The Matchmaker (2 page)

She groaned, staring at the wall, wishing the day was over before it had even begun. She would have dearly loved to give in to her hangover and loll in bed for the rest of the day but she remembered that she had promised to go for Sunday lunch at her mother’s. If she didn’t show up Maggie Ryan would have a search party out hunting for her, which meant that one of her sisters would turn up, give her a lecture and see the calamitous mess and state of her house – a fate she intended to avoid at all costs.

Stretching gradually, she braved getting out of bed. She looked and felt absolutely mind-blowingly awful. Clutching at walls like an invalid, she gingerly made it to the bathroom. Her brown wavy hair was in a frizz that even the bravest hairdresser wouldn’t touch and her freckles stood out like paint spatters on her pale face; her eyes were smudged and smeared with that stupid natural plant dye mascara that she had been trying out. Throwing cold water on her face and neck to revive herself she realized carbs and coffee were urgently needed and, wrapping herself in the duvet, struggled to the kitchen for a mug of coffee and a slice of toasted brown bread. She had only instant and a half a carton of milk, but the brown bread she found was in no fit state to be handled, let alone toasted. Desperate, she searched her kitchen presses and the fridge for something to eat, torn between a half-packet of water crackers and a pecan-nut cluster bar. She opted for the water crackers, which she smeared with butter and a slice of Edam cheese topped with a smidgen of peanut butter that was rather ancient-looking but still in date.

A good hot shower and she might even begin to feel human in about an hour, she thought. Scrambling among the clutter of newspapers and books strewn on the kitchen table she searched for the copy of the new volume of poems by an incredible woman Russian poet who had moved to Ireland. It was here somewhere . . . Ah! Finding it, she gave a sigh of contentment as the caffeine began to work its magic. Curling up in the chair, she began to read.

The Sunday streets were quiet as Grace stared out the window of her apartment overlooking Spencer Docks. Barefoot in her oyster-coloured silk wrap, she listened to a church bell ringing, calling the faithful of the city to mass and watched as below a rowing boat skimmed its way across the water, the crew perfectly in time, the oars lifting and dipping in unison. A perfect Sunday morning, dry and clear with only a hint of cloud in the sky.

The coffee-maker was on and the smell of toast filled the apartment. She opened the fridge: eggs, yes, bacon, none; she’d cook scrambled eggs for breakfast. She grabbed three eggs from the shelf, whisking them quickly with butter in the small saucepan. The creamy yellow eggs were almost cooked when Shane walked in.

She blinked, surprised to see that he was dressed already for she had intended they should share breakfast in bed. He had obviously showered for his fair hair was still clinging damply to his forehead and neck as he reached and kissed her.

‘Mmm, that smells good,’ he said, lowering himself on to the kitchen chair.

She piled some eggs and toast on to his plate, passing him the coffee and some butter.

‘I’m starving,’ he admitted, tucking in as she sat down beside him.

The eggs were just perfect. Nothing worse than over- or underdone scrambled eggs. There was definitely a knack to it, she thought as she began to eat.

‘Why did you get dressed so soon?’ she asked.

‘Things to do,’ he said, buttering more toast. ‘Johnny phoned me last night. There’s a sale on golf clubs over in Howth. We thought we might run over and have a look and then maybe play a few holes. The weather looks as if it might hold so we may as well.’

‘There’s lunch at my mother’s at two thirty,’ she reminded him.

‘Sorry, Grace, but I just can’t make it.’

He didn’t sound the least bit apologetic and as she studied his handsome face she realized that spending the day together had never been part of his plan.

‘She’ll be disappointed,’ she said, trying to conceal her anger, ‘but she’s invited quite a crowd.’

‘There you go.’ He laughed, reaching for the coffee. ‘No harm done.’

She wanted to say to him: Forget Johnny, forget golf. Forget lunch at my mother’s. Why can’t we just stay here for the day looking out at the water, being with each other. But she didn’t.

‘It was a great night,’ he said dipping his toast in the egg. He had butter on his lip; his beige cords were brushing against the tanned and toned skin of her bare leg.

Grace said nothing, thinking about the expensive meal they’d shared in Peploe’s on St Stephen’s Green the night before. The busy restaurant had been packed and they had been so lucky to get a table. They’d talked for hours, telling silly stories, taking it in turns to impress each other by being outlandish.

‘I’m not sure if those Irish coffees were such a good idea, though.’

‘They were,’ he insisted.

She laughed, remembering how they’d fallen into a taxi and gone straight home, Shane holding her close all the way, racing upstairs and dancing to Sade on the stereo as he made her take off her shoes and stockings and sit out on the balcony with him watching the moon. It had been such a perfect romantic night and Shane had been tender and funny and held her until she had fallen asleep in his arms.

‘Will I see you later?’ she asked, turning away from him as she got up to make more coffee.

‘I’ll text you. Depends on Johnny and what time we finish. We might just get a quick steak in the clubhouse. So don’t worry about me, OK?’

It wasn’t OK but she wasn’t prepared to admit it and nag and fight like some needy woman.

‘Listen, Gracey, I’ll let you know if I can call by later. If not I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Fine.’ She smiled brightly, layering some marmalade on a slice of golden toast.

He smoothed her tumble of shoulder-length blond hair and then bent and kissed her lips. He tasted of coffee and sugar and his skin and hair smelled of her expensive Jo Malone orange and lime shower gel.

‘Thanks for breakfast and everything,’ he said, kissing her one last time as he grabbed his jacket and wallet and keys.

Resisting the urge to argue with him, she walked him to the door and watched him get the lift.

Afterwards she stayed sitting for ages, her coffee going cold as she contemplated her relationship with him. Seagulls screeched along the river; a bold cormorant dived up and down as if it was looking for treasure, watching the waves below as it moved across the water. Shane was probably off swinging a golf club somewhere, totally oblivious to the fact that he had upset her. It was stupid, she knew. He hadn’t done or said anything deliberately hurtful. It was more what he hadn’t done, had left unsaid.

They had been going out for nine months. She knew that didn’t mean she owned him but she hoped that he enjoyed being with her as much she did with him. They saw a lot of each other at work, and that was the way their relationship had started. But outside of work it was different: they needed to make time for each other, no matter how busy their schedules were or how many projects they were working on. She was prepared to make the effort, to give their relationship the time, but she wasn’t sure that Shane O’Sullivan was.

She glanced at her watch, suddenly realizing it was past midday as the sunshine streamed in the window. She could sit here for the rest of the day moping around or get dressed and go for a brisk walk along Sandymount Strand before heading home for a meal at her mother’s. The comfort of Sunday lunch beckoned.

Standing at the bedroom door, Sarah studied her sleeping child: Evie’s long dark eyelashes fanning across her cheek, her black hair in a tangle across the pillow, a smile on her lips. Sometimes it took her breath away just to look at her. Her daughter was utterly, totally beautiful.

‘Mummy, are you watching me?’ a sleepy voice asked.

‘Of course,’ she replied, clambering into bed with her and pulling the pink gingham quilt up around them.

‘Why?’

‘Because I love you, and when you’re asleep and dreaming you make all kinds of funny faces.’

‘What are they like?’

Curled up beside her daughter, she demonstrated and Evie giggled aloud.

‘I was dreaming up a dog,’ Evie said slowly, her blue eyes shining. ‘A big white dog, with soft hair and a black nose . . .’

‘That was a nice dream then,’ Sarah agreed. Evie was going through a doggy phase. Sarah had searched the mothering manuals, but there was no mention of what to do about a child who was so obsessed about getting a dog that she even dreamed about them.

‘His name is Snowy.’

Sarah just could not afford to take on a dog at the moment with all the costs involved: food and injections and vet’s bills. Evie didn’t understand how tight their finances were and how a hungry dog could be the last straw that would upset the delicate balance of their budget.

‘Some day, pet, we’ll get a dog,’ she promised, ‘but not just yet.’

‘When?’

Sometimes she wished that Evie wasn’t so clever. ‘Well, we can’t get a dog while Granny still has Podge. He’s a very old and slow cat and it wouldn’t be fair to him to have a new young dog running around the place and in the garden. It would scare him, wouldn’t it? The dog would probably bark at him and chase him and I think poor old Podge might not even be quick enough at running to make it up a tree. It would be cruel. Do you see?’

‘I see, Mummy.’ Evie nodded, giving a big disappointed shrug of her shoulders.

‘What’s that for?’ Sarah joked. ‘Your granny’s cooking us a lovely dinner today and Grace and Anna and Oscar from next door are coming over too.’

‘Can I wear my pink dress and my new pink tights then?’ pleaded Evie, bouncing up and down with excitement in the bed.

‘Of course, but you have to have a bath after breakfast and wash your hair,’ Sarah bargained as her daughter covered her in kisses before jumping out of bed.

Sarah watched her bounce out of the room and smiled to herself. It was funny how the worst thing that could have happened to her had ended up being the best. Finding out at nineteen, in the middle of college, that she was pregnant had seemed a disaster. A baby had been the last thing she wanted, but now – well, she couldn’t imagine life without Evie.

She had been madly in love with Maurizio, an Italian exchange student in the year above her. He was over from Milan for six months studying media technology. Small and dark and very handsome, he had asked her to show him how the contrary college photocopying machine worked and she’d ended up helping him copy his project. He had repaid her with coffee and a sandwich in the student café afterwards. Maurizio told her that Irish girls were the most wonderful creatures in the world. Sarah had, of course, believed him. She was so crazy about him that she could barely breathe. When she told him that they were going to have a child he had asked her to move back to Italy with him – live in a student house in Milan, transfer from her Art and Design course in Dun Laoghaire to college there.

‘Wait till the baby is born,’ her mother and father had advised. Sarah, overwhelmed by their support and love and insistence that they would help cover all the costs of having a baby, had agreed.

Maurizio had returned to Milan and his studies, coming to Dublin for three days when baby Evie was born. Evie had his dark, almost black hair and long eyelashes and, Sarah suspected, a little of his Italian temperament, but her blue eyes, heart-shaped face and fair Irish skin were a carbon copy of her own looks. At first Maurizio had sent some money and she had made the effort to visit his parents in Italy for a week. It had been a disaster. His father wasn’t well, the Carlucci family’s apartment in central Milan was on the tenth floor and smaller than she expected; Evie’s waking for night feeds woke the whole family and probably half of their neighbours too.

She had returned home exhausted. Maurizio only made it to Dublin for five days that summer to see his daughter. He was doing a masters degree, transferring to Rome; he was excitedly looking forward to the future. Sarah realized that Evie and herself were not part of it. There had been no big fight or angry words, they had simply drifted apart. Over the years his contact with his child had lessened, his financial support dwindled, leaving Sarah disappointed but not really surprised.

Motherhood had totally changed her. When Evie was born she had insisted on being with her all the time, refusing to hand her baby over to a crèche or someone else to mind. The maelstrom of emotions she felt for this small being who was so dependent on her made her decide to quit her course, stay home and be a full-time mother.

‘Are you sure that’s what you want?’ her father had asked.

‘I’m sure.’

She was still sure, and didn’t regret an hour or a day that she had spent devoted to her small daughter. Her parents had been more than generous, turning the basement of their house into an apartment for herself and Evie, refusing to accept any rent for it.

‘Sure, all we were doing was storing stuff there, and who in God’s name needed a table-tennis room,’ Leo Ryan had pointed out as two bedrooms, a small sitting room and a bright kitchen had been created and painted up with new heating and new fittings installed. When Evie was two and a half Sarah had gone back and finished her course at night, her mother encouraging her to get her qualification and babysitting on Tuesdays and Thursdays for her as she wrote her thesis and took on her final year project.

She lived on the small income she got for working part-time in the local national school, which meant she was broke most of the time. She helped out with their library and gave art classes to the older children. The odd design job came her way through old college contacts and if she needed extra money her friend Cora, who ran a successful catering company, was always glad of an extra pair of hands either in the kitchen or serving at some of the fancy Dublin parties she catered for in people’s homes. Still Sarah had no regrets. She watched as her friends’ careers began to take off, and knew she wouldn’t change places with them for the world, for she had Evie.