The Oyster Catcher (4 page)

‘Deal,’ I say. I shake his hand firmly. ‘I’m a hard worker,’ I feel the need to tell him. He holds on to my hand, as if making sure he’s got my attention.

‘I may live here on my own …’ He stares straight at me with those dark eyes, as if the curtains were drawn on them a long time ago, ‘And you may hear things about me in the village. Most of it will be untrue. But you have my word I’m only interested in having you here to help out with my workload. I am certainly not interested in you in any other way.’ My stomach nervously flips over.

‘And to help with Grace of course.’ I give a little laugh, trying to find a way round my embarrassment.

‘And Grace,’ he smiles. ‘I can assure you, there’ll be no inappropriate advances from me. This is just business. The very last thing I’m looking for is …’ he takes a deep breath. I think he’s going to say ‘love’, instead he says, ‘a romantic liaison’.

A shiver runs round my body. And then he lets go of my hand and I swallow hard.

‘So, no more secrets,’ he says and opens the door and flicks his head for me to follow.

Well, there is one more but I don’t seem to be able to find the words. ‘I’m terrified of water,’ might put him off. I’m determined to show him I’m a hard worker and not afraid to get my hands dirty. I’ll have to work around it, somehow. I need this job.

‘Let’s get to work’ he says handing me a large yellow waterproof jacket. He marches out, leading the way. The sea looks to be further back than earlier. See, things are looking better already. I follow him round to the sheds.

‘The tide’s going out and it’s now that we can actually get to the oysters. This is a spring tide so we need to move quickly.’

‘What’s a spring tide?’ I ask hugging my coat around me tightly.

‘It means the tide’ll go back further than normal, so we can get to the oysters easier. It’s when the sun, moon and earth form a line, so it happens twice a month, at the full moon and the new moon,’ he’s starting to get animated. I, on the other hand can’t really take it all in and can feel myself glazing over, no matter how hard I try and concentrate.

‘The neap tide, on the other hand, happens for the other two weeks in the month. The tide will hardly go back or come in. Makes it nearly impossible to do anything with the oysters. He pulls back the big doors to the shed with a clank and scrape and I’m hoping that’s the end of the tidal lecture. I follow him into a room full of machinery and then into another room at the back. He turns to me. ‘What size shoe are you?’ He looks down at my feet, still in gold mules.

‘Five,’ I say and he bends down and hands me a pair of green wellington boots.

‘Six is the smallest I’ve got.’

Then he hands me some thick socks. I pull them on and then the wellies. I pick up the gold mules and give them a final stare. Then I go over to the big dustbin in the corner of room. He’s watching me. I won’t be wearing them again anytime soon.

‘Sure?’ is all he says.

‘Sure,’ I say, and drop the shoes into the bin. I get the feeling me and these wellies are going to get to know each other really well over the next month.

Chapter Seven

I look like Mr Blobby as I emerge from the shed. I’m wearing yellow waterproof dungarees, wellies that are too big, and the extra-large waterproof jacket; whose sleeves hang down over my fingers. I half think he’s done this on purpose. Is that a smirk he’s hiding from me? I bristle but am determined to show him I’m not afraid to get stuck in.

He hands me a pair of brick-coloured waterproof gloves and plonks a woolly hat on my head. I now feel like every bit of dignity and femininity has been stripped from me.

‘You’ll need it out there!’ He points to the sea where there are now poles in straight lines sticking up out of the water.

I pull the hat down further so it covers my ears and hides my neat bob.

‘Sorry, it’s all I have,’ he apologises again about the waterproofs.

‘It’s fine.’ I say and mean it. I feel completely detached from reality, numb. And feeling numb is much better than hurting. I just need to get this over and done with now before my retreating resolve runs out on me.

‘Where do you want me to start?’ I look around at the untidy shed, but Sean turns to look down the lane. A black BMW is driving up it. It pulls into the gates and stops. Grace starts up her impressive barking and Sean catches her collar and tries to quieten her. When Grace is firmly in Sean’s grasp the car door opens and a woman dressed in black jeans, a crisp white T-shirt, and a leather flying jacket steps out. She pushes up her sunglasses on to the top of head, despite there being no sun. She looks like Sophia Loren.

‘Who’s that?’ I look at Sean. He doesn’t look back at me.

‘Ah, that’s Nancy, Nancy Dubois. My … partner,’ he smiles and waves. Grace doesn’t stop barking.

‘Your partner? But I thought you said …?’

‘I said I wasn’t married,’ he cuts across me. ‘It’s different.’ He looks directly at me. ‘It’s a good rule for life; never assume.’ That look tells me there’s an awful lot more to Sean Thornton than meets the eye.

I turn back to look at the stylish woman coming towards us in her shiny, black, expensive leather boots. Now I know why the idea of him being with a hooker, or having any designs on me, was so laughable. I shrink further into my waterproofs, actually grateful they’re big enough to get lost in.

‘Nancy has just taken over a new restaurant in Galway, The Pearl. It’s her big passion at the moment, apart from me of course,’ he jokes and the slightly uncomfortable atmosphere disappears.

‘Why can’t you ever get mobile reception here?’ Her accent is a strange mix of French with an Irish burr. She waggles her phone at him and skirts round Grace. ‘I’ve being trying to ring. Don’t tell me, out on the hooker.’ She falls against him, one hand on his chest, one leg lifts slightly out behind her as she plants a kiss on his mouth. It’s like a scene from a movie, perfection. I look away. Brian and I were more an awkward peck on the cheek type of couple, could never get the timing right and I would usually end up getting a kiss in the hair while I kissed his ear lobe. We probably didn’t practice enough.

Nancy pulls away and spins round to look round at me.

‘Who’s this?’ She smiles widely.

‘Nancy, this is Fi, my new assistant,’ Sean says charmingly. He holds out his arm inviting me to step forward. I do, but I can’t shake her hand because of the waterproof gloves so I wave instead, just like Mr Blobby.

‘Nancy is my oyster broker. I grow them, she sells them.’ His eyes wrinkle just under the corners. She coolly holds up a well-manicured hand up to say hello back.

‘Brilliant! Finally he’s taken my advice and got some help. You’re very welcome. I’m delighted you’re here. Now perhaps Sean can stop spending quite so much time out in this God-forsaken place and more time with me in town,’ she says. She looks around as if monsters might jump on her from behind every rock and bush and I know how she feels.

But I’m sure Sean’s smile has slipped, just a bit. He bangs his gloves hands together. ‘Right, time and tide wait for no man! We need to get on,’ he chivvies me along, reminding me I’m staff. Nancy tuts.

‘Just remember we’re having dinner tonight. Chef has some recipes he wants to try out for me.’ But Sean is on his way down to the shore and I feel I should follow.

‘And iron a shirt!’ she calls after him. He raises a hand in the air as he goes but his attention is focused on the sea in front of him.

‘Sorry,’ I say to Nancy and pull my hat down further.

‘That man is obsessed.’ She rolls her eyes before pulling down her sunglasses. I say nothing and follow after him.

I pull up my hood. With my hat pulled down, coat and dungarees on, stumbling over the rough stones, I feel hidden from the world. And being hidden from the world is exactly what I want right now. I’m invisible again. 

Chapter Eight

‘OK, I’ll drive the tractor and trailer down to the oysters.’ He points towards the sea which is creeping backward like a scolded puppy. Poles dripping with seaweed are sticking up from the water looking like creatures from the deep from a sci-fi movie. Despite the constant drizzle and damp in the air, I’m starting to feel hot.

‘I have a big order that needs to go out at the end of the week; my share of the co-operative which Nancy runs. We’ll grab some bags, bring them up, and I’ll show you the sheds where we’ll grade them. Then they’ll all need cleaning and weighing and the bags they’re in will need cleaning. When we’ve done that I can show you round the rest of the farm.’ He pulls a set of keys out from his jacket pocket, dangling from a hooker keyring.

‘Let’s go and grab some oysters! You follow the path round.’ He points to the small worn footpath round the edge of the bay. I sigh with relief. I’m taking the dry land route. He climbs on to the blue tractor, swinging his leg effortlessly over the seat, and starts her up.

The tractor roars into life, like a dozing understudy suddenly being called to take centre stage. ‘Grace’ll show you the way,’ he shouts. He grins and pushes the gearstick forward. The old tractor rumbles down into the shallow water, tossing its passenger this way and that. Sean holds the steering wheel firmly with one hand then turns back to look at the trailer. I watch him drive down the stream towards the sea, his curly hair being lifted by the wind, holding his face up to the sea air. I put my head down and began to pick my way along the uneven path.

Grace follows me, sniffing all the way. The path is just a footstep wide, weaving its way round tufts of grass and big rocks. What started out as drizzle on the shore seems much wetter the further I follow the path round the bay. Everything seems wetter. My feet began to sink into the grey mud. Pulling my feet through it, a smell comes with it. I squelch on. I may well be a townie and be feeling a bit useless and pathetic at the moment but I’m not going to let Sean see that.

‘Come on, English!’ Sean’s off the tractor and standing thigh-deep in the water. Oh dear God, I do hope he doesn’t want me to go in that deep.

I’m level with Sean now. He’s pulling two mesh bags behind him, one in each hand, towards the trailer.

Slosh, slosh, slosh. Every time he takes a step my heartbeat gathers pace.

‘Come on, the tide’ll be turning if we don’t get a move on,’ he shouts over to me. A sharp blast of wind throws cold rain in my face and whips off my hood. I grapple for the hood while tentatively trying to dip a toe in the water. I misjudge the grassy edge and stumble forward, landing with a splash. I freeze. Then I look down. At least I can see the bottom, see what’s lying beneath the surface. I stand stock-still in the ankle-deep water. Sean lifts the two bags onto the back of the trailer and then starts to slosh his way over to me. I’m shivering.

‘OK …’ He rips off his gloves and wipes some of the rain from his face with his sleeve. ‘These are the oyster beds.’ He points to the rows of mesh bags, solid sacks with little holes in them, on trestle tables now just visible above the water. All I can think about is the fact I’m ankle deep in the Atlantic. I dab my top lip with the end of my flapping sleeve, trying not to let on how terrified I am.

‘Right, fine.’ I pull in my lips trying to look like I’m in control and taking it all in, but I’m not.

‘These bags here are all ready to go to market, they’ve been graded and washed and are ready to go off for bed and breakfast at the co-operative before going to the supermarkets.’ He waves his hands, like he’s talking about young ones flying the nest.

‘Bed and breakfast?’ I suddenly tune in. He grins that same lopsided smile as he begins to explain with clear delight. His whole body language has changed from the uptight, scowling character I met in the pub.

‘They go through a purification process at the co-operative plant before being sent on. I could put them through that process in the shed but the co-operative takes care of all that. It’s basically a water tank with ultraviolet lights. Makes sure they are as clean as can be before they get sent out. But as we’re grade A waters it’s a formality really. I’ll show you later.’ He’s clearly in his element, sharing his world with me. He starts to lead the way further into the bay. I follow, concentrating as hard as I can on the shoreline and mountains on the other side of the bay. My arms are outstretched like I’m walking the tightrope, and that’s a little how I feel, walking a tightrope without a safety net!

‘These here,’ he points to a row of bags on a trestle table, draped with brown, glistening seaweed, ‘these with the yellow bands.’ There’s a coloured band threaded through the end of the bags to code them. ‘These are the baby oysters, or spat. As they get bigger we change their band colour accordingly, green and then blue.’ He points again to blue coded bags but I feel I’m barely taking anything in. I’m concentrating so hard on not turning and running back to dry land.

‘We’re going to take some of the spat up and grade it and hopefully, if they’ve grown, we move them up into bags with wider mesh, bigger holes in them. And we’ll get some of the blue bags ready for market too. Later on in the week we’ll check on the other bags, turn them, and make sure they’re doing well. Happy?’

‘Hmm what? Sorry? Oh yes.’ I nod over-enthusiastically. Not happy, no, but I can’t say that.

Suddenly Grace lets out one of her war-cries and starts jumping around in the water, splashing around like a baby in the bath. The water showers me.

‘Argh!’

Too late I realise I’ve grabbed his upper arm and am clinging to it. He looks at me with something close to despair and shakes his head. I’m not sure if it’s aimed at me or Grace.

‘Oystercatchers,’ he gestures to group of black and white birds with orange beaks which have just landed by the oyster beds. He peels my hand off his arm so I’m adrift again. ‘Do you know they can get their beaks in through some of the wider mess bags and actually eat the oysters and leave an empty shell? You’ll have to watch out for them. Send Grace out if you see any.’

I raise my eyebrows.

‘Really?’

But Sean is already walking towards the tractor, like a captain leading his battalion to war. I know I have to follow.

Breathe in, breathe out. And again. After several deep breaths he turns back to look at me. A hint of irritation flashes across his face. I can’t afford to mess this up and throw myself forward with great big sploshes. He’s shouting something at me but I can’t hear him.

I’m just about in front him, I can see a look of disbelief on his face. And then I finally hear what he’s been trying to say.

‘Not so much movement or you’ll get water over the top of your boots,’ just as I feel the cold wet trickle run over the top of my boots and all the way down into my socks.

‘Wait there,’ he commands. Sean marches off in search of the bags he wants. His shoulders are broad and he’s swinging his arms to help as he’s wades. I should be doing more but get the feeling I’d be more of a hindrance than a help at the moment. I stand, ankle deep in the water, looking beyond Sean who’s scanning the tables. Beyond him there’s just the sea. A huge bird lands with a flutter on a rock next to me. I jump but don’t scream. It’s incredible; it’s the size of a small dog. I’ve never seen anything like it. It looks around in small, quick movements. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a big bird.

Sean’s coming towards me, pulling bags through the water towards the trailer. I expect the big bird to fly off, but it doesn’t. He loads the bags.

‘What is that?’ I hiss, not taking my eyes off the bird.

Sean turns and looks.

‘It’s a heron,’ he says matter-of-factly. ‘Never seen one?’

I shake my head, in awe. He smiles.

‘He’s waiting for scraps.’ Sean climbs on to the trailer securing the bags.

‘Scraps?’

Sean jumps down. Instead of flying off, the heron gives the merest flicker of his head.

‘I’ll grab a few more bags and we’ll take them up to the shed,’ he calls over his shoulder to me. He tosses something in the heron’s direction. The heron swoops on it, drops of water from the sea rolling off his white and grey feathers as it surfaces, his sharp beak and long neck pointing upwards as he swallows his treat in one.

‘Right, grab this,’ I hear Sean shout and see something flying towards me and it’s not a bird. I put my hand up and catch it, not neatly but I don’t miss it completely. It’s an elasticated cord with a hook on the end.

‘See if you can attach it.’ Sean is securing the other side. I pull the rope over the bags of oysters. I find a lip and secure it, finally feeling I’m being of some use. Then with a few more ropes in place he shouts, ‘Hop up and we’ll take them back to shore.’

I don’t need telling twice.

The water is now lapping above the welly line.

‘Stand up on here.’ Sean points to the cross bar of the trailer. I grab hold of the tractor seat and pull myself up.

Water cascades off my legs and feet as I turn to lean against the wooden end of the trailer. Soon I’ll be back on dry land. Thank God.

‘You OK?’ Sean swings into the tractor seat. I can’t speak. Relief seems to have made me feel rather emotional, so I give him the thumbs up.

‘Hold on,’ Sean shouts over his shoulder and the tractor, trailer, and me, lurch forward. I do as I’m told and hold on tight. Then we begin to rock and dip our way back to shore. It can’t come soon enough. Grace is running behind the trailer, regally lifting her long legs high out of the water, like a hound at wheels of her master’s coach.

I was completely useless out there. And I know Sean must be thinking I was a complete waste of space. I have to show him differently. I can’t let him think he’s made a mistake.

Sean stared straight ahead. He knew he mustn’t expect too much on the first day, but, honestly, he’d hoped for a little more involvement, or even interest. She was hopeless. He looked around at his beds. If the licence went through he might even be able to buy more spat and expand in the next few months. Maybe he’d try and get out on the boat and go round to the second bay before Nancy came back for him later that evening. But he had lots to do and an assistant with a severe case of first-day nerves wasn’t helping. But, he thought with everything crossed, let’s hope that’s what it was, first-day nerves. Otherwise he’d never be ready for the inspection. He sighed and put his foot down.

The trailer seems to swing around even more as the tractor pulls on to the stony shore and up the steep bank. I cling on even harder till the tips of my fingers hurt. It would be crucifyingly embarrassing to actually fall off now. That really would confirm everything I’m sure Sean already thinks about me. The tractor and trailer swing round towards the gate and just for a scary second or two I don’t think I’m going to be able to stay upright. But then I feel the tractor start to reverse.

‘Head down,’ Sean calls over his shoulder and I do exactly as I’m told. I crouch as low as I can so he can see over me as he reverses the trailer up to the shed doors.

Finally the engine shuts off and I stand up. By some miracle I haven’t made a complete prat of myself by falling off and suffering any serious injuries under the wheels.

‘Let’s get the spat done and then we can get into the sheds.’ Sean jumps down from the tractor and looks up at the darkening sky. He opens the shed doors and reaches just inside for two big plastic crates.

He puts them either side of the trailer and points for me to stand on one. It wobbles but I find my balance and wait for instructions. I go to pull off my gloves but he stops me.

‘Leave those on, you’ll need them. Cuts from shells can hurt but if you get any under your nails then you’ll really know about it.’

The drizzle turns to rain.

‘We have three types of rain here,’ Sean says as he pulls some of the bags off the trailer and drops them by my crate. ‘It’s raining, it’s just stopped raining, and it’s just starting to rain.’ He smiles at his own joke, dropping another bag by me.

‘Now then, empty this bag of baby oysters into this big sieve here.’ He picks up a large garden sieve and puts a big plastic bucket on the trailer. ‘Anything that doesn’t go through can move up into the next size bag; the other stuff can go back in the bags they came out of. Then we’ll sit them in the water,’ he nods to the shoreline that seems to be creeping closer. ‘Tide’s coming in so we’ll take them back out to the tables in the morning.’

I put a foot on both sides of the crate to steady it and take the bag from him. The rain is getting heavier. Rivulets of water are running down my raincoat like molten silver. I reach up and pour the little shells into the sieve, and blinking back the rain I start to sieve. I keep my head down and keep going, focusing on the little tiny oyster shells until I reach down and discover there’s no more bags. I look over to Sean on the opposite side of the trailer where he’s doing the same. I jump down and grab a couple more bags from his side and sieve them. It’s absolutely lashing down by the time we’ve finished them all.

Then Sean finally says the most welcome two words: ‘Coffee break.’

I put the last little oysters that haven’t grown into their bag and look up. I catch my breath. The sea has crept up even further.

‘Then we’ll move into the sheds,’ Sean shouts from under his big hood. ‘This lot will have to stay back after school and learn to grow,’ he smiles, pushing back his hood and looking at the baby oysters. Droplets of water run off his wet hair which has sprung into spirals.

I hand Sean the bags and he lowers them gently into the shallow water. Waves are hitting his legs and I jump back with each one. He doesn’t, of course. When the last one is in he points to the cottage.

Inside the warmth from the little pot-bellied stove is lovely and welcoming. I stand and let the water roll off me. Having had the last teabag that morning Sean has a coffee and I have hot water with a slice of lemon. We sit at the scrubbed pine table, me at the end so I don’t have to look out to sea.

‘With the inspection coming up we need to get everything scrubbed. By the end of the week the spring tide will be over. Then we’ll start cleaning, every bit of equipment, everything. I’ll be working in town in the day so I’ll organise jobs for you to do and be back in the evenings, unless I’m in town with Nancy.’ He tips back his mug and slugs back his coffee.