on the rudder, but when he sees me he stands up and throws his hands in the air.
‘They’re ready!’ he shouts at the top of his voice. ‘They’re feckin’ ready!’
A huge surge of excitement bubbles up in me and I run down to the water’s edge. I can see the sheer joy on his face.
He’s smiling like he’s won the lottery. And his back looks to be holding up well too.
‘Get a lifejacket, quick!’ he shouts, and without giving it a second thought I run up to the shed and put the lifejacket over my head and do up the ties. I run back to the shore. Grace is bouncing up and down. Oystercatchers fly off and land again. The heron is there, flying slowly and steadily by the side of the boat. Sean pulls up at the little jetty and throws the rope to me.
‘You have to come and see, they’re perfect!’ He grabs my arms and I wonder if he’s going to hug me, but instead he turns to help me into the boat. I’m shaking but take his hand and let him guide me.
‘Sit up here beside me,’ he says, and we sit either side of the rudder. Sean flicks and pulls at the ropes. But I’m still clinging to the side for dear life and I keep focused on the shoreline.He unhooks the rope and pushes us away from the jetty.
‘OK?’ he asks, still beaming, and I nod. We say nothing until we’re out in the middle of the bay.
‘Here, you take it,’ he pushes the rudder towards me. At first I shake my head, but he does it again and so I quickly let go of the side of the boat and grab the rudder. It’s harder than I was expecting. The wind is in Sean’s hair, making the curls bounce this way and that. He looks alive and happy, really happy.
‘There, now you’re in control. You decide where you want to go.’ He puts his hand over mine just for a second or two, helping to push me out round the headland from where I took the pictures of Seamus and Padraig. The seals are there to greet us, bobbing up and down playfully.
‘Right,’ Sean takes over the rudder and puts us in the middle of the second bay. Then he drops the anchor. ‘Look,’ he says, standing in front of me with one foot on the side of the boat. It’s swaying to and fro and I’m feeling uneasy again. ‘There’s nothing to be scared of. Nothing will happen, and if it does, I’m here.’ He gives a little shrug. He pulls off his raincoat with a slight wince. Underneath is his wetsuit. He pulls out his knife, the one from the box of photos, and puts it in his mouth.
I tentatively look over the edge. The water is as clear as can be and I can see all the way to the bottom. There are layers and layers of round shells.
‘Splash!’ The boat sways from side to side and I catch my breath and cling on. But like Sean says, he’s there. He comes up from under the boat, his hands full of the oysters.
‘Here,’ he hands the round, wet shells to me and I let them tumble at my feet. Then he grabs the edge of the boat and swings himself in.
‘You see the different shape,’ he says, brushing away the water from his face. ‘They’re flatter, rounder.’ He picks one up and so do I. ‘Its shell is harder. It has to be tosurvive in the wild.’ He looks straight at me and I look quickly at the oyster. The shell is ridged with a slight blue-green sheen. ‘And they’re harder to open, a lot harder.’ He pushes in the knife with force and then slides it and twists it until it gives a really loud ‘pop’. He looks up at me again and we smile together. He slides the knife along the top shell and opens it up. The flesh inside is plump and creamy. He flips it over and the juices run.
‘Sunny side up,’ he says. ‘You try. Hold it in the palm of your hand. Put the frill into the base of your thumb.’ I watch and follow. ‘Now squeeze the knife into the hinge.’
He’s right, they are hard to open. I grip the knife harder and suddenly the hinge breaks and I slide the knife along the inside of the top shell, cutting through the muscle.
‘Did you ever think you’d be doing this when you came to Ireland?’ He watches my hands.
‘There’s a lot of things I never thought I’d do before I came to Ireland.’
‘Not all bad, I hope.’ He looks up at me and it’s 5 November in my stomach.
‘No, not all bad.’ I pull off the top shell and flip the oyster inside over with a proud smile. ‘I thought I was safe, you see, with Brian. Life was mapped out. I thought that was what a good relationship was,’ I find myself saying, and feel he understands.
‘You don’t need to feel safe,’ he says as I move the oyster towards his lips. ‘You need to love and be loved back.’ He doesn’t take the oyster from me; instead I put it to his lips and tip it up. Some of the juice trickles down the side of his mouth. I take away the shell and he chews and swallows. I open another oyster and hold it to his lips.
‘Impressive,’ he says, and catches hold of my hand and looks me straight in the eye. My breathing is heavy and slow. My whole body is aching with desire.
‘You don’t need to learn how to open oysters,’ he says softly. ‘You need to learn how to eat them.’ He takes myhand and guides it to my mouth. He is up on his knees in front of me. I can smell the saltiness of the sea and the minerals. He moves it closer still, so the fringed edge of the shell is sitting on my bottom lip. Our eyes are locked together. I can taste the briny liquid. I lick the juice from my bottom lip and then suddenly he tips the shell up and I open my mouth just enough to let it in. It’s soft and meaty. I bite down and suddenly there is a rush of the sea on my tongue, a blast of the Atlantic and a faint metallic taste.
I can feel his hot breath on my face, watching as I chew the oyster and swallow, and then smile widely. Slowly, I open my eyes to see his face up close to mine, smiling too. He looks into my eyes, his own sparkling with excitement. We hold each other’s gaze, then, hesitant at first, our faces tip slightly to one side. My lips are aching to touch his and I lift my chin just a little more. My heart is thrumming to the same beat as the one between my legs. He looks into my eyes again and then, like magnets, unable to resist each other’s draw, his mouth is on mine and a full-blown firework display like new year’s eve at midnight takes place in my belly. The sun is beginning to set in the salmon pink sky.
The outside world melts away; there’s only him and me. The wind sets my skin alive as we wrap our arms and bodies around each other, let our lips find each other’s again, and there, nestled against the polished wood and lifejackets, the coils of rope concealed in the hull of the boat, lost in the moment, I let wave after wave of pleasure wash over me.
What in God’s name just happened? I’m sitting in the boat, lifejacket and the rest of my clothes back on. I feel like my body’s been woken from a 100-year sleep, jump-started after years of neglect. I mean, I know what happened. The most fantastic sex I’ve ever had just happened. I can’t help but glance sideways at him to find he’s doing the same to me. I’m smiling and it won’t leave my lips. I’d forgotten what it was like to enjoy life, enjoy sex. To say that my sex life with Brian was boring is the understatement of the century.
‘I didn’t mean for that to happen,’ Sean says.
‘But I’m glad it did,’ I say boldly.
