The Matchmaker (7 page)

‘I was talking to him outside and he’s so rude and unfriendly!’

‘Well, you two certainly got off on the wrong foot.’ Her mother was clearly puzzled. ‘I think he’s rather attractive and Sarah likes him too. He drove her to the Vincent de Paul shop in Ranelagh to get rid of the O’Connors’ old boxes and bags of clothes and stuff.’

Grace set the table for two as her mother talked.

‘He’s very eligible – by all accounts wealthy, and he’s single,’ continued Maggie.

‘Mum!’ she protested.

‘I’m just saying that Mark McGuinness is the kind of man a girl should be interested in,’ she said, passing her a plate of creamy risotto. ‘Maybe I should invite him to lunch or dinner here.’

‘Don’t you dare,’ warned Grace, knowing full well her mother was likely to ignore her.

‘He’s our new neighbour, after all, and we should make an effort to be friendly. Besides, he might enjoy a bit of company and it would be a chance for you and Sarah and Anna to meet him properly.’

‘Mum, we don’t even know if he’s going to move into the house yet. He could be planning to resell it in a year’s time.’

‘I doubt it, I see him in and out of the place most days and if you ask me he’s here to stay.’

Grace sighed. Her mother had turned into some kind of crazy Irish mammy obsessed with marriage and weddings and assessing men’s potential ‘husbandability’ as Sarah called it. All she wanted was for one of them to get married. She only hoped she wouldn’t set her sights on that awful McGuinness man for one of them.

The risotto was perfect, and Grace found herself having second helpings as her mother regaled her with the search for a new tenant, her worries about Oscar Lynch’s worsening arthritis, and the bloody awful book that they were reading at her book club.

‘We all hate it, it’s dire and depressing but very literary!’ she explained. ‘Still, we’ll argue about it, have a few glasses of wine and a bit of a chat after. Maybe you should think of joining a book club, Grace. It’s fun!’

‘Mum, I don’t have the time,’ she protested. ‘I never get the chance to read unless I’m on holiday.’

‘Then maybe you should make the time, Grace. Seriously, there’s more to life than work. If you wanted to join our book club I could ask the girls if they’d mind.’

The thought of sitting around with her mother and Aunt Kitty and their middle-aged friends discussing the kind of books they read filled her with horror.

‘Mum, I am
not
joining a book club!’

‘It was only a suggestion,’ Maggie said, starting to clear away the plates. ‘I worry about you being on your own and working so hard. You’re in Thornton’s all day and then you go home to that empty apartment. It must get lonely. I know you have a busy life and a wonderful career, but I do know what it is like to be lonely, Grace.’

‘Honest, Mum, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t get time to be lonely. And besides, you’re forgetting I’ve got a boyfriend.’

‘Of course you have,’ said her mother, raising her eyebrows slightly and barely able to mask the disapproval in her voice as she went to put on the kettle and make two mugs of tea.

Grace decided there was no point getting into an argument with her. Her mother had had it in for Shane ever since he’d missed that stupid Sunday lunch and Orla and Liam’s party. She had no idea of the pressure on a relationship when you both worked long hours and had so many commitments and project deadlines to meet.

By the time she returned to her empty flat an hour later, Grace had decided that her mother had in fact gone mad. Imagine wanting to invite Mark McGuinness to eat in their home! She was such a schemer. She’d phone Anna and Sarah and warn them what Maggie was up to. She checked her messages first, disappointed that there was no word from Shane.

And as for her mother’s suggestion that she was lonely and should join a book club . . . it was just daft. At almost thirty years of age she certainly didn’t need her mother meddling in her affairs.

Irina Romanowska started off the morning with a three-hour early shift in the Spar shop, near the estate where she lived, unpacking newspapers and milk cartons and bread deliveries as the first customers trooped in. Mr Delaney, the owner, was in bad form as he’d had a row with his wife. Irina made him a mug of tea and put an extra spoonful of sugar in it, hoping that it would sweeten him up so he wouldn’t growl at his customers or for that matter at her.

Afterwards, having taken off her blue and white uniform and fixed her short blond hair, she got the bus into the centre of town and then took the Luas tram to the stop near where Mrs Ryan lived. She had worked for Maggie Ryan since she had first come to Dublin, doing ironing and a bit of cleaning on Wednesday mornings. In the afternoon she worked in the Dunnes’ big house in Rathgar. She hoped that Caroline Dunne was out today as the thirty-two-year-old tended to follow her around checking everything and inspected her work every day before letting her go.

Mrs Ryan was in the kitchen and made her sit down and join her for a cup of tea before she started.

‘Did you have a nice weekend?’ asked the Irish woman as she passed Irina the jug of milk and a packet of chocolate chip cookies.

‘I worked on Saturday in Spar shop but on Sunday I was free.’

‘We all need our day of rest, Irina.’

‘I had a rest, because on Saturday night I went dancing and to the pub with my friends.’

‘Did you meet any nice Irish boys?’ quizzed Maggie Ryan, curious.

Irina shook her head and laughed. All mothers asked the same question. ‘My friend Marta said that there are no nice Irish boys, or maybe we just have not met them.’

‘I think sometimes my daughters might agree with you.’

Irina liked Mrs Ryan’s daughters. Sarah, the youngest, had a little girl called Evie, who sometimes came to play when she was working. She found Irish people were for the most part friendly and welcoming to strangers like her.

‘On Sunday, I went to mass in the big church with Father Peter who says the Polish mass. All the Polish people go,’ she explained

‘Well, it’s good to hear someone is using the churches!’ replied Maggie Ryan, thinking of all the young Irish people that had abandoned mass-going. Even her own daughters were not half as religious as they should be.

‘Then we go for lunch, a big lunch in the restaurant near the hotel at the airport. Two of my friends work in the restaurant and they organize with the owner to have a special lunch for Polish friends. I like to meet so many of my own people and afterwards we go to listen to music in a big pub in Temple Bar.’

‘It’s good that you are enjoying yourself, Irina, and not feeling too homesick for your own country.’

‘I do miss my father and mother and my two brothers,’ she admitted, thinking of her family at home, ‘and some of my friends, but Ireland is a good country – good for Polish people, I think.’

‘Well, I’m glad to hear that.’ Maggie smiled as she got up from the table. ‘I’m going into town to meet my sister Kitty for lunch, her daughter’s getting married in a few months’ time and we’re going to have a look around the shops for some clothes for the wedding.’

‘In my country weddings are a big party.’

‘It’s the same here, we all get dressed up for the day and spend a fortune,’ laughed Maggie. ‘Some day it will be your turn, Irina, and you will be such a beautiful bride.’

‘But I don’t even have a boyfriend,’ Irina confessed.

‘Give it time and that will change,’ teased Maggie.

‘Do you think so?’ she asked, suddenly serious.

‘Of course,’ said her employer. ‘There’s a man out there who is the perfect match for you, it’s just a question of meeting him!’

Irina smiled. Maggie Ryan with her romantic notions was nearly as bad as her mother!

‘Irina, I have a new tenant moving in on Friday evening,’ she explained a few minutes later as she pulled on her jacket and searched for her car keys, ‘and I want the place sparkling clean for him.’

‘Of course,’ she agreed. She had already scrubbed and hoovered the mews building a few weeks ago after that crowd of nurses had left the place in a state. Irina had been appalled at the amount of rubbish they had left behind, but was delighted when Maggie Ryan had given her extra money for all her hard work.

‘It’s still clean after the great job you did the last time so can you just give it a bit of a polish and make sure the kitchen and bathrooms are sparkling as first impressions are important.’

Irina liked the privacy of the small mews house and envied whoever was going to move in. She hoovered the house first, and then made sure the stainless-steel worktops and sink and tiles were pristine as she worked, before turning her attention to cleaning the main bathroom and the en-suite upstairs. The beds were made and she polished the mirrors, listening to the radio as she worked. Maggie Ryan was nice to work for and let her watch TV when she was ironing or listen to music as she cleaned. Caroline Dunne wouldn’t even let her turn on her plasma TV or her stereo. She would quit working for that awful woman as soon as she could. There was plenty of work out there for a hard-working Polish girl.

It was over a year since she had moved to this country. Like so many other Polish people, she had heard about the Celtic Tiger and Ireland, the small country with the big economy where anyone who was willing to work could make lots of money. That sounded good, and the fact that it was a Catholic country had persuaded her mother and father to let her go to Dublin.

It was more than money, however, that had driven her here – it was a broken heart. She had wasted five years of her life going out with handsome Edek Stasiak, a technician who worked with her in the small computer factory in Łódź, assembling the tiny components for the micro-processors they manufactured. They were madly in love with each other and she often imagined the day that they would get married. Then Edek had told her he was in love with someone else, a girl called Krysia who worked as a hairdresser. Utterly heartbroken, Irina had shouted and screamed and kicked him in the shins, packed her bags and fled to Dublin. The last she had heard from her mother was that Edek was planning a summer wedding to his hairdresser.

There was no point dwelling on the past, she reminded herself as she gathered up her cleaning things. It could not be undone. Satisfied that she had done a good job and that the house was perfect for the new tenant, she locked the mews door and made her way back to Maggie’s kitchen.

After her long day at work Irina was exhausted as she crossed over the road in the huge estate to the small three-bedroom house on Riverstown Avenue that she shared with five friends. Some days and nights there were nine or ten of them crowded into the small living room or trying to cook in the cramped kitchen or wash and dry clothes. They were all Polish, and under the small roof tried to pretend that they were still living in Kraków or Łódź or Gdańsk, united by a sense of camaraderie and nationalism. They all had jobs and were determined to earn as much as possible in this rich country. Some planned to work and save and return to Poland to set up their own businesses and buy property in their home country; others wanted a fresh start and to integrate with these Irish people, do well and make a living here. Irina wasn’t exactly sure which category she fell into yet.

She was sure, however, she was not going to return to Poland with her tail between her legs and no money. The next time she saw her mother she would buy her nice clothes, a new television and pay for her to go on a holiday. As for Edek, when he saw her walking down Piotrkowska Street she would be stylish and well groomed and speak English perfectly and be far too busy to stop and even talk to him. Let him marry that girl Krysia if that’s what he wanted!

Inside the house she slipped upstairs and changed out of her work clothes. Marta was lying stretched out on the lower bunk fast asleep, her breath soft as she snored slightly. She’d had an early start working at the big hospital and had obviously just come off a long shift. Irina moved silently, trying not to disturb her, pulling on a pair of comfy tracksuit bottoms and a snug red fleece top. The smell of cooking drifted upstairs and her stomach growled with hunger. She’d had cups of coffee and toast all day in the houses she’d cleaned but longed for a reviving meal. On the way home she’d stopped off and bought pork mince in the butcher shop near the corner of the estate. Tonight she was going to make meatballs and potatoes and red cabbage.

‘Irina, you want a tea or coffee?’ offered Jan Kaninski when she appeared at the kitchen door.

‘No, thanks, I’m just going to make some dinner.’

Four people sat at the kitchen table eating pasta and a tomato sauce, a staple of the house. Two of them she had never seen before.

‘What are you making?’ he asked, curious.

‘Pork meatballs and potatoes.’

‘With paprika?’

‘Yes, of course,’ she laughed. ‘You want some?’

A big grin appeared on his face. Jan and herself came from the same district in Łódź Their parents had known each other for years. An electrician, he was married with two small boys and had been driven to Ireland in the hope of earning enough to purchase a home for his family. A year or two working on the big construction sites scattered all around Dublin, building apartments and shopping centres and offices, and then he would be able to return home, having earned enough to buy or build a fine house of their own and set up that small contracting business he had always dreamed of. He missed his wife Renata, and their two boys Kryzs and Olek, maybe next year they would join him. Every night, without fail, he phoned them. He missed his family so much and he really missed good Polish home-cooking.

‘Jan, you wash that pot from the spaghetti and I’ll get cooking,’ she promised, taking a big white mixing bowl from the cupboard. She would save some for Marta too. Her friend might be hungry when she woke up; otherwise she could have it tomorrow.

The one thing about living in this house, she thought as she shaped the mince and flour and onions into balls, you would never be lonely or complain of silence. There was always someone talking or watching the big silver television or listening to the radio or phoning someone. It was like living in a train station with people in and out and coming and going all the time. Sometimes she longed for peace and quiet at the end of the day.