away a fly. It scuttles round inside the bucket. I’m irritated at myself and at him. This is very different for someone who’s grown up in the city. I’d like to see him negotiate the knock-down-price aisle in Morrison’s at 5 p.m. or city-centre rush hour in a Ford Ka.
I go back to putting the oysters in their compartments as Sean loads on some more. I don’t have to wait long for the next crab to come along. It’s only small and I decide to just do it; but they’re fast, wriggly, and hard to pick up when you’re wearing big red rubber gloves. It runs this way and that and I bite my bottom lip and grab it. I want to drop it straight way. But I don’t. I plop it in the bucket and feel chuffed to bits with myself. I picked up a crab! I’m grinning like an idiot. I turn to Sean, but he’s deep in his own thoughts, and I feel like he’s popped my party balloon.
We stand side by side at the conveyor belt for what seems like hours. It probably has been hours in actual fact. Sean works hard and I’m determined to keep pace with him, no matter how much my back is aching.
‘Last bag!’ Sean finally shouts and I look up to see him smiling as he tips the last bag of oysters into the washer and they begin to make their way up the conveyor belt.
When the noise from the machine finally goes off it seems like I’ve taken root. My feet are like blocks of ice.
‘Just going to put these back into the water then we’ll hose down and call it a day,’ Sean says, picking up the bags and heading out of the shed. Relief floods through me. I’m exhausted, my hands are stiff, and I’m cold, really cold. Then a thought suddenly strikes me. For just those few hours, I haven’t thought about Brian at all.
The final hosing down seems to be like pouring water onto water. Little runaway crabs that have found their way into the corners of the shed are caught and then the generator, radio, and lights are switched off and the doors pulled shut.
‘OK, now for a tour of our other residences,’ he says pulling off his gloves as we step out into the wind and drizzle. We walk towards the fields behind the cottage.
‘This is Fre … Ah shite!’ He throws down his gloves and puts his hands on his hips.
‘What’s the matter?’ I ask. All I can see is a field surrounded by what looks like a precarious stone wall.
‘That is where Freddie and Mercury usually live,’ Sean says with a sigh. ‘Looks like they’ve gone, again!’ He turns back to the sheds and goes into the nearest one. He comes out carrying a bucket.
‘Here, grab this and shake it.’ He hands over a bucket of pony nuts, picks up two head collars and lead-ropes and puts them over his shoulder. We head out on to the lane, him calling and me shaking.
‘Freddie, he’s always breaking out,’ he tells me in between shakes of the bucket. I’m half-walking, half-running to keep up with his long strides. ‘Think he’s in love,’ he says without a smile. ‘Must’ve snuck past us when we were in the sheds. Ah, there they are.’ We’ve gone a long way down the lane. Two donkeys are standing in the road. One, brown and black, has his head over a gate, nose to nose with a little white donkey. The other grey donkey is looking away, like a gooseberry. Sean strides up to them, slipping the two head-collars off his shoulder. He begins to put one on the canoodling donkey and throws me the other.
‘Here, stick this on Mercury.’ I catch the head-collar and try and work out which way up it should go. I keep looking over at Sean who’s trying to stop Freddie slipping his clutches. Freddie is dodging left and right trying to make a break for it. Mercury is standing there obligingly while I try and put a head collar on him upside down. He’s nibbling at the pony nuts in my bucket. Finally I get it on, again I feel chuffed to bits by my achievement but Sean is too busy in a tug of war with Freddie, trying to persuade him to leave his lady love.
‘Shake the bucket,
I go back to putting the oysters in their compartments as Sean loads on some more. I don’t have to wait long for the next crab to come along. It’s only small and I decide to just do it; but they’re fast, wriggly, and hard to pick up when you’re wearing big red rubber gloves. It runs this way and that and I bite my bottom lip and grab it. I want to drop it straight way. But I don’t. I plop it in the bucket and feel chuffed to bits with myself. I picked up a crab! I’m grinning like an idiot. I turn to Sean, but he’s deep in his own thoughts, and I feel like he’s popped my party balloon.
We stand side by side at the conveyor belt for what seems like hours. It probably has been hours in actual fact. Sean works hard and I’m determined to keep pace with him, no matter how much my back is aching.
‘Last bag!’ Sean finally shouts and I look up to see him smiling as he tips the last bag of oysters into the washer and they begin to make their way up the conveyor belt.
When the noise from the machine finally goes off it seems like I’ve taken root. My feet are like blocks of ice.
‘Just going to put these back into the water then we’ll hose down and call it a day,’ Sean says, picking up the bags and heading out of the shed. Relief floods through me. I’m exhausted, my hands are stiff, and I’m cold, really cold. Then a thought suddenly strikes me. For just those few hours, I haven’t thought about Brian at all.
The final hosing down seems to be like pouring water onto water. Little runaway crabs that have found their way into the corners of the shed are caught and then the generator, radio, and lights are switched off and the doors pulled shut.
‘OK, now for a tour of our other residences,’ he says pulling off his gloves as we step out into the wind and drizzle. We walk towards the fields behind the cottage.
‘This is Fre … Ah shite!’ He throws down his gloves and puts his hands on his hips.
‘What’s the matter?’ I ask. All I can see is a field surrounded by what looks like a precarious stone wall.
‘That is where Freddie and Mercury usually live,’ Sean says with a sigh. ‘Looks like they’ve gone, again!’ He turns back to the sheds and goes into the nearest one. He comes out carrying a bucket.
‘Here, grab this and shake it.’ He hands over a bucket of pony nuts, picks up two head collars and lead-ropes and puts them over his shoulder. We head out on to the lane, him calling and me shaking.
‘Freddie, he’s always breaking out,’ he tells me in between shakes of the bucket. I’m half-walking, half-running to keep up with his long strides. ‘Think he’s in love,’ he says without a smile. ‘Must’ve snuck past us when we were in the sheds. Ah, there they are.’ We’ve gone a long way down the lane. Two donkeys are standing in the road. One, brown and black, has his head over a gate, nose to nose with a little white donkey. The other grey donkey is looking away, like a gooseberry. Sean strides up to them, slipping the two head-collars off his shoulder. He begins to put one on the canoodling donkey and throws me the other.
‘Here, stick this on Mercury.’ I catch the head-collar and try and work out which way up it should go. I keep looking over at Sean who’s trying to stop Freddie slipping his clutches. Freddie is dodging left and right trying to make a break for it. Mercury is standing there obligingly while I try and put a head collar on him upside down. He’s nibbling at the pony nuts in my bucket. Finally I get it on, again I feel chuffed to bits by my achievement but Sean is too busy in a tug of war with Freddie, trying to persuade him to leave his lady love.
‘Shake the bucket,
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