The Matchmaker

by Marita Conlon-McKenna

  He spotted Evie and immediately bent down to chat to her.

  ‘Hi.’ Sarah smiled, glad to see him.

  ‘How are you two pretty ladies?’

  ‘Fine thanks,’ she said as Evie showed him her DVD.

  ‘Looks really good, but I’m more of a Bond man. I saw this on the big screen but I’m going to chill and watch it again. Guns and girls and fast cars – that is my kind of movie! Have you seen it?’

  ‘No,’ admitted Sarah. Trips to the cinema were a pretty rare occurrence and were usually confined to the latest Disney blockbuster that Evie would enjoy or a chick flick with her sisters or friends.

  ‘Why don’t you come round to my place later and we can watch it then?’ he offered.

  She tilted her head towards Evie. She’d have to organize a babysitter.

  ‘OK, point taken. Then why don’t I come over to your place instead? You provide the DVD machine and I’ll bring the movie and the popcorn.’

  ‘That sounds good.’ Sarah found herself agreeing. Suddenly she realized it would be good to have a bit of adult company.

  Evie was fast asleep by the time Angus came over. Curling up in the chair chatting to him and watching suave James Bond tackle a series of odious villains and win the heart of every lady he came into contact with made Sarah smile.

  ‘Total bloody escapism,’ enthused Angus, ‘just perfect for a Wednesday night.’

  Sarah agreed and afterwards made a pot of coffee for the two of them and some toast as Angus gave her an in-depth rundown of his favourite Scottish rock bands. It was funny but with Angus she felt totally relaxed and comfortable and able to talk easily. He had opinions about everything, she discovered, and was really funny.

  They got into a mock argument about the best five films they had seen and who was their favourite director.

  ‘Hey what about we do this again next week?’ he suggested as he helped her carry the mugs to the kitchen. ‘Only this time you pick the film. We can take it in turns – that’s if you want.’

  Sarah did want. He was lovely, just the kind of guy she would normally fancy, but he’d been totally up front about his girlfriend Megan and she was no boyfriend-stealer! Still, it must be lonely for him stuck in Dublin midweek without her. Maybe they could just be friends, have a laugh together. There was no contest between sitting at home on her own watching stupid stuff on the TV and having Angus over to watch a DVD next Wednesday.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Anna was in love. Unlike her sisters who were utter disasters where men were concerned, she was in love with the perfect man, a man of intelligence, who was spiritual and intellectual and had a rare knowledge of a woman’s psyche. With his dark curling hair and long face and full lips and wise eyes she suspected he could all but see into her soul.

  She had fallen in love with him when she was sixteen years old and that love had never faltered or wavered over the succeeding years. He was constant and true, unlike other men, and had the ability to move her like no other person had. She had been overwhelmed by him when she had first read his poem about spreading the cloths of heaven under the feet of his beloved. The genius and brilliance of his poetry lifted her up in a whirlwind of words as she read and studied his poetry and plays. William Butler Yeats was the perfect man and no living, breathing human could come in any way close to matching the depths of emotion he stirred in her. Her passion and obsession for his work had driven her to study English first at UCD and then to undertake a Ph.D. at Trinity.

  This love of W. B. Yeats possessed her and she could not help comparing the mere mortals she met at parties and dances and pubs with the poet. Her friends and sisters told her she was crazy but Anna persisted in choosing the life of an academic where she had the opportunity to immerse herself in the life and times of Ireland’s most famous poet and his fellow writers.

  ‘For God’s sake, he was an old man and he loved Maud Gonne and he was on our Leaving Certificate exam papers,’ her sister Sarah had teased her. ‘How can you possibly compare him to the guys we meet when we go out?’

  ‘Exactly!’ Anna had shouted triumphantly.

  Her sisters and friends constantly fell for the Heathcliffs and Darcys, the Rhett Butlers and Gatsbys of the world and then wondered why they were left vulnerable and heartbroken. Anyone who had studied literature could have told them that such romances were doomed. She herself had no intention of following that route and if she did ever decide to settle and marry would choose an intellectual companion like Philip Flynn who at least understood her passion for literature. She had shown him the latest drafts of her paper on ‘The Role of Women in W. B. Yeats’s Life’ and Philip had been most encouraging and supportive. However, the quest to find an interesting man with a spark of genius was proving more difficult than she imagined.

  As she walked across the cobbled square of Trinity College and made her way to the library she phoned Grace, agreeing to meet for lunch in Luigi’s, one of the nicer Italian restaurants in Temple Bar. She was banning all talk of Shane O’Sullivan and their break-up during the meal and had got two tickets for the opening of a new play in the Project tomorrow night, which Grace should enjoy. At eleven o’clock she had a tutorial with a group of fresh first years who were still labouring under the impression that college life was a doddle and there was no need to make any effort to study or research until a few weeks before the end-of-year exams, a belief she was doing her best to shatter. She contemplated doing a small handout for them and then reminded herself that it was up to them to do the work and discover the gems hidden in the realms of language and literature they were studying.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, you are explorers. Miners digging for treasure!’ she reminded them as she glanced around the crowded lecture theatre at the faces of her eighteen- and nineteen-year-old students. She recalled crusty old Louis Redmond, one of the university’s finest English professors, who had steered her through the rough and tumble of an English degree. She had almost swooned as he read from ‘The Rose’ from his copy of Yeats’s Collected Poems in her first year in Belfield and had signed up for all his classes the very next day. At eighteen years old she was ready to have her mind opened and her spirit untethered from the usual pursuits of UCD’s student life.

  That had been almost ten years ago and she could never have imagined how vast was the realm of words and poetry that would enchant her, hold her, and to which she now dedicated her life. A Masters and a Ph.D. and nine months at Harvard were all stepping stones on the route to the Holy Grail: a professorship.

  She was not anti-men; in fact she liked most of them and had even enjoyed a few romances along the way with students and other academics, but nothing touched her heart the way Yeats did. A passionate fling with fellow student Brad Lewis while at Harvard; a disastrous few months dating Tom Kinsella, who lectured in Economics here at Trinity, which had ended badly. At times she did miss male companionship, sex and the giddy ease that the first days of a relationship brought, but she consoled herself with the fact that she was betrothed to the love of a genius who, with his words and insights and wisdom, had woken her to something much stronger and important than simple romance.

  Chapter Twenty

  Reluctantly Grace had given in to the persuasion of her sisters, friends and work colleagues to stop moping around and get back into the social scene. She had agreed to join the Saturday night crowd in Café en Seine, one of Dublin’s busiest bars. She pushed through the throng with her friends, wearing a figure-hugging jade-green dress with a little black cropped cardigan, ignoring the numerous appreciative glances from the wall of men balancing pints all around them. The place was busier than ever, packed with noisy groups laughing and shouting and running the waitresses off their feet with orders.

  Niamh and the girls were being more than supportive and were ensuring that she was kept topped up with her favourite vodka and orange, but she felt as if she was in some kind of market as guys eyed her up and down. Being single sucked. However, she made an effort to
mingle and make small talk and look like she was having a good time.

  ‘Come on, we’re heading for Krystle,’ shouted Niamh as they finished off a last round of drinks and headed for Harcourt Street.

  She was tempted to jump in a cab and go back home but realized that if she didn’t want to be a total damp squib and let her friends down she’d have to make the best of the night and enjoy herself. Niamh and Lisa breezed past the nightclub’s bouncers and the gathering crowd as all five of them headed inside and ordered a bottle of wine before making a rush for the dance floor.

  Grace loved music and at last relaxed. She began to dance, letting her body take up the thumping rhythm of the music played by the club’s DJ. The girls all around her were laughing and joining in as the nightclub began to fill. Shane would hate this, she thought momentarily before banishing him from her mind.

  Back at the bar Niamh introduced her to two guys she worked with and before she knew it they were both back on the dance floor. She watched as Niamh in her low-cut top and figure-hugging trousers chatted away easily to Kevin while she made an attempt to keep the conversation going with her dance partner Dermot. She had forgotten how awful being ‘chatted up’ really was and after about half an hour excused herself and retreated to the ladies’ bathroom with Claire and Lisa. She really was not sure that she wanted to do this any more; that she cared or had the enthusiasm to talk to utter strangers and pretend that she was interested in them. She checked her watch: another half-hour and she could beat a retreat and go home. Lisa had downed one two many white wines and was getting tearful about Tom Callaghan, the guy she had gone out with for about a year, who had dumped her and gone off to work for Goldman Sachs in London.

  ‘I would have moved to London, followed him over and worked there,’ she slurred, ‘but he just told me he didn’t want to bring any baggage from Dublin over to London and wanted to enjoy being single again.’

  ‘He’s a bastard, Lisa,’ insisted Claire, brushing her long blond hair and making her down a glass of water, ‘but for some bloody reason nice girls like us tend to fall for them.’

  Grace stared at her own pale face and sad eyes and was determined that she was not going to waste the rest of her night nitpicking over her love life.

  ‘Hey, I’m going back outside,’ she said, slapping on some lip gloss.

  She was walking back to the others when she spotted Mark McGuinness in the distance and ducked to try to avoid him. He was standing near the bar with a stunning-looking girl with cropped dark hair. He looked relaxed, head bent forward listening to her talking to him, his arm around her waist.

  ‘Good evening, Miss Ryan,’ he said as she passed.

  ‘Hello, Mr McGuinness,’ she said briefly, trying to be polite. ‘I hope you’re enjoying the night.’

  He raised his glass. Funny, she wouldn’t have thought this kind of place was his scene, she mused as she made her way back to her friends. Niamh was sitting up at the other end of the bar with Kevin and Dermot and she joined them. Dermot insisted on getting her another drink, before leading her back on the dance floor again as the slow set started. He was tall and well built but had downed too many pints to make conversation that was in any way interesting. Still, he seemed a nice enough guy. The dance floor was packed and he held her tightly to him as they found themselves in the middle of crowds of couples intent on getting to know each other a lot better.

  His hands roamed down along the small of her back and across her hips. Once or twice she corrected him, before giving in to the rhythm of the music. Niamh and Kevin were snogging the faces off each other, oblivious to everyone around them. Emboldened, Dermot tried to do the same but she managed to deflect his lips to her shoulder and neck. She was definitely not ready for this and babbled away like an eejit as he tried to be passionate.

  She smiled with relief when the music stopped and the floor began to clear. Dermot, firmly holding her hand, tried to persuade her to sit down for a while.

  ‘I’m sorry but I’m going to have to go,’ she apologized. ‘It’s been nice meeting you and thanks for the drink.’

  ‘Go?’ She could see him blink in disbelief as she moved away from him.

  She ignored his hasty request for her mobile number and brushed a farewell kiss against his cheek as she chased upstairs to the others. Niamh was happily sitting on Kevin’s lap and clearly had no intention of going anywhere. Roisin and Claire too wanted to stay on and have a laugh but felt Lisa might be ready to head home.

  ‘She’s pretty hammered.’

  ‘No she’s not – she’s wrecked!’

  ‘She can share a taxi with me and I’ll make sure she gets in OK,’ Grace offered, relieved to be leaving the nightspot.

  Lisa made no protest as she led her outside past the crowds and hailed a taxi.

  All the way home, Lisa rambled on about Tom and how wonderful he was. Grace refused to be drawn into a drunken conversation about ex-boyfriends. The taxi-driver waited patiently as she marched Lisa into her apartment in Milltown and made sure she went to bed and was fine.

  Back in the haven of her own place she kicked off her high heels and stepped out of her dress. With a sigh of relief she pulled on her pyjamas. Why she had ever been daft enough to let herself be persuaded to go out was beyond her. Right now she didn’t care if she never dated a man again! She put on the kettle and turned on a late-night movie, a vampire horror, curling up on the couch with some cheese and crackers, actually relieved to be totally on her own.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Turning into the driveway of Airfield House Maggie felt herself relax. The old house in Dundrum, with its small farm and beautiful gardens, was the perfect spot for lunch with ‘the girls’. It had once been the home of the renowned Overend sisters Naomi and Letitia, who had farmed the place and gifted it to future generations of Dublin citizens. The charming white building, with its bay windows overlooking the gardens, now housed a welcoming restaurant, which she always enjoyed. She was looking forward to seeing her friends, hoping it might cheer her up. She had found herself in a bit of a heap since the upset with Grace and the O’Connors moving. She wasn’t one of those mothers who could pretend things that happened to her children didn’t matter and she was still worried about her eldest daughter.

  Spotting Fran and Rhona, who had managed to get a table out on the patio in the sunshine, she waved. Perfect! She said a quick hello, then grabbed a tray and made her way to the long food counter.

  ‘God, I’m starving!’ announced Louisa Kelly, suddenly appearing beside her, wearing slim-fitting navy trousers and a cream wrap-over cardigan.

  They both salivated over the choice of main courses: Cajun salmon, mustard-baked ham, a basil and tomato pasta concoction, quiches and a beef and pimento special, alongside a selection of soups and salads and homemade bread. Maggie opted for the salmon and a tossed salad and a glass of wine; Louisa went for the ham. Making her way to the table she felt her spirits lift. She was glad that everyone had been able to make it. Their monthly get-together was something she so enjoyed, old friends meeting up for a chat and lunch and perhaps a walk if the weather permitted. The venues changed so they got to try out a range of nice restaurants all over the place but it was the company she looked forward to most.

  They’d been friends for more years than she dared to remember and had gone through all the ups and downs that life can throw at you: marriage, kids, work, school, illness, financial problems. The girls had stood by her when Leo had died, and she had helped in turn when Louisa’s husband Brendan had walked out on her and when Rhona’s husband had lost his job and Fran had got stomach cancer. There was an unbreakable bond between them and they all knew they had only to lift the phone and help would be at hand. Four old schoolfriends who still found plenty to talk about!

  ‘Everyone OK?’ she asked, balancing her tray as she sat down beside Rhona.

  ‘I’m on blood-pressure tablets,’ joked Rhona. ‘With Mike working from home he has me driven up the wall. Is it any
wonder that my blood pressure keeps shooting up?’

  In only a few minutes she discovered that Louisa was doing her computer exams in a few weeks’ time, Rhona and Mike were planning a trip to the Algarve and that Fran had got new caramel-toned highlights in her hair.

  ‘They make you look younger.’

  ‘Well, I feel like Methuselah,’ Fran confided. ‘Jenny just told me that I’m going to be a grandmother again next December.’

  ‘Congratulations!’

  ‘What lovely news!’ they all agreed, raising their wine glasses.

  ‘Honestly, this will be number three, and you can guess where they’ll all be for Christmas. Liam and I had hoped to slip away to the Canaries for a bit of sunshine. Now I’ll be looking after them all while Jenny’s in Mount Carmel having the baby.’

  A third grandchild, thought Maggie enviously, a house filled with kids and presents around the Christmas tree. Just the kind of Christmas she loved.

  ‘I suppose I’m delighted really,’ Fran eventually admitted, ‘especially after that awful time at the beginning when Jenny thought she couldn’t have kids.’

  ‘Well, she’s making up for it now,’ Rhona commented, turning her face up to the sunshine.

  ‘I have some good news too,’ announced Louisa, her eyebrows arching with excitement. ‘Donal is getting married to that lovely girl Melanie who works in that fancy PR firm up near Christchurch. They’re having the wedding in Brooklodge in Wicklow in August next year.’

  Maggie couldn’t believe it. Tall lanky Donal, with the easygoing manner and lopsided smile who’d been crazy about Anna when he was about seventeen, was getting married. ‘He’ll make a wonderful husband,’ she said, remembering what a kind young man he’d been.

  There was a cheer around the table as there was nothing nicer than a wedding, even if it was more than a year away.

  ‘Don’t they all have a great life these days?’ mused Rhona. ‘Marriage and big careers, interesting jobs, no sitting around taking dictation and writing boring letters all day.’