The Oyster Catcher (12 page)

A young girl is on the opposite side of the street playing the fiddle. She’s not very good, hitting wrong notes, but she keeps going and every now and again someone throws money into her case on the ground. I realise her mother is standing beside me, keeping a watchful eye.

‘She’s very brave,’ I say.

‘Well, she’s giving it a lash,’ says the mother, one foot against the wall. ‘It’s all yer can do, isn’t it, give it a go?’

The girl stops and smiles at her mum.

‘Keep going, love, you’re doing grand,’ her mum calls back. ‘Ya have to crack a few eggs to make an omelette.’

I think about the mess I’ve made of Sean’s farm. That was more than a few cracked eggs. Mortification burns my cheeks and I wonder whether just to disappear into the crowds. Leave without a trace.

I look up and down the street. There’s a jeweller’s on the other side of the road.

‘Have yer any change?’ A woman shakes a pot at me. She’s wearing silver sling-backs, red socks, and smoking a cigarette with a long length of ash hanging off the end of it. She looks about eighty. Her thin blonde hair is piled up on top. ‘I can tell yer fortune,’ she says rattling her pot again. I shake my head. She nods and drags on the cigarette, the ash falls onto her knee and she brushes it away. ‘Be lucky anyway,’ she says.

Sean comes out of the bank much quicker than I was expecting. The young girl is still crashing her way through her play list. I look at him. He sucks in his top lip and then shakes his head.

‘They won’t lend me any more money.’ He begins to walk and flicks a coin into the girl’s violin case. ʻIn fact … they want some of what they’ve already lent me back. They want me to start repaying the overdraft.’ He lights another cigarette. ‘Anyway, like I say, not your problem any more. Let’s get you sorted out.’

He heads off down

‘Oh God,’ I say following him. I made this mess, I have to help put it right, whatever way I can, I have to keep trying. ‘Wait!’

He keeps striding out and I have to break into a run. ‘Sean, wait,’ I shout. And he stops and turns to me. I take a deep breath and rummage in my pocket.

‘Come on or you’ll miss the shop.’ He’s back to being his irritable self. I open my hand and hold out the ring.

‘Here, take it. It should cover the cost of the damage; maybe get some new spat as well. I hope. Maybe it’ll be luckier for you than it was for me,’ I try and joke.

He frowns. People are passing on either side of us. Young men in hoodies, smoking, are holding up signs pointing to restaurants and tattoo parlours. There’s a woman playing the tin whistle to a backtracking on CD. Beside her, there’s a man on a chair all dressed in silver, as if he were a statue, waiting for someone to put money in his pot before he’ll move.

‘But that’s your …’ Sean looks gobsmacked.

‘Yes, I know, just take it.’

‘I can’t,’ he says looking at me and frowning.

‘You can and you have to. I made the mess. Now I’m going to pay for the damage,’ I say firmly.

‘Are you sure?’ He looks from me to the ring. I take hold of his hand and put it there and close his fist.

‘Why? Why would you do this for me?’ he says quietly.

‘Because I need to put this right. Because …’ I say trailing off. Because I care, I realise, and not just about the oysters and what I’ve done. I care about him … I turn him towards the jeweller’s. ‘Just make sure you get a good price for them.’

He turns back to me, his head bent over his fist.

‘Thank you.’ He quickly and briefly kisses my cheek and without thinking my fingers fly up to touch it where it landed. 

Chapter Twenty-one

‘I need a drink,’ I say as we come out of the jeweller’s.

‘Me too.’ We stand side by side on the busy street. Sean puts his hand on my shoulder and guides me into the crowded street. Five minutes later I’m in a noisy pub with music playing and a large white wine in front of me. Sean has a pint of the black stuff. We both take a large sip and say nothing. Then another and finally I speak first.

‘Fakes?’ I look into my wine.

‘I’m sorry. That can’t have been easy to hear,’ Sean turns his cold pint glass.

I shake my head slowly.

‘Do you know, I don’t think I even care any more. I should be angry, but in a way not surprised.’ I take another gulp of the wine. ‘But that’s it. I have nothing now.’

‘You’re in shock.’

‘I never doubted they were real. Brian had everything planned, when we should buy the ring, buy the flat. He wanted everything to be right. I trusted him.’

‘Love is a risky business, a bit like oyster farming.’

‘And you keep going at it?’

‘Some things are worth the risk.’

‘Like your oyster farm,’ I manage to smile and he manages to smile back.

‘Exactly.’

We slip into silence, neither of us knowing what to do next. Then Sean puts down his pint and leans forwards, towards me. He looks straight at me, his face very serious. It makes me nervous when he does that. I feel he can read my every thought and I don’t want him to read that I’m finding him more and more attractive. Because the last thing I want is to ever risk my heart again.

‘It meant a lot that you gave me that ring,’ Sean says.

‘What? The one worth two pound fifty?’ I’m twisting my glass now.

‘You were prepared to give me everything you had.’ He puts his hand over mine to stop me twisting the glass.

‘Look, I was responsible for wrecking the place you love,’ I say. ‘I couldn’t run away from that.’

‘You’re a very honest person. You’re a good person. And I’m sorry about what I said. I didn’t mean it about you being incompetent. Anyone who can work like you did when they’re terrified of water has got to be pretty brave in my book.’ He lets go of my hand and takes another sip. The cream foam sticks to his top lip and he sucks at it.

‘So, Brian? He was your …? I mean …’ he seems embarrassed to ask but as Margaret has the whole story, there can’t be any harm in telling Sean.

‘I was married. Well, sort of married. He couldn’t go through with it, just after we signed the registers and before the photos. I thought I had everything, the real deal, and it was all fake, just like the ring. It’s over now.’ And it is. I shrug and am surprised at how comfortable I now feel saying those words. No tears now, the anger diffusing. ‘I may not forget it, but I would like to forgive him.’

There’s a lull while we both consider the desperate place we’re in.

‘Can I come back and work for you?’ I ask. He sits up straight.

‘Really?’

‘I made the mess. I want to try and help put it right.’

‘I’m not sure I’ll have the money to do that, or to pay you.’ He slumps again.

‘It doesn’t matter. Let me try and think of a way,’ I say desperate to make it up to him still.

‘Look, I’m not very good at …’ he clears his throat, ‘trusting people.’ He clears it again. ‘Had my heart broken when I came out of prison. The girl I thought I’d marry … Anyway. I came here to look after my uncle.’

‘Oh God, I’m so sorry.’

‘But I think I could trust you. So, maybe there is a way still … if you really do want to stay and help.’

‘I do,’ I hold my glass tightly.

‘Drink up then. Let’s get this over and done with.’

I’m confused but feel a little shiver of excitement.

Outside the pub he pulls out a cigarette, takes a long drag, and pulls out his phone. He smokes while he’s on the phone.

‘Yes, I heard about you through Nancy Dubois.  … she’s my partner. You’ve helped out other farmers like me.’

He listens, turning away from me.

‘No, no, no need to come to me. I’m in town. I’ll meet you.’

He listens again. His cheek twitches as his jaws grind against each other.

‘I’ll be there in 15 minutes,’ and he slaps the phone cover shut.

I feel nervous for some reason.

Back in the van we leave the lively streets of the city centre and head out of town. I don’t know where we are and soon it looks as if we could be in any other out of town estate; much like the ones I grew up on.

He pulled up in a lay-by and looked both ways before getting out of the van.

‘Wait here,’ he told Fi. The less she knew about what he was about to do the better. He didn’t want to do this but he had no choice. The bank had blown him out. This was his only hope.

He pulled his coat around him against the damp drizzle and opened up the passenger car door of the cream Mercedes parked in front of him in the lay-by. It looked out of place, unlike his old transit van, the red paintwork dull and peeled due to the salty air.

Inside the Mercedes the cream colour ran on with the leather seats. The car was full of the smell of cigars and strong air freshener.

‘So, you are?’ the wide-mouthed man, who looked like a toad, stuck out a hand  dripping with gold jewellery.

‘Sean, Sean Thornton,’ Sean shook the hand briefly but didn’t want to look him in the eye.

‘Johnny, Johnny Power,’ he shook Sean’s hand firmly, as if making statement.

‘So, you’re looking for a loan.’ The man pulled out a cigar from the passenger glove box and lit it. He took a few puffs before finally opening the window. It was all Sean could do not to cough and splutter on the smoke. As the open window finally sucked the smoke away Sean found he could breathe again.

‘I’m an oyster farmer. Out in Connemara. My crop just got stolen and what they didn’t take got trashed in the raid. I just need to pay my licence and get back on my feet.’

The toad sucked on his cigar and blew the smoke into the car.

‘Risky business, oyster farming,’ he sucked again. ‘Lot of farmers out your way gone out of business. It’s good building land out there. People’ll pay a lot for a water-side plot, even in this climate.’

‘I’m not having my farm turned into a building plot! That’s where the trouble started, everyone wanted to build bigger and better houses, borrow more money, but they drove out the real industry in the area. The water purity levels dropped when the developers moved in. Selling their farms, that’s what caused the problem with the waters in the area. If it hadn’t been for that Dooleybridge would still be as well known as Clarenbridge for its oysters. But now the waters are clean again, I can prove it.’ Sean felt the wind go out of his sails as he finished his speech. What was the point? This guy wasn’t going to help him. He went to get out of the car.

‘So how do I know I’ll get my money back?’ The toad said. He sucked and studied the wet end of his cigar. Sean stopped. If there was a chance of getting the money to carry on he had to take it.

‘You’ll get it,’ Sean said. He hated dealing like this but what other choice did he have? He couldn’t walk away from the farm, not when he was so close. ‘I just need to keep going until September.’ Sean bit his tongue, worrying he’d said too much, given too much away. Johnny Power looked at him sideways with a small smile. His earring looked ridiculous, thought Sean, glad he’d given up his own gold hoop some years ago.

‘Tell you what then, I’ll lend you the money you’re looking for, and you pay it back in September, with interest. I’ll text you the terms, give me your number.’ He handed Sean the latest version of the iPhone. Sean typed his number in and handed it back.

‘Of course, if you don’t manage to ‘get sorted’ I’ll be looking to be compensated. I’ve always fancied myself as an oyster farmer,’ he laughed, a sound like a car engine refusing to start on a cold morning.

‘My lad’ll come with you to sort out the money.’ He pointed to ‘the lad’ waiting outside the car. He was a younger version of the toad with a shaved head, and must have been in his thirties. The lad was getting into the transit van beside Fi, and Sean felt a stirring of fury as he openly looked her up and down. He should’ve come alone. He nodded to the toad, got out of the Mercedes and opened the transit’s door.

‘I’ll take it from here, thanks.’

‘Suit yourself.’ The ‘lad’ took two envelopes from each inside pocket of his leather jacket and slowly counted the money into Sean’s hand.

When he was done Sean shoved the money into the glove compartment and started the engine, and the lad took the hint, said with a leer, ‘See you in September,’ and jumped down. The sooner he was out of there, the sooner he could get on with getting his business back on track.

‘Sorry’, Sean says as we get to the roundabout and head out of the estate. ‘I didn’t mean for you to be involved.’ He’s swinging the van as fast as possible round the roundabout and heading for the coast.

My mind is whirring. He’s got the money but how on earth is he going to repay it? By the time he’s paid for the licence he’ll only be able to buy baby spat and that will take at least three years to grow. This is my fault, I keep thinking over and over again.

We drive the rest of the way back to Dooleybridge in silence. When we pass the town I have this strange feeling of familiarity, and I like it. It’s probably that I’m just glad to be away from that estate. We pass Mad Frank and John Joe going into the bookies. The café sign has blown over in the wind and rain. Margaret is pushing Grandad along the prom in a plastic cape, walking the pub dogs off the lead, and her hair is now purple. The big white daisy is still behind her ear. She waves cheerily, despite the rain and the fact she’s not wearing a coat. I wave back. Sean doesn’t. His face is set. He’s thinking hard, but I can’t tell what about.

Finally I ask the question,

‘I don’t get it,’ I look out of the window at the ocean, feeling like we’re racing the white horses home. ‘How on earth are you going to be able to repay that amount of money in three months? Either you’re crazier than I thought or there’s something you’re not telling me.’

We head off the main road, and I’m thrown from side to side as we head down Sean’s track and I can see him visibly relaxing. His cheeks aren’t twitching and there’s a tiny smile in the corner of his mouth. He pulls on the handbrake with a crunch and turns to me.

‘I really hope you have a plan,’ I say, because I don’t really want to be around when Johnny Power comes to call in the debt. And I hope for Sean’s sake it doesn’t come to that. But I can’t see how he can pay it back and I’m worried.

‘I’ll show you,’ he says breaking into a broad grin, a slightly crazy one.

He’s out of the van and marching over to the sheds. Grace is greeting her master like he’s been away for a month. He comes back out of the shed carrying two life jackets, and hands me one.

‘Put this on,’ he instructs. I stare at it and then back at him in horror.

‘I can’t!’

‘Just put it on.’ He holds it out further towards me. ‘And then follow me.’

I put the life jacket over my head.

‘There’s no way I’m going out on that boat.’

‘Do you want to help get me out of this mess or don’t you?’

I sort of waggle my head from side to side.

‘You’ll be fine, I promise. I’m a sailing instructor for feck’s sake!’

‘Is there any other way?’ I ask pathetically.

‘No. Now get in the boat!’

Right now I’m not sure what or who I’m more scared of, the water or Sean.