The Matchmaker (18 page)

She had never realized how much satisfaction Gran must have got from growing some of her own vegetables and fruit and living in such a simple fashion; the appeal of it was only now becoming evident as she worked. Turning the soil and crumbling the earth in her hand with the sound of the sea in the distance and the tang of salt in the air, Anna found herself strangely at one with nature, all thoughts of lectures and notes and exam papers banished from her mind.

She was aware of the sound of a car in the lane but didn’t react, even when she heard the rusty gate open. Maybe it was the postman.

‘Hey!’

She stopped what she was doing and looked up. A stranger was approaching in a pair of faded jeans and a thick navy sweater.

‘Mrs Ryan asked if I could come and check the place, said you think that there might be a problem with the roof,’ he said, coming to a halt in front of her, tall and muscular, his hair tightly cut into his head, wearing a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.

Anna flushed, blinking in the sunlight. She must look a right state.

‘I’m Rob, Rob O’Neill. I live about a half-mile down the road from here. I was a friend of Annabel’s, the owner. I used to do some jobs for her. I noticed the other night there was someone staying in the cottage.’

‘I’m Anna, Anna Ryan, her granddaughter,’ she introduced herself, realizing her hand was muddy and she must look anything but attractive in the old trousers and T-shirt she was wearing. ‘I’m just staying here for a few days.’

‘It’s good to see someone in the cottage. These places go to rack and ruin if they’re left empty too long. It’s much better to rent them out or sell them.’

Anna held her tongue. She wasn’t going to have this guy who appeared from nowhere telling her what to do.

Without further ado she led him up to the cottage. Rob walked around checking doors and windows and taps and tiles, confirming that a few tiles were indeed missing from the roof and needed replacing.

‘We had a fierce storm here in February; I should have come and looked at the place myself. Most people lost a few tiles with it. Unfortunately that damp patch is going to need replastering to get it to look right.’

‘Can you do it?’

‘I’ll try and match the tiles but won’t be able to do it till next week, along with the window and changing the tap.’

‘I have a spare key and I can leave it with you,’ she offered.

‘That’d be grand. You’re making a good go of the garden,’ he added, noticing her work.

‘The grass is gone wild,’ she admitted, ‘but the mower’s broken.’

‘Will you let me take a look at that for you too? I used to cut the grass sometimes for Annabel. It was getting too much for her at the end.’

Anna wasn’t sure if this was a deliberate rebuke aimed at her family for letting her grandmother live here so far from everyone on her own.

‘She loved it here,’ she explained, daring him to disagree with her.

‘Can you blame her?’ he agreed, his expression softening. ‘I moved out here about four years ago myself – decided to get away from the rat race. Best thing I ever did.’

Anna suddenly found herself curious about this rather good-looking guy who was kicking at a weed that was embedded in the ground near his foot. Maybe he was a local farmer or one of those Jack-of-all-trades types who somehow manage to make a living in a place like this.

She led him towards the shed although it was clear Rob already knew where to go. He pushed the ancient lawnmower out on to the gravel path.

‘Is it totally kaput?’

He didn’t answer immediately; he was bent down, totally concentrating. He tried to start it about three times and then upended the thing, lifting off various parts and examining them.

‘I’ll just check it over, and have a look at the motor.’

She watched him for a few minutes; he was engrossed in the problem.

‘Would you have a screwdriver?’ he asked eventually, lifting his glasses slightly.

She must have looked baffled. She had no idea where her grandmother would keep stuff like that. Was it in a tin in the shed or in the drawers in the kitchen?

‘Don’t worry. I have one in the car,’ he offered, standing up and wiping his hand on his jeans. She watched his lean figure amble towards the ancient green jeep. She guessed he was somewhere around her own age, maybe a bit older, and found herself wondering if he was married or had a girlfriend.

A few minutes later he returned, ignoring her as he spread various parts of the lawnmower over the grass.

‘Would you like a cup of coffee while you’re working?’ she offered, suddenly remembering her manners.

The kettle boiled quickly and Anna was relieved to see she still had enough milk in the fridge and that she hadn’t demolished all the chocolate marshmallows. She’d put them on a plate and carry it out to him and let him get on with it.

‘So you’ve been doing a bit of tidying inside too?’

She spun round to catch Rob standing at the kitchen doorway surveying the stacks of old tins and crockery and pots and pans which she had started to sort out and tidy up.

‘Yeah. It’s all got a bit disorganized.’

‘Annabel was always a bit of a hoarder,’ he said fondly as, uninvited, he came in and sat down on one of the kitchen chairs. ‘This is the problem.’ He showed her a small rusted piece of metal. ‘It’s the rotary pin. It needs replacing.’

‘Can you fix it?’

‘Well, hopefully I’m going over Clifden later this afternoon. I’ll see if I can get a new one there. If not I’m in Galway next week and I’ll try and get the part then. Beats having to get a new mower.’ He smiled, taking the mug of coffee and adding two large spoonfuls of sugar, stirring them as he looked around. ‘Always loved this kitchen. Gets the sun all day and you can glimpse the sea from the window.’

He seemed at home in the place and she tried to imagine her grandmother entertaining this man, chatting about the garden and her vegetables and the local news, proof of how well her gran got on with people and how well loved she was.

‘Would you like a mallow?’

‘Hey, my favourites,’ he declared, unwrapping the silver foil and biting into one.

Anna could feel his gaze settle on her and was conscious of her curly hair tumbling from the haphazard ponytail she’d tied this morning with a piece of old green ribbon and the fact that she hadn’t bothered with any make-up. Her fair eyelashes probably looked pretty non-existent, and the T-shirt she was wearing could certainly do with a wash.

‘How long are you staying for?’

‘A few days only, I have to be back in work in Dublin for Thursday.’

‘Poor you,’ he said ruefully, glancing out the window at the magnificent landscape tumbling out before them.

‘I’m working on an important college project,’ she explained, wondering why she was trying to impress him with her workload, ‘and I really can’t stay away any longer.’

‘I used to work in Dublin’ – he grimaced – ‘then London, Manchester . . .’ He helped himself to another biscuit. ‘. . . before I found out that I’m just not the big city type of guy. I’m a country boy so I came back to my roots. Probably one of the better decisions in my life and needless to say the mammy and daddy are delighted to have the prodigal back in the family fold.’

She was curious and was just about to ask him what he did when his phone rang.

‘Listen, I’d better be going,’ he excused himself, glancing at his mobile and putting his mug over by the Belfast sink. ‘I’ll order the tiles and try and get that mower part for you, OK?’

‘Thanks,’ she said, giving him the spare key to Gull Cottage, knowing instinctively that she could trust him.

She walked down to the car with him and watched him drive off down along the coast road.

Anna worked for another two hours then went for a quick swim in the cove. The sea water was bracing and icy as usual; a curious seal watched her from the distance. Anna dried herself off and pulled on her sweatpants and then jogged slowly along the strand to warm up. As the evening drew in she made herself a big vegetarian stew and found herself picking up one her grandmother’s old sketchbooks with its drawing of the view from the kitchen window, the heavy fuchsia, the dogwood roses and the low stone wall that gave way to the field and hedgerow and the blue line of glimmering water in the distance. Granny’s love for this place was evident in every line. She had found a peace here and become part of the small local community. Anna almost envied her. She pulled out her folder of notes and references, raking through them with a fine felt pen before the ideas came and she turned on her laptop and began to write.

Over the next two days she worked in the morning and pottered around the garden in the afternoon, the physical exercise relaxing and calming her. There was no sign of Rob and she guessed he was probably too busy and caught up in work of his own to call over. Repairing her grandmother’s ancient mower was hardly top on his list of priorities.

On Wednesday afternoon Anna packed up the car reluctantly. Gull Cottage looked lonely as she closed it up and she vowed to return in the next few weeks even if it was only for a weekend. Sitting into her little red Polo she braced herself for the return to the city and her normal life.

As the late April afternoon sun glinted in through the tall window of the drawing room, Oscar Lynch studied the view over Pleasant Square, taking in the street of red-brick houses with their granite steps and railings. He had considered this selfsame view, the park with its tall chestnut trees and cherry trees, the central square with its seasonal border, the small play area with its two swings and rather wonky see-saw and the grass tennis court at the rear for almost half a century. Embarking on the purchase of this house he and Elizabeth had given much thought to the amenity of having an almost private park as your front garden; each had decided it was the perfect place to raise a family, far from the newer sprawling estates that were being built around the city. The cost of a new roof, wiring, heating and a kitchen were outweighed by the charm of the square, its proximity to town and of course the park.

Year after year had passed and they had waited and waited, ever-hopeful for a much-longed-for son or daughter to arrive. Then Elizabeth had endured a miscarriage at sixteen weeks and never fell pregnant again. With every subsequent year the thoughts of a family of their own had somehow receded. Unfortunately Elizabeth would not countenance the thought of adoption.

‘If we have a child, it will be our own,’ she’d insisted, ignoring his pleas that they talk to one of the adoption societies. So he too in time had accepted that no child of his would run through the grass or play on the red-painted swings or lob a tennis ball across the net.

He’d watched heavy-hearted as the other families filled the square, shouting and laughing during the summer, scrunching through the leaves and searching for conkers in the autumn, building snowmen in the winter and flying kites as the breezy days of spring and early summer came around again. In time Elizabeth and he no longer spoke of that which had caused so much secret pain and hurt during their long years of marriage. He had adored Elizabeth Fortune from the minute he first set eyes on her, finding her both beautiful and intelligent, a rare enough combination for one’s life partner. Nowadays of course, with the miracles of modern science and medicine, couples could have test-tube babies, IVF; all kinds of things had been invented to give hope to the childless, but all that was after their time and they had simply learned to accept it with dignity.

Instead they had filled their lives with other things: music, opera and travel. They’d travelled regularly to Italy: La Scala, Verona; all the great opera stages of the world. They drank wine in the vineyards of Champagne, Burgundy, Dordogne, Douro, Stellenbosch, Franschhoek, Napa Valley and Hunter Valley. They had explored the world, always seeking to discover more about this great earth and their fellow human beings. A dentist with a busy loyal practice, he’d worked till he was sixty-eight, filling teeth, crowning, polishing and removing them, adapting bites, curing grinding, remaining calm in the face of the sheer terror of the vast majority of his patients. At night Elizabeth would listen to him patiently as he told her about the lives and foibles of those who had graced the large leather dentist chair during the day.

‘You are so kind to everyone, Oscar,’ she would praise him as she cooked dinner and poured a perfect restorative glass of gin and tonic. ‘They’re lucky to have such a good dentist to look after them.’

He smiled, watching as two boys of ten or eleven raced each other on bicycles through the park. A McCarthy by the look of him, with a pal. That family had been reared in the park!

Of course Elizabeth was gone now and he was alone. She had died almost eight years ago. His beautiful wife had been paralysed by a stroke that hit suddenly when she woke up one morning. Seriously ill, she had been taken to hospital and over the following week had developed complications and pneumonia. She hadn’t responded to the treatment and despite everyone’s best efforts Elizabeth had died. It had been an awful time. He still remembered it as if it was only yesterday. The grief, the intense anger and of course the loneliness that followed. Without Elizabeth there were no more travels, no big trips. Five years ago old friends had inveigled him to the Wexford Opera Festival, but tears had rolled uncontrollably down his face as he’d watched
Carmen
performed. Never again. He couldn’t do it without her.

Now his life was about to change again. He was plagued with arthritis and had become almost a prisoner in his own home, reliant on the goodwill and charity of friends and neighbours to assist him. His consultant, Tom Moore in the Blackrock Clinic, had called him in and told him he needed a hip replacement.

‘There’s still plenty of life left in you, Oscar,’ he’d cajoled. ‘Being bed-bound or immobile is no good for you or anyone else. Surgery will help you enormously. Within a few months I guarantee you won’t know yourself.’

Oscar had found himself unusually wary of the procedure, worried about the length of time he’d have to spend in hospital and recuperating. Was there any point to it, he asked himself? What would Elizabeth have wanted? Still, it was his doctor’s professional opinion and he didn’t want to be a burden on anyone or for that matter a burden on the state! The only sensible thing to do was take his surgeon’s advice and go ahead with the operation. The decision was made and today was the day. His neighbour Maggie Ryan had kindly volunteered to drive him to the hospital and he knew that he could depend on her to collect his post and look after the house and garden while he was in hospital.