The Matchmaker

by Marita Conlon-McKenna

  ‘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.

  Chapter Twelve

  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.

  Jan had tipped her off about this problem and she had bought a packet of ten yellow ear plugs in the chemist’s. With half the household rising at the crack of dawn to work in hospitals and offices and building sites the chance of sleeping after five thirty a.m. was slim.

  ‘Did I tell you Olek is going to play the part of a little monkey in his school’s production of Noah’s Ark?’

  ‘A monkey? That’s fun. You must be so proud. When is the play?’

  ‘Four weeks’ time.’

  Irina could sense the pain in Jan’s voice. He would miss it for he was not returning home till the end of August for a two-week holiday.

  ‘Renata will take photos, send them to you.’

  ‘I know. She is a good wife. I have a good family. I am a fortunate man.’

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘Very fortunate.’

  The meatballs were delicious and Irina fended off the greedy attention of the other householders as she served up.

  ‘They smell delicious,’ pleaded Josef, a bricklayer from Piła who shared the room with Jan. ‘Just a little taste . . .’

  ‘No!’ she laughed as Jan passed him up a forkful of the spicy meat and sauce.

  ‘Better even than my mother’s,’ cajoled Josef, his big eyes glistening in the hope of persuading her to ask him to sit down and join them.

  Marta appeared downstairs wearing her big pink dressing gown. Ignoring Josef, Irina made her sit down. She grabbed another plate from the shelf and served her some warm food. She had worked overtime all week with no day off.

  ‘So I work hard, I earn the big money and then I go home. Then there will be time for resting and sleeping!’

  ‘That was so good,’ beamed Jan, licking his lips. ‘As good as my Renata’s but don’t tell her ever I said so!’

  ‘Thank you,’ added Marta, clearing all the food on her plate too.

  Irina smiled. She had a little left for tomorrow when she returned home from the Spar shop where she worked late on a Thursday night. She would put the meatballs away in the fridge with her name written clearly on the container, otherwise Josef or one of the other men would just eat them. Someone had a DVD of a Polish game show and the latest two episodes of her favourite soap M jak miłośîć and once she had washed up she would join the throng in the sitting room to watch the continuing story of the Mostowiak family.

  She yawned as she lowered herself on to the multicoloured couch, squeezing in between a skinny girl called Justnya and Piotr Boczkwoski and his girlfriend. Her body ached with exhaustion but she didn’t want to just go straight to bed after working all day. Caroline Dunne had been even more demanding than usual and complained that she had not cleaned the shower in the main bathroom properly and made her redo it. At least she’d been paid, cash in hand, but she was in two minds whether to turn up next week or not. Watching the TV, for a short while she imagined she was back in her own place, in her own town listening to the gossip and chat around her.

  Irina stared at the figures on TV. She laughed as on screen the contestants battled it out for the chance to win a thousand euros and a trip to London. Everyone wanted to win something. Be a winner. Yet life here was tougher than she had imagined: everything was so expensive – rent, food, the bus and Luas and trains – and yet every day more and more of her countrymen seemed to be coming to Ireland, living in rented accommodation in Dublin, Cork, Galway and Wexford. There were many stories of Polish people being successful; buying houses and property and shops and setting up businesses. Some day she would be successful too. Some day her broken heart would mend and she would forget the name Edek Stasiak, and fall in love again!

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ignoring the pelting rain Sarah grabbed an umbrella as she and Evie ran helter-skelter down the garden path to the mews. The new tenant was due and her mother had suddenly been called away to the funeral of an old family friend in Wicklow and had asked her to be there instead for the handover.

  ‘Don’t worry about money or anything like that,’ she reassured her daughter, ‘but just make sure you give Angus two sets of keys and show him how to work the heating and the water immersion and the alarm panel.’

  ‘Will do,’ said Sarah, who was curious to meet this Scottish guy her mother had been telling her so much about. His job designing computer games sounded great, really fun, but he was probably one of those computer nerds who never switched off.

  Evie played around the living room and kitchen as Sarah pulled the curtains and did her best to make the place look cosy considering it was such a wet miserable night. She had a welcome bag of essentials with tea and coffee, milk, sugar, butter, bread and biscuits and had flicked on the heating to warm the place up. She loved this house. Her sister Grace had done an amazing job in terms of the simple design and making sure it captured light from all directions. Upstairs she checked the bedrooms quickly before racing with Evie to answer the doorbell.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked the lilting Scottish accent.

  ‘I’m Evie,’ her daughter said, introducing herself to the stranger.

  There was a very wet young man at the door trying to balance a massive box in his hands in the doorway. Embarrassed, Sarah ushered him in.

  ‘I just need to find somewhere to put my computer down,’ he explained.

  She directed him to the rectangular dining table. ‘I’m Maggie’s daughter, Sarah,’ she said shaking his hand once it was free. ‘Mum had to go to a funeral and asked me to let you in.’

  He grinned. ‘And I’m Angus Hamilton.’

  Wow! He was just the kind of guy she always fancied: a little taller than her, skinny, with spiky hair and the very faintest tracing of a beard. He was wearing jeans and a leather jacket and boots. But it was his eyes that got her, big and dark and soulful.

  ‘I’ll just grab one more bag from the car; I can get the rest when the deluge is over.’

  ‘Take the umbrella,’ she advised, watching him disappear along by the hedge.

  By the time he came back with a backpack and a flat screen for his computer she had put the kettle on. She was dying to hear more of that lovely Scottish accent.

  He dumped his jacket on the expensive metal coat stand beside the front door and paced around the downstairs.

  ‘This place looks even better than I remember.’

  ‘Glad you like it.’ She smiled. ‘I brought you over a few welcome things like sugar and milk and coffee.’

  ‘That’s kind of you,’ he said, running his fingers through his damp hair.

  ‘We only live across the garden in the basement, and Mum wanted to make sure that you were OK.’

  ‘I appreciate it,’ he said seriously as she walked him around the rest of the house and gave him all the necessary instructions.

  ‘The kettle’s boiled if you fancy a cup of tea or coffee,’ she offered, hoping he wouldn’t think her too pushy.

  ‘Only if you two stay and join me,’ he said, opening the pack of chocolate biscuits and offering one to Evie.

  Sarah finished off the coffee and carried the two mugs over to the black leather couches where he was busy telling Evie all about the Loch Ness monster.

  ‘She told me that she likes dinosaurs,’ he explained.

  Over the next hour Sarah found herself filling him in on the local shops and telling him about all the hot night spots and good restaurants to go to in Dublin that her sisters and friends regularly frequented.

  ‘It’s good to get recommendations,’ he teased, ‘but surely that can’t beat trying out the places yourself!’

  ‘I do go out sometimes,’ she protested, ‘but with having Evie to mind, it’s n
ot as easy.’

  ‘So it’s hard for you and Evie’s dad to get out?’

  ‘No, that’s not it,’ she said truthfully. ‘He lives in Italy so we rarely see each other.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘No need to be,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ve got Evie and that’s all that matters. What about you?’

  ‘I’m twenty-seven and from the parish of Barclay in Edinburgh. I have one sister and two brothers and studied engineering, specializing in computer systems, which I now design, along with games – which are a sort of sideline and hobby of mine,’ he added mockingly, his dark eyes fixed on her face. ‘And I have a lovely girlfriend Megan whom you will no doubt meet when she comes to visit me in a few weeks’ time.’

  ‘Great,’ she replied, trying to hide her plunging disappointment. He was too good to be true. Someone like Angus was bound to have a girlfriend in his life. Her mother was right, though, he was a nice guy and she hoped that at least they could be friends.

  ‘Hey, Angus, I’d better go,’ she exclaimed. ‘Time to get Evie to bed or she’ll be like a bear tomorrow. She’s going to a birthday party at the Puppet Theatre. I said I’d give the other mum Jess a hand as she’s bringing twelve six-year-olds!’

  ‘Sounds like fun!’ he said and she could tell he actually meant it. ‘I’m big into those kind of places myself!’

  Sitting up at her own computer later that night typing a story she was making up for Evie about a dog and listening to the lashing rain and gusting winds outside, Sarah found herself genuinely relieved to know that Angus was only a minute or two away.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Grace checked the table one last time. The ultra-modern Finnish cutlery, linen napkins, her good crystal glasses, Meadows and Byrne candles, two stems of green leaves with a showy splash of red ginger stems, all set out perfectly on her dark walnut table with its classic elegant lines.