‘Thank you,’ Nancy poses for another picture.
‘Hope you don’t mind me taking your fiancée out for dinner as part of her prize,’ Dan jokes. Sean doesn’t move.
‘It was the perfect time to do it, what with all the press here,’ Nancy says under her breath. ‘Great publicity. The Pearl Queen and her oyster catcher, did you get that?’ she says loudly to the journalist.
‘We should’ve discussed this,’ Sean says under his breath, but I overhear.
‘Sorry. I just saw the opportunity and went for it. It’s great for business. Now, pose for a picture. Sorry, my shy fiancé,’ she flirts with the journalist. ‘And think how happy Maman and Papa will be.’ Sean looks at her then excuses himself and goes for a cigarette.
‘Congratulations,’ I’m quick to say to Nancy, to show I’m not at all distressed.
‘Thank you,’ she says smugly and sips her drink. ‘And once we’re married, what’s his is mine, right?’ She arches an eyebrow at me. ‘It’s our business. So whatever you think you might have overheard, or whatever plans you might have had for you and Sean, he and I are engaged now. It’s our business.’
The oysters. Of course, why else would she want to do this? She thinks I’m going to tell him about her plan. Shethinks I’m going to get in between her and the native oysters.
I take the tea towel from Margaret and mop the spilt drink from my dress.
‘They’re getting married.’ Margaret looks like she’s had all the fight taken out of her. She picks up a glass of Prosecco from the bar and knocks it back in one. Her night couldn’t get any worse.
I knock back another Prosecco too.
‘I thought it was a casual thing, a relationship of convenience,’ I say without thinking. Too late. Margaret is staring at me in horror.
‘It wasn’t Dan, was it? It was Sean!’
She bursts into tears and runs out of the bar. Nancy looks like a peacock showing off its colours, surrounded by the press. I feel like a bigger fool than I ever did when I first arrived here. It’s happening all over again. I grab my waterproof and half run, half stumble all the way back to the cottage. In my room I pull out the letter that arrived at the farm. It’s from Brian. But I can’t read it. My eyes are full of tears. I put my face into Grace’s fur and she keeps me company until dawn finally comes.
Sean drove back to the farm just before dawn and went straight out on the boat. What a fucking mess! He held his face to the wind and shut his eyes. His body ached from sleeping on Nancy’s settee. They’d had an almighty row when they got back after Nancy’s engagement announcement in the pub and he’d refused to join her in bed. He knew there was no way he could come home last night. Not until he’d worked this mess out.
He didn’t love Nancy. They’d never talked about marriage. She’d never wanted anything like that. It was a relationship that had worked for both of them. And then he’d met Fi. Funny, sweet, kind, trustworthy, brave Fi. She was alioness, protecting what she cared about. And he thought she had come to care about him. There’d been no mistaking the chemistry between them that day on the boat. He gave a little shiver of excitement at the memory.
The heron’s wings beat rhythmically beside him.
He didn’t want to marry Nancy, but without Nancy and the restaurant he wouldn’t be able to pay the loan back. He’d lose the farm, but most worrying of all, he’d lose Fi – if he couldn’t offer her a job she’d leave and he’d never see her again.
He let out the ropes, urged the boat to go faster. He stood up, feeling the full force of the wind against his body, shutting his eyes.
Nancy had organised an engagement party for the night before the oyster festival in The Pearl. All her friends and family were coming over from France and she hoped it would swell numbers even more and start the festival weekend with a bang.
There was nothing else for it. He had to go ahead with Nancy’s plan or he’d lose Fi for good.
The final few days before the festival drag. The weather matches my mood: dark, grey and miserable. Margaret hasn’t been anywhere near the farm and Sean has been staying in Galway, coming back early in the morning to harvest the oysters. He’s out on the boat, dredging them, and I’m in the shed, washing, purifying and bagging them ready for festival day. We work silently from sun up to sun down. When the tide is too far out to get the boat close to shore we float the oysters in on a raft and then load them onto the tractor and I drive them to the shed. I am more alone than I have ever felt before, and not in the physical sense. I’ve quite enjoyed being here with Grace, Freddie and Mercury, Brenda and the hens. But I have lost Sean for good. And I have lost my best friend. I take a break and sit down on a rock, on the banks of the bay, and hug myknees to my chest. Oh God! I cringe, putting my head on my knees. I’ve ruined everything.
The day before the festival, I’m up early but we’ve run out of tea. I grab my bag, call Grace and walk into town, swatting away midges as I wander towards Rosie’s in the early morning mist.
Outside the B&B there are lots of cars. I frown. One in particular I recognise. A black BMW. Nancy’s BMW. The front door suddenly opens and there’s Nancy. Her long dark hair is falling through the fingers of another as she kisses him farewell. She and Sean have obviously made up and decided not to stay at the farm. I scuttle on past, my head down.
‘Au revoir, à tout à l’heure,’ I hear her say. It’s unusual to hear her speaking French. Then he replies, in French. Only it’s not Sean, I realise, as I glance quickly round – just in time for Nancy to see me and for me to see Nancy sneaking out of another man’s room at dawn. I need to find Sean and tell him exactly what’s going on.
I march back to the farm and go straight to the sheds. Where is he? He’s not back. I grab a broom and start sweeping while I work out what I’m going to say. I switch the radio on as I pass it. The odd tiny crab scuttles out at me and I scoop them up and plop them into a bucket. I try and run through a mental list while working out what to say to Sean. The marquee is up. The chef from Galway has been emailing his requirements constantly. The B&Bs are ready for their guests, the Galway bands are booked, and the bar is stocked. The oysters have finally been harvested, cleaned and bagged.
I hear tyres on the gravel and run out.
‘Sean!’ I shout.
But it’s not Sean. Nancy is standing there wearing high black patent leather boots, and her hands are in the pocketsof her black coat, like an iron fist in a velvet glove. She smiles at me but I don’t attempt to smile back. I turn back to the shed. She follows me.
‘So, we all ready?’ she asks.
