‘English? You OK?’ His face is full of concern. If Margaret’s right and Sean has walked out of his engagement party, this competition really is his only chance now to pay off the loan and keep his farm.
Dan is smiling as he takes to the stand. The sharks are circling and I feel as if someone has walked over my grave.
‘Fine, fine,’ I say. ‘The oysters look great,’ trying to cheer him along. ‘Everyone’s loving them.’
‘Tasted one?’ He half smiles and all my fury melts.
I shake my head and say, ‘Good luck.’ There’s so, so much more I want to say, but for now ‘good luck’ will have to do. He stares at me and I can’t stop looking back into his eyes.
‘Look, I really need—’ he starts to say and touches the tips of my fingers. Sparks of electricity run through me.
‘Fiona? It’s Fiona Goodchild, isn’t it?’ The journalist is beside me again. I snatch my hand away and turn to her. Sean gives her a dark look. I go to walk away and Sean grabs my wrist.
‘You’re sure you’re OK?’ I nod and look at Nancy whose face is frozen. Sean lets go of my arm. ‘We need to talk, as soon as I’m done here,’ he says firmly.
‘OK,’ I say as he takes off his jacket. He’s wearing a white T-shirt, the top of his arm rippling with tension as he rolls the knife in his hand. He takes his place on the stand. I don’t want anything to distract him. He has to win this. I can’t watch.
I try to edge away from the journalist and into the growing crowd. She follows me.
‘I’m sorry. I can’t talk now, I’m busy … festival to run and all that … busy, busy, busy,’ I try to sound light-hearted. Patsy is counting down. A hush falls over the barn and all eyes are focused on the stand.
‘Three, two, one …’
It was hot in there. He ran the back of hand across his forehead. Beads of sweat were making him blink. He rubbed his face again with the back of his hand. If ever he needed to concentrate, it was now. He wasn’t bothered that Nancy was there. She and he were history. His only regret was taking his eye off the ball as far as his sales were concerned. He’d trusted her, when all the time his trust had been misplaced, he realised. He looked to his left. It was a Finnish competitor. They nodded to each other and the Finn smiled. Then he looked to his right. It was Dan. He felt himself tense up. Were he and Fi an item now? Was she leaving with him, going to America? He was taking away the woman he realised he loved. Who else would go out in a storm to save the oysters and delay her move to a new country to help at a local festival? Who else could make him laugh when they were grading oysters in the pouring rain, work by hand when the generator broke down and keep him from giving up, even now. He dared a quick glance up. The journalist was still talking to her and she looked like she was trying to get away. He glanced to his right again. Dan looked wolfish. He had his baseball cap on backwards and Sean felt an overwhelming urge to flick it off and wipe the smile off his face. But he took a deep breath. ‘Come on. Focus,’ he told himself.
He had to beat Dan. There was no way he could let him take his farm and Fi. Sean had wanted to throw him off his land when he’d turned up with his pathetic offer to buy the farm that morning. He and Nancy were init together, he was sure. Winning this was a far better way to show Dan what he could do with his offer.
He felt his jaw twitch. His eyes came into focus as he picked up the first oyster. His oysters, round and ridged. It sat in the palm of his hand. He just had to win the prize money, pay off the loan, and he was back in business.
‘Three,’ he heard Patsy shout. The noise of the crowd began to disappear as he entered his own tunnel of concentration.
‘Two!’ His determination deepened. He gripped the oyster tighter. His knife was poised for war. He needed to win this, but he realised he needed Fi more and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her again. He’d already thought he’d lost her once.
‘One!’ He focused on the hinge of the muscle and pushed the knife towards it. Everything had gone silent. He prised open the first oyster and slid the knife across the top shell. It felt good, just like old times. He would win this and then he would ask Fi to stay. His eyes flicked up momentarily towards the door where Fi was exchanging cross words with the journalist. She was about to run out. The journalist followed. He couldn’t lose her again.
‘Hey, English!’ he shouted as he saw her trying to leave and the journalist following her. ‘No! Don’t go!’ And his knife clattered to the floor.
Chapter Forty-seven
‘No, no way!’ I hear him shout. The front door of the cottage slams shut.
I’m grabbing my belongings.
‘You can’t do this, not again.’ Sean is standing in the doorway.
‘Sean! Get back in there! You’re on, for God’s sake!’ I can hear myself but my voice is choked with tears.
‘I’m not going back in there until I can be sure you’re not going to do another moonlight flit.’ He’s angry and his face is etched with pain.
‘Sean, you don’t understand. I have to go. I came back and got the festival up and running. I came back to give you your chance at making this happen. Now I have to go or … or …’
‘Or what?’ he demands, leaning against the door and holding one hand inside the other as if cradling it.
I sigh, throwing my bag on the bed.
‘There’s a journalist here who’s going to report my story, sensationalise it, and then you’ll be plagued by uninvited gawpers, people wanting to stare, on top of what Nancy’s done.’
He wraps his arms around me and I fall into his chest. It feels like I’m home, but I can’t stay here.
