The Oyster Catcher (3 page)

‘I’ll be out with my hooker first thing if you want to join me. Don’t decide now, let me know in the morning.’ The words hang in the air. I turn slowly and creep out of the room and into my bedroom. I shut the door firmly. Had I heard him right? I mouth the words to myself. ‘His Hooker? He’s a pimp!’

I look around and then grab the chair, propping it up under the door handle. I’m furious I’ve let myself be lulled into a false sense of security by a fluffy omelette and some homemade bread, even if it was delicious. Maybe it was poisoned, with that date drug stuff! I look out of my window to see if I can jump out. It’s pitch black. And I have no idea where I am. I can’t go anywhere until it’s light. I crawl into the bed and sit there with the covers up to my neck and my knees to my chest. There is no way I can let myself fall asleep.

Chapter Four

A noise catapults me from my deep sleep. My heart’s racing. My cotton wool-stuffed head shoots up from where it’s been face down in the pillow. My vision is blurry. I haven’t slept like that in weeks. Where am I? It’s light. I quickly reach out for Brian, but he isn’t there. I was dreaming. I was back home, at work in The Coffee House. Everyone was pointing at me, laughing. My pillow’s wet from tears. I could hear my mother’s voice telling me what a fool I’d been. Kimberly, my work mate, telling Betty my boss that Brian was ‘out of my league’. I could hear the laughter of the camper van drivers when they came to take back the van. My husband had rung to say there’d been a change of plan. I could just hear the laughter of everyone who’d been at my wedding.

There’s a rattle at the door, the same noise as before. I twist round and sit bolt upright, suddenly remembering where I am. I’m in the middle of nowhere with a man who’s gone out with his hooker and has brought me here to work too! I might have been dreaming earlier, but I’m awake now and right in the middle of a nightmare. How could I have been so stupid? It’s obvious now. He preys on vulnerable young women, bringing them here on false pretences of a job, board, and lodgings and then trafficking them out to who knows where! Why else would he have been delighted that I’d come about the job? I had no qualifications, no family, didn’t know where I was. I was ripe for the picking. He and the Garda must be in on it together! I should’ve seen it coming.

A sharp pain rips through my chest. I clutch it. My heart’s thundering like a drum. My door rattles again. My pounding heart gathers pace. I hold my breath. I can hear heavy breathing outside my door. Oh my God! My eyes are glued to the door handle and the chair wedged under it. There’s a scratching noise. Shit! They’ve come to take me. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to wake from that heavy sleep. They’re obviously going to take me from here by boat.  No one knows I’m here and  no one will know that I’ve gone.

In panic I look around for something heavy to pick up. I’m up on my knees. I shouldn’t have let down my guard, I berate myself. What was I thinking of; taking an offer of a room from a man I didn’t know, in the middle of nowhere? I’ve moved around enough grotty hostels in my time to know that you trust no one. I need to get the hell out of here, right now. I spin round to look at the window as a means of escape. The door rattles again.

‘Get away from the door!’ I make a lunge for the lamp beside my bed, yank it out of the socket and hold it up high. The door stops rattling. There’s a sniff.

‘I’m warning you.’ I stand up on the bed, still holding the lamp above my head. I’m wearing the T-shirt I put on last night, which comes right down to my thighs. I turn to look out the window again and see how big the drop to the ground is when suddenly the door gets an almighty thump. The chair flies away from it, falling with a clatter. I yell as the door flings open.

‘Get away!’ I shout, scaring both me and Grace who has obviously launched herself at the door with both paws and is giving a great woo-woo-woof! She finishes her battle cry and stares at me on the bed. Her jowls are swinging to and fro. We stare at each other, her from the doorway and me from my standing position on the bed. I don’t know who’s more scared.

I jump off the bed, put down the lamp and go to her, rubbing her head and ears.

‘Good girl, sorry if I scared you,’ I say, feeling my heart slowing down.

Grace wags her tail and it thumps against the open door.

‘It’s all OK,’ I tell her as gently as my wavering voice will let me. ‘But I just need to get my stuff together and get out of here.’ Talking to Grace seems to be calming me down. I pick up my Dunnes bag and my little bridal handbag with my passport and a few euros left in it. I slide my sore feet back into the gold shoes and wince. Then I pull on the joggers and hoodie, getting myself tangled in my panic to get out of there.

Grace lies down and puts her chin between her paws, watching me. For some unknown reason I make the bed. It’s habit, when I leave somewhere. Then I look around for signs of Sean. I go to the bedroom door and listen. Nothing, which is eerie in itself. I’m not used to no sound at all. At least back home there’d be the odd siren going past, cars, car alarms, that kind of thing, never nothing. I take a deep breath and decide to risk it. I give Grace one last rub on the head and then head for the front door. I glance briefly into the cottage’s main room. The mess doesn’t look any better than last night. In fact, in the cold light of day it looks worse. I chance a glance out of the window. I catch my breath. The sea seems so close. I take a step back. But not before I notice that the boat that’d been there yesterday is missing.

I need to get out of here now; take my chance, before I end up thousands of miles away with a pimp and drug habit. I reach for the door with Grace following me, her head practically in the crook of my knee. It looks wet and grey out there. There’s a jumble of waterproof jackets on the hooks beside me. It wouldn’t be stealing, I’d just borrow a coat. Perhaps I could send it back as soon as I’m settled elsewhere. Oh for goodness’ sake! I tell myself, just take the coat. The guy’s trying to sell you into the slave trade; it’s the least he owes you.

I reach up and grab a yellow waterproof jacket but as I yank and go to run the whole rack of hooks and the shelf on top of it comes tumbling down in a heap right in front of the front door, blocking my path and my escape.

Chapter Five

‘Ah, for feck’s sake! What have I done?’ Sean looked up. He let the Atlantic blast beat his face. It helped him clear his confused mind. It made him feel alive.

His thick curly hair blew across his face in a cross wind. He grabbed at it and pulled it back into the nape of his neck. Sean shut his eyes. He was tired but being out here, where he was happiest, was the best rest he could get. It was where he always came to think through his problems. His mind flicked back to his latest dilemma. Had he made a terrible mistake?

He looked up at the deep red sails, the colour of a good red wine. The three sails worked together scooping up the wind. They were full, deep, and cupped like the shape of an oyster.

He knew nothing about this woman other than she’d done some sort of work in food production and a bit of work in the media – oh – and that she was English, other than that, nothing. He breathed in deeply, the fresh salty air giving him the head rush he needed to feel more relaxed, better than any drink he’d ever had.

What if she knew more than she was letting on, hoping to see his set up, find out how he was still making a living at this game? Or maybe she was working for someone else, someone after his land. His mind was whirring with possibilities. Why would a woman with no connections around here rock up out of the blue and want to be his assistant? It just didn’t make sense.

The water lashed at the mahogany sides of the boat. The ropes slapped at the mast as he let out the sails and his spirits lifted again as he felt the thrill of the boat moving even faster through the water.

She was either just what he was looking for, who had no idea about the people around here, him, or his oysters, or she was trying to play him for an idiot.

Sean heard the beating of wings and looked to his left to see his daily companion, a small silver and white heron, keeping pace beside him. His huge wings moving up and down, carrying his large body as fast as they could. Seagulls dived effortlessly across him. But he kept going, steady and loyal.

Sean’s mind turned to the villagers he’d seen yesterday. He’d watched their gossiping, wondering what he was up to, even having the nerve to ask for work. But let them talk; he’d put up with their gossip and their doubtful looks when he’d first arrived. Their silly chatter didn’t bother him. He didn’t want to give them anything to really talk about, which is why when he’d met Fi she’d seemed like the answer to all his problems. Now though, he wasn’t quite so sure.

He looked across at the little town and the coastline around it, bare, rural, rugged bog. It was in those waters where the real jewels lay. He looked over to the other side of the bay. Over there they had a reputation for having the best oysters just about anywhere in the world, just like Dooleybridge had had once. But not any more. Oyster farmers had gone out of business. Families had packed up and moved away, gone to the city or moved abroad. Nothing had ever been the same since the rumours just before his uncle had died. He swallowed hard. Over there they had everything that the community on this side of the water had lost.

A large wave hit the front of the boat, it dipped and rose, sending an arc of cold spray over him. He stood up and let out a tension-releasing roar at the top of his voice. He teased and cajoled the sail ropes, urging the boat to go faster still. Still the grey and silver heron kept pace despite its ungainly body.

The rain came and followed him all the way home, but he didn’t mind. How could he? Rain was always going to be part of the deal out here. Besides, perhaps it was the rain that helped his oysters grow. One day he hoped everyone would know about his oysters, that his oysters would be known as some of the best in the world, but first he had to get through his licence renewal in just a few weeks’ time. There was no way he could get the oysters ready for market, get the farm ready for the inspection, and start his new job. This Fi was his only hope.

In the distance he could see his farm; his oyster beds would be starting to poke up through the water soon. He had to get a move on. He felt as he did every time he saw this place, like he was coming home and knew that he’d do whatever it took to save it.

As he reached the little wooden jetty the boat dipped and swayed. The heron landed on the gangplank and marched up and down, waiting for a treat to come his way. Sean pulled out his knife from his sleeve pocket, opened up an oyster from his red mesh bag, and tossed it to the heron.

‘You lucky beggar,’ said Sean and smiled. It clattered on the wet wood and the heron pecked greedily at it.

There were lights on in the cottage, Sean noticed. The fire he’d stoked before he left was letting out little plumes of smoke from the metal pipe chimney. He might not know much about his new assistant but she didn’t know much about him either. Maybe he hadn’t been mad to take her on, maybe it was just what he needed.

Having moored the boat he picked up the red mesh bag. Let’s see if this woman really did know about oysters; it was a risk but one he needed to take.

He slung the bag over his shoulder and lit a cigarette., then began to make his way up the shore towards the cottage. It had been a long time since he’d come home to lights on and a lit fire.

Chapter Six

‘Damn it!’ I start grabbing at the coats and boxes that have blocked my path.

When I think the coat rack looks much the same as when I found it, I stand up, pull on a coat, and grab my bag ready to make a run for it. Well, a hobble anyway.

Suddenly Grace jumps up from lying on the wooden floor beside me and barks madly. I jump and then freeze. He’s back.

The wooden door flies open.

‘Wohoo!’ He’s rubbing his hair and smiling like all his Christmases have come at once. He’s carrying a small, red net bag over his shoulder.

‘That’s fresh out there. Do you not fancy a spin yourself, no?’ He points out towards the sea. I shake my head vigorously. It’s the very last place I plan to go. I’m on to him; get me in the boat and then onwards to who knows where …

‘No. No, thanks,’ I say firmly. ‘Actually …’

He’s pulling off his coat and going to stoke the fire.

‘Let me know if you fancy it.’ He puts more turf from the basket into the fire and shuts its doors. This must be the subtle approach to getting me on to the boat. Wonder what happens when that fails? Well, I won’t be here to find out.

‘Now, let’s have a coffee and sort out what needs doing round here.’ He turns to me, rubbing his hands, and then takes in the coat and my bag. My heart leaps into my mouth. I can practically see his good mood evaporating. I don’t move or say anything. Finally he breaks the silence.

‘Had enough already?’ he says with the disappointment of a school teacher who had high hopes for his pupil.

‘It’s just,’ I falter then find my backbone and hold my head up, ‘I’m not sure this is for me.’ I don’t know what’s going to happen next. It’s not like he’s going to offer me a lift to the railway station and I can’t run, not in these shoes. I have to persuade him just to let me leave.

‘I see.’ Sean turns away from me again and back to the stove, opening it up and poking at the turf he’s just put in there. He throws in some more and then pulls over a red cast-iron kettle onto the hot plate.

‘Well, it’s certainly not everyone’s cup of tea.’ There’s a hardness in his voice. It all feels a bit surreal, as if I’m turning down a perfectly normal job, not the chance to join his stable of prostitutes.

‘I’m sorry,’ I hear myself saying. He sighs and shrugs. I decide to take the bull by the horns.

‘Look, if you could just take me back to the town. I’ll never breathe a word of this, I promise.’

There’s a long silence in which the kettle comes to a cheery boil and he picks it up, and goes to the kitchen area looking for mugs.

‘Shame, I thought you were going to be the answer to my prayers.’ He finds two. ‘Then of course there’s Grace. I needed someone to look after her.’ He looks softly at the dog and she wags her tail. Now that bit of the job I wouldn’t have minded.

‘Isn’t there someone from the town who could help you?’ I suggest helpfully.

‘I like to keep my business to myself. You’ve seen them. Bunch of busybodies. They’re only interested in passing on each other’s news, mostly bad. I like to keep my business and my life away from the town.’

I know why, I think to myself. There’s something unpredictable about his manner. I just want this to be over. I take a deep breath.

‘Look, I don’t know what’s going on here or where you planned to take me but I’m a bit long in the tooth to be some kind of sex slave. Really, you’d hardly get anything for me. I’d be a terrible prostitute. I don’t even like having sex with the light on!’ I blurt out. He stops pouring the hot water and just turns and stares at me, mouth open.

‘What?!’ he says, his dark eyes flashing. I take a step back and eye up the poker by the fire.

‘I haven’t a feckin’ clue what you’re on about, but I think it’s best that you go …’ he says angrily. He slams down the kettle. Then slowly he turns back to me. His face begins to change, like he’s processing the information.

‘Oh my God, you think … you think …’ he repeats, pointing a finger at me. I’m feeling uncomfortable. Then to my amazement he starts to smile and then he lets out a small chuckle. I’m flabbergasted that this could be so funny. Then it grows until he throws back his head and laughs out loud. See, definitely unpredictable. I look away, waiting for his hysteria to subside.

‘You thought I had a hooker, a prostitute.’ He clutches his sides and I begin to shift from foot to foot with frustration and embarrassment. I have a strange feeling this is not going the way I was expecting it to.

‘Well, that’s what you told me!’ I fold my arms across my body, indignant.

‘It’s a boat … s’called that.’ He grips his sides and can barely breathe. Every time he looks at me he bursts into laughter all over again. I’ve had enough of this.

‘Wait a minute. Are you telling me your hooker is your boat?!’

He nods wildly, brushing away the tears. When he’s finally finished he straightens up. Every now and then a whimper of laughter escapes but seeing my set face, he makes an effort to straighten his own.

‘I’m sorry.’ He holds up both his hands. ‘It’s my fault. I apologise. I should’ve explained.’ The smile tugs at the corner of his mouth again. I’m feeling really cross now. My arms are still tightly folded and I’m tapping my toe.

‘Please, let me. Sit down.’ He pulls out a chair for me. ‘I’ll make the coffee. I promise you I’m not trafficking sex slaves or setting up a brothel.’ He’s still holding out the chair. ‘It’s just me here, plus Grace and my boat. Please, sit down.’ I take a step towards the chair. Not for the first time recently, I feel like I have ‘sucker’ written on my forehead. As I don’t have many options right now, I sit down.

He puts a coffee pot on the table in front of me with two mugs and motions to me to help myself.

‘I’m a tea-drinker,’ I say not meeting his eyes. He sucks though his teeth teasingly. I look up. He’s smiling at me this time, not laughing at me. He looks in the cupboards and manages to find a single abandoned tea bag. He throws it in a cup and pours on boiling water.

‘So you really are an oyster farmer then?’ I ask the questions I really should have asked yesterday.

‘Yes, I really am an oyster farmer and I really do need an assistant. Not a prostitute …’ He quickly composes himself again. ‘I really didn’t mean to scare you,’ he says more seriously, pouring himself hot coffee.

We establish that the boat is a hooker, a traditional Galway fishing boat that used to be his uncle’s.

‘Look, I’ve got my inspection coming up for my oyster farmer’s licence. I’ve been here for three years and I need to pass it to keep my business. And it’s June. I’ll be starting work at the sailing school just outside Galway, summer camps, teaching youngsters to sail. It helps … make ends meet. And …’ He’s suddenly very serious again, ‘I can’t be everywhere at once.’

‘So what does the job actually entail?’ I sip the tea and start to feel human again.

‘I’ll need you to help with the oysters themselves, bringing them in for grading and finishing them off ready to go to market. Then there’s the other animals to look after and we need to make sure everything is as clean as it can be before the inspection.’

‘But I don’t know about oysters.’ I sip the tea again.

‘You don’t need to. You leave the actually growing bit to me. I’ll tell you when I need your help, but like I say, mostly it’s cleaning and house-sitting.’

It doesn’t sound like my ideal job, but it wasn’t being sold as a sex slave.

‘It’s a precarious business, oyster farming,’ he says. ‘It’s not like we can call in a vet if the stock gets sick. And we can’t move them into shelter if the weather gets bad. But one of our biggest problems is theft. There’s the oystercatchers for starters – they’re a species of bird,’ he explains at my puzzled look, ‘They like to feed on my oysters. And then there’s the oyster pirates. The people who think they can come in and help themselves to your stock just because it’s in the sea. I’ll need you to be here, keeping an eye on things.’

He stops talking and picks up the red mesh bag he’s brought in with him.

‘What do you think of these?’ He empties the contents onto the kitchen table with a clatter, putting his arm round them to stop them falling off.

Even I can work this one out.

‘They’re oysters.’

‘That’s it?’ He tilts his head slightly and I can see he’s looking for more. But I can’t think of anything else to say.

‘Yes.’

He hesitates and then reaches for one. I lean back a bit. I don’t mean to, it’s an automatic reaction. He sits on the edge of the table, watching me with interest all the time. He pulls out a knife from a pocket in the sleeve of his coat, pushes the knife into the hinge, and twists it until it pops open. Then he slices along the top edge, pulls away the top shell, and shows me the slippery, slimy oyster inside.

‘Want to try one?’

The back of my hand shoots up to cover my nose. I grimace. I can’t help it. I shake my head.

‘No thanks. I don’t like seafood,’ I say, muffled because my hand is still over my nose and mouth. He cocks his head again and a smile spreads across his face.

‘Sure?’ he asks, his smile broadening, irritating me.

‘Sure,’ I say firmly, still holding the back of my hand to my mouth. He looks at it then tips it up into his own mouth.

‘Good,’ he says chewing and swallowing. ‘Now all I have to do is leave them to it.’ He smiles briefly and gathers up the rest of the oysters.

I decide to say something before he does.

‘I take it that you don’t want me to stay on, what with me not liking oysters?’

‘On the contrary. I’d be delighted if you’d stay on.’ He’s beaming. I’m slightly confused but just then Grace jumps up and starts barking. There’s a car pulling in through the gates. Sean slides off the kitchen table and goes to investigate. He opens the door for Grace to go out, whooping and howling. Sean groans. I stand and reach on tiptoe to see round him. Then it’s my turn to groan.

‘Morning both.’ The Garda from yesterday smiles as he climbs the haphazard steps. Grace’s barking stops and she’s sniffing at his shins now.

‘What can we do for you, Eamon?’ Sean grabs up the bag of oysters, puts them on the work surface and stands in front of them as the Garda steps into the cottage.

‘Garda Eamon,’ he corrects, touching the brim of his hat. Sean ignores him, which makes me smile. He’s very full of himself. He was when he was called to the scene of the accident; asked me if I was attempting to take part in the National Camper Van Diving Contest. I was still in shock. I’d just received a text from Kimberly at The Coffee House. Brian was back in work. Kimberly had served him and he’d changed his order. Brian never changed his order. Instead of his skinny latte and Caesar salad he’d had a bacon buttie and a cream horn. I felt like I didn’t exist in that world any more. The tears had come thick and fast. I’d thrown the phone into the passenger seat and driven through the blurry vision. I hadn’t seen the road come to an end, or the sea wall.

The Garda looks around the cottage, then back at me.

‘Just keeping an eye on the defendant.’ He gives me a stern look. I look from him to Sean.

‘I’m not the defendant. You let me off. Remember?’ I’d paid for the damage to the camper van. The very last of my money. That’s why I’m taking a job that in a careers interview would be at the very bottom of the list of suitable careers for me given my fear of water, dislike of oysters, and lack of experience with the countryside.

‘Still, it doesn’t hurt to keep an eye,’ the Garda says. The only reason I’m not in court was because he was at the end of his shift when I crashed and didn’t want the paperwork. He made me pay the camper van reps for the damage when they came to retrieve the ‘stolen vehicle’, and that was that.

‘So, I see you’ve taken responsibility for the defendant?’ he says to Sean.

‘I’m not the defendant!’ I want to shout, but don’t.

‘Fi’s considering working for me, yes?’ Sean’s leaning against the work surface with his arms folded. ‘Isn’t that right, English?’ He puts the ball firmly back in my court and tucks the corner of the oyster bag behind him a bit more, as if he’s trying to hide them.

‘That’s right,’ I nod, a bit puzzled.

‘Good,’ the Garda nods. I feel like I’m on probation, but I’m not! I paid for the damage!

Sean looks irritated too. It was the Garda who put me onto Sean and I was grateful at the time but now I think it’s just because he likes to know where his local ‘criminals’ are staying, to keep an eye on them. I can just imagine Betty and Kimberly’s face if they heard I was considered to be a local crime wave. I put my hand over my mouth to make sure I’m not smiling. The Garda gives me a hard stare which makes me nervous and makes me want to laugh at the same time, so I try and frown and squeeze my cheeks with my thumb and forefinger. Sean catches my eye and gives me the swiftest of winks. He’s smiling too, just in the corner of his mouth.

‘Hope you’re not thinking of taking that boat out in weather like this,’ the Garda says bossily.

‘Garda Eamon, was there anything I can do for you? Or did you just come by to tell me when I can and can’t sail my boat?’ Sean unfolds his arms.

‘No, like I say, just a friendly visit.’ He takes off his hat and pulls out a chair. ‘I’ve probably time for a quick coffee before I need to get back on duty.’ He goes to sit down and my heart sinks.

Sean grabs his coat.

‘We’ve no time for coffee drinking here. We’ve work to do, now if you don’t mind?’ Sean stands up straight but doesn’t move. Garda Eamon looks taken aback. Then, with a slight nod of his head to Sean and another stare that tells me he’s watching me, he leaves. Sean lets the door slam shut behind him and we both let out our smiles. The tension between us seems to have lifted.

‘Don’t mind him, ideas bigger than his station, literally,’ says Sean pulling on his wax jacket and we smile again. He grabs the bag of oysters.

‘Must get these back in the water,’ he says softly.

‘Thank you,’ I say and stand up. Behind me another pile of paper work spills over in the draught.

‘So you’ll stay?’

I nod, a lot more firmly than I mean to.

‘How about we call it a month’s trial? See how we like each other? We should have had the inspection by then. Then we’ll both know where we stand. Deal?’ He puts out his hand for me to shake.