I’ve had enough of this. ‘Wait a minute. Are you telling me your hooker is your boat?’
He nods wildly, brushing away the tears. When he’s finally finished he straightens up. Every now and then a whimper of laughter escapes, but seeing my set face, he makes an effort to straighten his own.
‘I’m sorry.’ He holds up both hishands. ‘It’s my fault. I apologise. I should’ve explained.’ The smile tugs at the corners of his mouth again.
I’m feeling really cross now. My arms are still tightly folded and I’m tapping my toe.
‘Please, let me. Sit down.’ He pulls out a chair for me. ‘I’ll make the coffee. I promise you I’m not trafficking sex slaves or setting up a brothel.’ He’s still holding out the chair. ‘It’s just me here, plus Grace and my boat. Please, sit down.’ I take a step towards the chair. Not for the first time recently, I feel like I have ‘sucker’ written on my forehead. As I don’t have many options right now, I sit down.
He puts a coffee pot on the table in front of me and motions to me to help myself.
‘I’m a tea drinker,’ I say, not meeting his eyes.
He sucks through his teeth teasingly. I look up. He’s smiling at me this time, not laughing at me. He looks in the cupboards and manages to find a single abandoned tea bag. He throws it in a cup and pours on boiling water.
‘So you really are an oyster farmer then?’ I ask the question I should have asked yesterday.
‘Yes, I really am an oyster farmer, and I really do need an assistant. Not a prostitute …’ He quickly composes himself again. ‘I really didn’t mean to scare you,’ he says more seriously, pouring himself hot coffee.
We establish that the boat is a hooker, a traditional Galway fishing boat that used to be his uncle’s.
‘Look, I’ve got my inspection coming up for my oyster farmer’s licence. I’ve been here for three years and I need to pass it to keep my business. And it’s June. I’ll be starting work at the sailing school just outside Galway, teaching youngsters to sail at summer camps. It helps make ends meet. And …’ He’s suddenly very serious again, ‘I can’t be everywhere at once.’
‘So what does the job actually entail?’ I sip the tea and start to feel human again.
‘I’ll need you to help with the oysters themselves,bringing them in for grading and finishing them off ready to go to market. Then there’s the other animals to look after, and we need to make sure everything is as clean as it can be before the inspection.’
‘But I don’t know about oysters.’ I sip the tea again.
‘You don’t need to. You leave the actual growing bit to me. I’ll tell you when I need your help, but like I say, mostly it’s cleaning and house-sitting.’
It didn’t sound like my ideal job, but at least I wasn’t being sold as a sex slave.
‘It’s a precarious business, oyster farming,’ he says. ‘It’s not like we can call in a vet if the stock gets sick. And we can’t move them into shelter if the weather gets bad. But one of our biggest problems is theft. There’s the oystercatchers for starters – they’re a species of bird,’ he explains at my puzzled look. ‘They like to feed on my oysters. And then there’s the oyster pirates. The people who think they can come in and help themselves to your stock just because it’s in the sea. I’ll need you to be here, keeping an eye on things.’
He stops talking and picks up the red mesh bag he’s brought in with him. ‘What do you think of these?’ He empties the contents onto the kitchen table with a clatter, putting his arm round them to stop them falling off.
Even I can work this one out.
‘They’re oysters.’
‘That’s it?’ He tilts his head slightly and I can see he’s looking for more. But I can’t think of anything else to say.
‘Yes.’
He hesitates and then reaches for one. I lean back a bit. I don’t mean to, it’s an automatic reaction. He sits on the edge of the table, watching me with interest. He pulls out a knife from a pocket in the sleeve of his coat, pushes the knife into the hinge and twists it until it pops open. Then he slices along the top edge, pulls away the topshell, and shows me the slippery, slimy oyster inside.
‘Want to try one?’
The back of my hand shoots up to cover my nose. I grimace and shake my head. I can’t help it.
‘No thanks, I don’t like seafood,’ I say, muffled because my hand is still over my nose and mouth.
He cocks his head again and a smile spreads across his face. ‘Sure?’ he asks, his smile broadening, irritating me.
‘Sure,’ I say firmly, still holding the back of my hand to my mouth.
He looks at it then tips it into his own mouth. ‘Good,’ he says, chewing and swallowing. ‘Now all I have to do is leave them to it.’ He smiles briefly and gathers up the rest of the oysters.
