‘Ready?’ she nods to the two judges who are enjoying oysters and bread, and then to me. I take a deep breath and nod back. ‘Let’s get this competition started!’ Margaret slips on her sash and tiara and rings the bell with gusto.
Sean is standing a little way from the other competitors, one foot up against the wall. He’s rolling his shucking knife round and round in his hand, staring at it as if his life depends on it. And it does. I want to go over and ask him about last night, but I can see it’s not a good time. If what Margaret says is true, could this mean there might just be a chance for us?
‘So this is the first round of Dooleybridge’s resurrected oyster-shucking competition,’ Patsy shouts into the microphone.
‘Yay!’ There’s a huge cheer, the loudest from Margaret. She has a pen in one hand and a stopwatch in the other. Next to her is Grandad, beaming from ear to ear.
‘So, round one,’ Patsy reads out the list of four contestants as they make their way on to the stand. One is Swedish, two from Clifden, and Frank. Patsy blows his whistle and Margaret pushes down on her stopwatch. The crowd noise begins to swell as the contestants quickly and methodically push their knives into the oyster hingethen prise off the top shell. They work skilfully, their blades catching in the sunlight. When each shucker has shucked all thirty oysters, they step back from the table, signal to Margaret and their time is noted.
The judges, one French, one a restaurant owner from Galway, and another a big seafood seller in the city, all step up to the table to inspect the boards. They move along the line, pointing out the oysters, looking for stray bits of shell and tidy presentation. The four men leave the stand.
‘’Scuse me, Fi? Fiona?’ Grainne, the journalist, interrupts my thoughts.
‘Sorry, miles away,’ I say.
‘I wonder if I could just ask you a few questions, about how you came to be in Dooleybridge. You were on your honeymoon, weren’t you?’ She’s holding her mobile phone out to record what I say.
My heart suddenly starts pounding like the noise of an impatient crowd. Nancy’s gone through with it! She’s told the journalist about me. I look around in panic and see Nancy in the doorway. She’s whispering to Dan, who nods and then makes his way to where the other competitors are waiting.
So, hell hath no fury, I think. Sean’s finished with Nancy and now she wants to bring me and him down. Looks like that’s where Dan’s got his information from too.
‘Fi?’ the journalist pushes.
The judges nod in agreement.
‘Sorry, I have to go.’ I dash up to help Margaret clear away the boards of oysters and set up for the next round.
This time it’s Nancy’s French friend Henri, who gives Sean a smile as he rolls up his sleeves. There’s also a Galway shucker and one from Clarenbridge, the winner of the world shucking competition three years in a row, and a Londoner.
‘Some of them seem to be slower than usual, not usedto shucking the native oysters, it seems,’ Patsy says, like he’s commentating on Formula One motor racing. ‘And these oysters are from right here in Dooleybridge!’ A cheer goes up from the crowd.
But this round ends in disaster for the world title holder when he catches the corner of his board just as he’s finishing in front and the whole lot flips over and hits the ground. There’s a groan and at the back of the room little betting slips are ripped up like confetti around Seamus and Padraig, who are rubbing their hands. Grace dashes in to help clean up the tipped oysters while I run and get a mop.
‘Look, you might as well know,’ the journalist is waiting for me as I come out of the house, ‘I’m going to write about you and how you came to be here anyway. So help me get it right,’ she shrugs. I look at the phone she’s holding out and then give my mop bucket a nudge, slopping soapy water over her high-heeled boots.
‘Urgh!’ she jumps back and I rush back to the barn. I clean it up and then get up on the stand with Margaret to set up again.
‘Nancy’s told the journalist,’ I whisper to Margaret as we put the oysters onto platters ready to hand round to spectators.
‘Told her what?’
‘About me!’
The crowd are getting drinks from the bar at the back of the barn. Nancy is standing at the back too, next to Jimmy Power and his son. She nods to Dan and then looks at me and smiles, revenge written all over her face.
‘What about you?’ Margaret looks puzzled as she wipes down the table.
‘About how I came to be here. About how I was jilted and my husband ran off with the best man,’ I hiss again.
‘Oh my God!’ She stands up suddenly and it looks like the penny has dropped and smacked her over the head. Dan is making his way to the stand and everyone iswatching him. Margaret straightens the last couple of oysters.
‘How do you know?’
‘That journalist has just told me. I’m going to have to get out of here—’
‘Everything all right?’
I jump and turn. It’s Sean. I feel lightheaded for a second or two.
