Talk around the table flowed full of stories about the antics of the neighbours and their various offspring over the years.
‘I used to be so embarrassed by our five boys,’ admitted Helen. ‘They must have broken more panes of glass around the square than anyone else. They destroyed flower beds and planters and window boxes and Lord knows how many times the park people were on to us about the goalposts they set up in the square. Not to mention the bike races . . . and do you remember that big tree house they made?’
‘We weren’t that bad,’ protested Barry, ‘we just had a bit of a wild streak and you and Dad were softies!’
Sarah laughed. She had always been great pals with Barry. She’d had a crush on him for a while when she was a teenager but then realized that she’d much rather have him as a friend. He lived in London with a beautiful girl called Melinda and their baby boy Daniel. He was only home for a few days this time so it was lovely to get together and catch up.
Maggie noticed that Evie was being very good at the other end of the table and eating her lamb which Sarah had disguised with gravy as Barry and she chatted away.
‘I heard it was a heated auction,’ Oscar said, ‘and that there were four or five bidders for the house?’
‘We couldn’t face going to it ourselves,’ admitted Tom. ‘Detta was worried it would drive her blood pressure through the roof.’
‘The house went for far more that we’d hoped,’ she confided excitedly. ‘Who’d have believed it with our clunky heating and the bathroom that needs tiling and our rattling windows and the leak in the laundry room, but we’ve got a nice little nest egg for going away.’
‘Did a family buy it?’ asked Sarah hopefully. ‘Maybe they might have a little girl around Evie’s age. It would be great for her to have someone so near to play with.’
‘We would have liked a family to buy it too,’ admitted Detta, ‘but it was some wealthy businessman. As far as I know he’s not even married. It’s a pity.’
‘An eligible bachelor moving to the square, how interesting!’ said Maggie, suddenly curious about this new male neighbour.
‘Maggie!’ teased Helen.
‘He’s not married, has just bought an expensive piece of property and will be living literally a few doors away from us. You and Gerry would be the same if you had daughters!’
‘Mum!’ remonstrated Grace. ‘You know nothing about him!’
‘Are all girls’ mothers like that?’ Barry asked Sarah at the far end of the table.
Sarah, who was putting a few more peas on Evie’s plate, cast an embarrassed glance at her mother.
‘Bachelor or not, apparently he has great plans for the place,’ Tom added. ‘Great plans.’
‘Who is this fellow?’ asked Oscar. ‘Did they tell you?’
‘Mark McGuinness. That’s the name Billy King mentioned, apparently he’s a big noise in the property world.’
Grace most certainly had heard of him. He’d recently outbid one of their clients on a valuable site over in Malahide. They’d hoped to develop rather expensive apartments on it while he had gone for planning permission for town houses and a small retail scheme. ‘Mr McGuinness has a reputation for buying up old properties and derelict sites, knocking down and stripping houses and buildings and refitting them and selling them on at a large profit,’ she warned.
‘Well, hopefully whatever his plans he will do the necessary repair work to restore number twenty-nine to its true glory.’ Gerry smiled. ‘These are such beautiful old houses.’
‘Oh, I hope he doesn’t knock too much of the old house down,’ said Detta, worried.
‘No, he’ll have to keep within the planning restrictions for a Georgian house,’ Grace added firmly, feeling slightly alarmed at the thought of an investor like him buying a house on the square.
Maggie smiled to herself, as she watched Grace talk about houses. Ever since she’d been a little girl she’d found structures, walls, roofs and windows fascinating. Leo and herself had always shared a love of old buildings and there’d been plenty of family outings to see Big Houses across the country.
Anna Ryan sighed, ignoring the conversation going on around her. She could do no more than play with the food on her plate: she felt so awful. She should have stayed home in bed. She wasn’t hungry and had no interest in what some property type did to the O’Connors’ house, which, truth to tell, had been falling down around them – or so she’d thought, the last time she’d gone to a drinks party there. Shabby chic, Dublin auctioneers called it. Whoever had bought the place was going to have to sink a load of hard-earned cash into it to bring it up to scratch.
‘Anyone for coffee or tea?’ asked Maggie as she passed around servings of the piping-hot rhubarb crumble – not forgetting to give Oscar an extra big helping.
‘Nothing like home-cooked food,’ her elderly neighbour thanked her. He seemed to exist on a diet of microwaveable meals and fry-ups ever since his wife Elizabeth had died.
He was one of the sweetest men she knew and Leo and he had been firm friends. Elizabeth and Oscar had been like benevolent godparents, always ready to help out in a crisis as their three girls were growing up, and had always been part of Ryan family occasions. Now that Oscar was on his own Maggie made even more of an effort to keep an eye on him and ensure he regularly ate at their table.
When the meal was over and emotional farewells had been said, the girls had helped Maggie load their old dishwasher. Maggie had promised Detta a hand in the morning with packing up her good china and selecting what could go to St Vincent de Paul. Gerry and Helen had promised a return lunch in their place in two weeks’ time, something she would look forward to.
Once everything was washed up, Maggie could finally relax. She cradled a mug of coffee in her hand, looking around her with satisfaction. She loved this kitchen, not just because it was the warmest place in this big, rather draughty house, but because it was the centre, the hub, the heart of the family. Leo had loved the drawing room, with the sun slanting in on his armchair where he could read the newspapers or listen to the radio in peace, but for her it was this kitchen every time. Across the table from her, Sarah, Evie, Grace and Anna were playing Snakes and Ladders. Evie had persuaded her aunties to join in and shrieked with excitement when anyone had to slide down the big green snakes. She was mad on board games at the moment and loved this old-fashioned one which Maggie had rescued from the bottom of a shelf in Grace’s old bedroom. Watching them play, heads bent down, laughing and joking, reminded Maggie of when they were children.
A woman couldn’t have better daughters, she thought, and yet here they were on a Sunday evening on their own. Single and unmarried with not even a decent man between them! Where had she gone wrong? They’d grown up in a house full of love and yet for some bizarre reason love evaded them . . .
‘That new neighbour sounds kind of interesting,’ she ventured. ‘Detta said he’s single.’
Anna groaned. She was in no mood for her mother’s matchmaking or encouraging little talks about single men.
‘Mum, we don’t know that he is single,’ admonished Grace. ‘He’s well known and wealthy and for all we know has been married and divorced three times over or has a list of girlfriends as long as my arm.’
‘Anyway, he could be one of those awful guys who thinks that they’re God’s gift,’ added Sarah, shaking the dice. ‘Men are different now!’
‘There are no knights in shining armour riding around Dublin, believe us,’ said Anna vehemently. ‘And there’s absolutely no point looking!’
Maggie sighed, wondering where all the decent men had gone to. Everything was changing these days, not just property and business but love and marriage and romance. Call her old-fashioned, but was it too much to ask in this day and age that her daughters be swept off their feet by some lovely man, fall madly in love and marry him? Maybe Anna was right and suitable men were few and far between. If that was the case then perhaps it was time for a little motherly interference on her part, as Maggie was dete
rmined to find Grace, Anna and Sarah the perfect match.
Chapter Six
Sarah stood on the doorstep of the O’Connors’ house. She had 101 things to do this morning but somehow her mother had persuaded her to help Detta and Tom pack up for their big move.
‘Moving house and packing is a daunting task at the best of times,’ her mother reminded her, ‘but can you imagine how hard it must be for them leaving their family home at their age and starting over?’
Sarah had always had a soft spot for Mrs O’Connor, who had slipped her a cheque for fifty euros when Evie was born and who without fail, Christmas after Christmas, arrived with a gift for Evie and a big Cadbury’s chocolate selection box for her.
The doorbell sounded through the house as Detta eventually appeared to open the door.
‘I’ve been awake since crack of dawn,’ she admitted. ‘I couldn’t sleep with all the excitement and emotion of saying goodbye to the place! Poor Tom had barely a wink of sleep either and his arthritis is at him. I could hear him downstairs wandering around at six o’clock this morning.’
‘Sarah was free today so I asked her to give us a hand,’ her mother explained as they stepped inside. ‘How’s the packing going?’
‘It’s taking a bit longer than we expected,’ Detta admitted hesitantly.
What an understatement! Everything was piled up in a heap: furniture and clothes, old toys and books and games and the bric-a-brac of many years. Sarah had always known Detta was bit of a hoarder, but now, seeing it all spread out before them, a look of dismay passed between her mother and herself. Where would they even begin, she thought as she surveyed the rubbish that spilled over the floor and couches and chairs and tables.
‘Well, that’s why we’re here to help,’ said Maggie, nonplussed. ‘Maybe we should have a quick run through every room and see where you need us.’
Embarrassed, Detta led them around the house and the full – and awful – extent of the task ahead was revealed. Tom had organized for their larger furniture to be collected as it was going to auction next week: the mahogany dining table and chairs and sideboard along with the old piano and couches.
‘God, Detta, you have far too much!’ Maggie blurted out. ‘Your new house will explode if you take all these things with you. Half this stuff has got to go.’
Sarah Ryan grimaced to herself. Grace, Anna and herself had regularly faced similar calls to arms over the years as Maggie attacked their messy teenage bedrooms, but to see her mother in action in someone else’s house was a bit embarrassing. However, looking at poor Mrs O’Connor’s face, she could see she was relieved that she had some help. Sarah squeezed her hand reassuringly.
‘Where do we start?’ Detta asked forlornly, looking around her, as Tom O’Connor tried to escape to the kitchen with a mug of coffee and the Irish Times.
‘Why don’t we start up here in the main bedroom; Tom and you can decide what clothes you both need,’ said Maggie, taking charge.
If there was one thing her mother was good at, it was organizing people and making sure things got done, which was exactly what was needed, Sarah thought.
‘Detta, we’ll need plenty of black bags and some of those boxes the movers left you.’
Sarah ran downstairs to fetch them and returned to find her mother helping Detta go through the wardrobes. They were full to bursting, mostly with clothes that no one would wear again.
‘Are you and Tom really going to bring all these clothes to England with you?’
Detta shook her head firmly.
Maggie lifted out suit after suit, and numerous sports jackets, two old tuxedos and a fishing jacket which Tom had forgotten about and insisted he would definitely make use of now.
‘Perfect for fishing in the river . . .’
Detta cast her eyes to heaven.
Her own side of the wardrobe was next. Even a quick glance revealed that at least half of her clothes were fit only for the bin. Her good dresses, two suits, some trousers and skirts were set aside to go in the portable wardrobes the movers would supply. The rest would go to the charity shop or be thrown away. Sarah rooted through her chest of drawers: old make-up, congealed bottles of nail varnish, dried-up mascaras and gone-off perfumes were all consigned to the bin. They discovered three hats in their fancy hat boxes, still wrapped in tissue. Detta opted to keep the Philip Somerville one for fun and send the rest to St Vincent de Paul. Sarah suggested that Tom’s tuxes could go to a vintage shop along with the expensive double-breasted suit he’d bought thirty years ago, which was far too small for him; she added three or four expensive jackets of Detta’s along with two evening dresses that she’d worn to balls years ago.
‘These are vintage Chanel and Sybil Connolly. The shop will snap them up.’ Sarah grinned and put them carefully away.
By midmorning Maggie and Sarah insisted they take a break. They’d been through the other bedrooms, which were even worse than the master bedroom, being cluttered with clothes their children had abandoned on wire hangers. Sarah even spotted two old school uniforms in the back of the closet in the fourth bedroom.
‘I remember when Cormac wore that the first time he went to Gonzaga College.’
‘It’ll have to go,’ said Maggie firmly as they trawled through shirts, trousers and sweaters, filling two boxes with clothes they wanted, the rest all to be given away to charity.
Sarah went through the stuff from their bathroom, finding old soaps and talcum powders and bath products. ‘Most of this stuff is out of date and would probably give you a rash!’ she told Detta as she binned them in giant black plastic bags.
In the end upstairs began to look a little clearer, as if it was ready for the move. Downstairs was another matter.
By lunchtime they had boxes of books allocated to the charity shops along with old LPs and a load of ornaments and wicker baskets. The side of the living room containing stuff that was to be given away was rapidly filling up.
Exhausted, Detta sat down on a pouffe, flicking through a pile of old gardening magazines, talking about all the good times they had shared under this roof as Tom carefully wrapped their crystal wine and brandy glasses in old newspaper. They were definitely making progress.
Sarah disappeared to the kitchen and made lunch for everyone with cans of soup that she found in the larder, some of the French bread sticks that her mother had brought along and a big pot of tea.
‘We’ve got to keep our strength up,’ she said, smiling as they all sat down to eat.
Detta stared out at the garden from the kitchen table, watching a blackbird. ‘Who will feed the birds when I’m gone?’ she mused. ‘You know, I first moved into this house when we were expecting Cormac. It was only meant to be a temporary arrangement as Joan O’Connor, my mother-in-law, was a difficult woman. It wasn’t easy living under the same roof as such a scourge! Still, in the end it all worked out, and Joan doted on our two, she was mad about them. Then when Joan herself got ill and frail we minded her, took care of her in her old age. It all only seems like yesterday.’
Tom blinked with emotion as he sipped his tea. He showed them the pair of gold cufflinks of his father’s that had turned up at the back of one of the bookshelves and the medal he’d won for playing football when he was sixteen.
‘Absolute treasures!’ He beamed, putting them safely away in his blazer pocket.
‘It must be sad, leaving,’ Sarah probed gently.
‘Naturally,’ sighed Detta, looking around the old kitchen, ‘but another part of me is excited. This house is much too big for us now that the family’s gone and Tom and I have found a lovely place that we can manage. It’s perfect: two bedrooms, a bright sunny kitchen and a small bit of a garden with a view of the woods. The best thing is we’re close to Cormac and his children. We’re only around the corner from the boys’ school.’
‘We’ve been rattling round this old place for far too many years,’ added Tom brusquely as he buttered a slice of bread. ‘It’s grand when Cormac and the kids or Niam
h and her family are home on a visit but the rest of the time you can see what it was like. We were just using the one bedroom, and the sitting room and the kitchen. The rest of the place was going to rack and ruin.’
‘What an old house like this needs,’ said Detta firmly, ‘is a new family.’
After lunch, Sarah was sorting out a pile of books in the sitting room with her mother when they noticed a car draw up outside. Maybe it was someone else volunteering to help?
They watched as a man parked an expensive black Range Rover at the kerb. He climbed out, considered the house from the outside and then walked up to the front door. Tom went to answer the doorbell.
‘Come in,’ they heard him saying, ‘you’re very welcome.’
‘I know I’m not getting the keys till Thursday afternoon but I just wanted to introduce myself,’ said the new owner. ‘See if there’s anything that I can do to help with your move. Make the transition a bit easier and also swap our contact details.’
‘It’s the new owner,’ her mother said, all excited. Detta scrambled to fix her hair in the mirror over the fireplace before Tom led him into the room.
Tom introduced them all to Mark McGuinness. ‘This is my wife, Detta, and our neighbours Maggie Ryan and Sarah her daughter. They live across in number twenty-three. As you can see we’re hard at it trying to pack everything and they are giving us a hand.’
Mark McGuinness nodded politely.
Sarah studied the tall, dark, rather handsome man in his expensive suit who was going to move into the house. He was good-looking with the kind of over-confidence that money buys. She hated guys like him who thought big bank accounts and cars and contacts were worth more than a sense of humour and the ability just to be down to earth.
‘Packing up is an awful job,’ he commented, looking at the piles of black bags and boxes. ‘We all hate it.’
‘Are you hoping to move in soon?’ asked her mother.
‘No! Not straight away,’ he said, glancing about him. ‘The house needs quite a bit of work so I have a team ready to start in a few weeks.’
The Matchmaker Page 3