‘I mean, if we’re to have an oyster festival, here, today, we need to ditch this idea.’ I look around.
‘What?’ Margaret shrieks, her hands fly to her face. ‘Cancel it? Everyone wants to celebrate, what with the native oysters being back. Everyone’s so delighted. Ah, shite!’
‘No,’ I say slowly, ‘not cancel it, relocate it. Take it back to the farm. The tide’ll be out. If this festival is going to happen at all, it needs to be a festival the local people want.’ I look straight back at Sean. He stares at me hard, narrowing his eyes, but I stand my ground and stare back at him.
Suddenly he nods his head briskly. ‘Let’s do it,’ he says quickly and firmly, and Margaretshrieks and jumps up and down with delight.
Sean and I drive back to the farm in silence and at speed. Margaret and Dan follow in Margaret’s Fiesta, as do others in various different vehicles. Freddie and Mercury are missing from their field and there’s no sign of them on the lane up to the farm. Maybe the storm scared them.
‘Margaret, you get online and announce the venue change on Facebook, Twitter, and on our website. Oh, and stick a note on the door of the hotel too, just in case! Tell them the festival’s moved. Tell people to bring their wellies and come ready for a good old-fashioned oyster festival, the way it used to be. A tenner on the door and there’ll be music and food. Let’s see if we can get Dooleybridge oyster festival trending!’
‘Music? But the band’s cancelled,’ Sean says.
‘Sean, it may not be Wembley, but dust down your guitar and see who else you can rustle up to play with you.’ Surprisingly Sean doesn’t argue.
‘Oh, and can you organise for people to go out in the boat to collect some oysters or pick some up from the raft. It’s the best spring tide of the summer, according to the weather website. We should make the most of it.’
‘Who’s going to take them if I’m busy on stage?’ Sean protests.
I grin. ‘I can handle it.’
‘How are we going to feed everyone? The chef from Galway has refused to come out.’ Margaret looks worried.
‘Dan, follow me.’ I lead him and Margaret down to the old barn and fling open the doors. ‘We’ll put up the tables and chairs, and Dan, can you drag that out and fire it up?’ I point to the oil drum barbecue.
‘No problem, boss!’ he jokes, but I notice Sean is glowering at him.
‘Sean? Van keys?’ I hold up my hands in a cup shape.
He pulls away his stare from Dan and tosses them to me without question.
‘You boys, play nicely while I’m away,’ I joke, pointing to Sean andDan, buoyed up by my turn-around decision.
Happy that everyone is organised and we’ve got a plan, I drive back down the flooded lane, the pot holes filled with water. There’s a massive rainbow right across the town showing every colour. I reach the small bungalow at the end of a short drive on the other side of town. There’s washing on the line already, slightly greying, but blowing gaily in the wind regardless.
I knock on the white plastic front door.
‘Hello, Evelyn.’ She looks at me suspiciously but then we both speak at the same time.
‘I’m sorry to hear about the festival …’ she says.
‘About the festival …’ I say. We both stop.
‘You go first,’ I say politely.
‘Sorry about the festival, love. Hear it’s cancelled. I may not have said this before, but you put a lot of hard work into it.’
I smile.
‘Actually, Evelyn, it’s back on. Up at Sean’s farm. We’re going to have an old-fashioned oyster festival, music, pick your own oysters, and the shell-shucking contest. Everyone’s welcome.’
‘Really?’ Her face lights up. ‘Well, that’s grand! Just grand! Hear that, John Joe?’ she calls over her shoulder. ‘Ring the kids. Tell them the festival is on, just like the old days, up at Tom’s place. I mean Sean Thornton’s farm,’ she corrects herself. Accepted at last, I think happily.
‘Now, what can I do to help? Want any scones made?’ she rubs her hands together.
‘Actually, Evelyn, it wasn’t scones I needed,’ I say, hoping that this isn’t going to blow our new-found friendship. ‘I was thinking … how about fishcakes?’
‘Fishcakes?’ She screws up hernose.
