The Matchmaker

by Marita Conlon-McKenna

  Foley’s shop was busy and Anna found herself smiling in recognition as she bumped into some of the locals.

  ‘Are you down for the holidays?’ asked Peggy Smith, an octogenarian who used to play bridge with her grandmother.

  ‘It’s just a flying visit till Sunday,’ she admitted, grabbing some beautiful goat’s cheese and slices of honey-baked ham and deliberating between a white soda bread or a brown, eventually popping the two of them into her basket.

  ‘Well, it’s good to see someone using the old place.’

  Her shopping basket was full by the time she reached the checkout and she was relieved to have brought the car with her, throwing the bags on to the back seat.

  Back in Gull Cottage she ate the simple lunch with bread still warm from the oven as she contemplated the rather dated interior of the cottage. As children and teenagers it had always seemed to her and her sisters the most perfect place in the world. They had relished every hour and day and week they spent in the place. Strange, but now with her grandmother gone it suddenly looked shabby and run down and in sore need of some attention.

  Finishing her coffee, she pulled out her old brown briefcase, spewing across the table a pile of essays comparing Molly Keane’s heroines with Edna O’Brien’s. Some of the comments made her laugh. Two hours later, lured outside by the sunshine, she sat on one of the old wooden sun-chairs. Long stripped of its original blue colour, it squatted between Granny’s pots and beds and flower baskets. All were in dire need of attention and the grass was begging to be cut. Anna found herself fetching the shears from the wooden shed and checking the ancient lawnmower.

  She abandoned the lawnmower after twenty minutes, realizing it needed to be either repaired or serviced and she couldn’t tell which. Instead she began clipping with gusto at the weeds and thorny briars that were taking over the bed. She pulled up grass and dug up dandelions and thistles and cleared chickweed. After almost two hours she took a break with a glass of iced water and a piece of dark chocolate.

  The sun was sinking before she finally stopped, her hands and nails filthy, muscles aching. She realized as she slipped off her mud-encrusted shoes and glimpsed herself in a mirror, her glowing face above the dirty sweater, that the lure of the garden and the house was in some bizarre way working its magic on her. Dinner was her priority next, then perhaps a quick walk or the pleasure of curling up with a book or listening to the radio. It was a very appealing programme.

  Pasta in a pesto sauce with a crisp green salad proved delicious and she snuggled up on the couch with an ancient copy of Heidi that still had her name inscribed on it as she listened to the daily farmers’ journal and the shipping news. By ten o’clock exhaustion had overtaken her and she was in bed, ready for sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Maggie was embroiled in her household bills, trying to balance all the payments on her bank statements when Anna phoned next morning. It was a tiresome job which Leo had uncomplainingly done for years and now fell to her. Pushing aside the calculator and papers she was glad of the distraction.

  ‘Mum, I’m going to stay on in the cottage for another few days, if that’s OK? It’s so peaceful here I’m actually getting some work done and I’ve had three swims in the freezing water and this morning I saw a pair of seals in the cove.’

  ‘Of course you can stay. Stay as long as you need.’ Maggie was relieved to hear Anna sounding more like her old self.

  ‘I’ve rescheduled a few lectures and that new Ph.D. student from Belfast will take the two tutorials for me. I should be back by Wednesday night.’

  ‘Well, enjoy the break and take care of yourself.’ Maggie was delighted that Anna had organized it properly and was able to stay on. Of late, she always seemed to be rushing and had no time for anything or anyone. ‘Is everything all right? You’re sleeping and eating OK?’

  ‘Mum, honestly,’ Anna protested. ‘I’m going for long walks and all the exercise and swimming is giving me an appetite and I’m getting plenty of sleep.’

  ‘Any of the summer visitors around? Or the Murphys or the Kennys?’

  ‘Not a sinner. The place is deserted. I’ve got the beach totally to myself. It’s perfect.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s not too quiet or lonesome there for you, Anna?’ she worried.

  ‘Mum, peace and quiet is what I want.’

  ‘Is the house OK?’ Maggie continued.

  ‘Well, I think there might be a bit of leak in the roof as there’s a big damp patch on the wall in the sitting room, and another in the bathroom. Maybe a few roof tiles are missing. The garden’s like a jungle and one of the bathroom taps is broken, but otherwise the cottage is the same as ever.’

  Maggie smiled to herself. Annabel Ryan, her mother-in-law, had never been too good on the tidiness and neatness side of things, always seeming to live in a clutter of books and paints and garden things, with great plans to fix and do things tomorrow which were never fulfilled.

  ‘Well, maybe I’ll see if I can get someone to run out and have a look at the roof while you’re there, Anna. We don’t want it collapsing with rain when we go up in August. I have a list of people Annabel used for odd jobs; I’ll try and get one of them to call out to the cottage and check it for us.’

  ‘That’s fine, Mum.’

  ‘Take care of yourself, love,’ urged Maggie as they ended the phone call, glad that Anna was actually winding down and enjoying the West.

  She was due to have afternoon tea with Regina Reynolds, the elderly grande dame of the square, who lived on the far corner and still enjoyed keeping up to date with the latest news of her neighbours and their families. But, as she was rooting around, she came across her mother-in-law’s old Liberty-print address book in the kitchen drawer. Putting on her reading glasses, Maggie searched through the names, running her finger down the list of useful numbers. There was Tommy Leary, that rather grumpy sixty-year-old handyman who had painted the place four years ago and replaced a broken pane of glass in the kitchen that a bird or a stone must have cracked last summer. He lived about twenty miles away and she was about to call him when she remembered Robert O’Neill, the nice young man Annabel was always telling her about who could be relied on in times of emergencies and had worked as a building contractor. He’d probably know about fixing the roof – he’d once done a great job replacing the ancient back kitchen door for Annabel.

  Maggie had met him only briefly once or twice on visits to Roundstone but she still remembered his kind words and expression of sympathy at her mother-in-law’s funeral. He was a nice guy and lived much closer. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind calling over to check the roof and also keep an eye on Anna for her while she was staying there. As she dialled Rob’s number, she smiled to herself; he was unattached and rather good-looking if she recalled and had returned to the area he’d grown up in after a few years in England with the hope of settling down . . .

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Anna had been digging and weeding all morning, watching with satisfaction as the pile of nettles and dandelions, leaves, dead wood and old flower heads grew. Standing beside the vegetable patch she remembered how her grandmother used to grow her own potatoes and lettuces, cabbage and carrots, and how she and her sisters fought to gather the juicy plump strawberries that Annabel Ryan produced summer after summer.

  She had never realized how much satisfaction Gran must have got from growing some of her own vegetables and fruit and living in such a simple fashion; the appeal of it was only now becoming evident as she worked. Turning the soil and crumbling the earth in her hand with the sound of the sea in the distance and the tang of salt in the air, Anna found herself strangely at one with nature, all thoughts of lectures and notes and exam papers banished from her mind.

  She was aware of the sound of a car in the lane but didn’t react, even when she heard the rusty gate open. Maybe it was the postman.

  ‘Hey!’

  She stopped what she was doing and looked up. A stranger was approaching in a pair
of faded jeans and a thick navy sweater.

  ‘Mrs Ryan asked if I could come and check the place, said you think that there might be a problem with the roof,’ he said, coming to a halt in front of her, tall and muscular, his hair tightly cut into his head, wearing a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.

  Anna flushed, blinking in the sunlight. She must look a right state.

  ‘I’m Rob, Rob O’Neill. I live about a half-mile down the road from here. I was a friend of Annabel’s, the owner. I used to do some jobs for her. I noticed the other night there was someone staying in the cottage.’

  ‘I’m Anna, Anna Ryan, her granddaughter,’ she introduced herself, realizing her hand was muddy and she must look anything but attractive in the old trousers and T-shirt she was wearing. ‘I’m just staying here for a few days.’

  ‘It’s good to see someone in the cottage. These places go to rack and ruin if they’re left empty too long. It’s much better to rent them out or sell them.’

  Anna held her tongue. She wasn’t going to have this guy who appeared from nowhere telling her what to do.

  Without further ado she led him up to the cottage. Rob walked around checking doors and windows and taps and tiles, confirming that a few tiles were indeed missing from the roof and needed replacing.

  ‘We had a fierce storm here in February; I should have come and looked at the place myself. Most people lost a few tiles with it. Unfortunately that damp patch is going to need replastering to get it to look right.’

  ‘Can you do it?’

  ‘I’ll try and match the tiles but won’t be able to do it till next week, along with the window and changing the tap.’

  ‘I have a spare key and I can leave it with you,’ she offered.

  ‘That’d be grand. You’re making a good go of the garden,’ he added, noticing her work.

  ‘The grass is gone wild,’ she admitted, ‘but the mower’s broken.’

  ‘Will you let me take a look at that for you too? I used to cut the grass sometimes for Annabel. It was getting too much for her at the end.’

  Anna wasn’t sure if this was a deliberate rebuke aimed at her family for letting her grandmother live here so far from everyone on her own.

  ‘She loved it here,’ she explained, daring him to disagree with her.

  ‘Can you blame her?’ he agreed, his expression softening. ‘I moved out here about four years ago myself – decided to get away from the rat race. Best thing I ever did.’

  Anna suddenly found herself curious about this rather good-looking guy who was kicking at a weed that was embedded in the ground near his foot. Maybe he was a local farmer or one of those Jack-of-all-trades types who somehow manage to make a living in a place like this.

  She led him towards the shed although it was clear Rob already knew where to go. He pushed the ancient lawnmower out on to the gravel path.

  ‘Is it totally kaput?’

  He didn’t answer immediately; he was bent down, totally concentrating. He tried to start it about three times and then upended the thing, lifting off various parts and examining them.

  ‘I’ll just check it over, and have a look at the motor.’

  She watched him for a few minutes; he was engrossed in the problem.

  ‘Would you have a screwdriver?’ he asked eventually, lifting his glasses slightly.

  She must have looked baffled. She had no idea where her grandmother would keep stuff like that. Was it in a tin in the shed or in the drawers in the kitchen?

  ‘Don’t worry. I have one in the car,’ he offered, standing up and wiping his hand on his jeans. She watched his lean figure amble towards the ancient green jeep. She guessed he was somewhere around her own age, maybe a bit older, and found herself wondering if he was married or had a girlfriend.

  A few minutes later he returned, ignoring her as he spread various parts of the lawnmower over the grass.

  ‘Would you like a cup of coffee while you’re working?’ she offered, suddenly remembering her manners.

  The kettle boiled quickly and Anna was relieved to see she still had enough milk in the fridge and that she hadn’t demolished all the chocolate marshmallows. She’d put them on a plate and carry it out to him and let him get on with it.

  ‘So you’ve been doing a bit of tidying inside too?’

  She spun round to catch Rob standing at the kitchen doorway surveying the stacks of old tins and crockery and pots and pans which she had started to sort out and tidy up.

  ‘Yeah. It’s all got a bit disorganized.’

  ‘Annabel was always a bit of a hoarder,’ he said fondly as, uninvited, he came in and sat down on one of the kitchen chairs. ‘This is the problem.’ He showed her a small rusted piece of metal. ‘It’s the rotary pin. It needs replacing.’

  ‘Can you fix it?’

  ‘Well, hopefully I’m going over Clifden later this afternoon. I’ll see if I can get a new one there. If not I’m in Galway next week and I’ll try and get the part then. Beats having to get a new mower.’ He smiled, taking the mug of coffee and adding two large spoonfuls of sugar, stirring them as he looked around. ‘Always loved this kitchen. Gets the sun all day and you can glimpse the sea from the window.’

  He seemed at home in the place and she tried to imagine her grandmother entertaining this man, chatting about the garden and her vegetables and the local news, proof of how well her gran got on with people and how well loved she was.

  ‘Would you like a mallow?’

  ‘Hey, my favourites,’ he declared, unwrapping the silver foil and biting into one.

  Anna could feel his gaze settle on her and was conscious of her curly hair tumbling from the haphazard ponytail she’d tied this morning with a piece of old green ribbon and the fact that she hadn’t bothered with any make-up. Her fair eyelashes probably looked pretty non-existent, and the T-shirt she was wearing could certainly do with a wash.

  ‘How long are you staying for?’

  ‘A few days only, I have to be back in work in Dublin for Thursday.’

  ‘Poor you,’ he said ruefully, glancing out the window at the magnificent landscape tumbling out before them.

  ‘I’m working on an important college project,’ she explained, wondering why she was trying to impress him with her workload, ‘and I really can’t stay away any longer.’

  ‘I used to work in Dublin’ – he grimaced – ‘then London, Manchester . . .’ He helped himself to another biscuit. ‘. . . before I found out that I’m just not the big city type of guy. I’m a country boy so I came back to my roots. Probably one of the better decisions in my life and needless to say the mammy and daddy are delighted to have the prodigal back in the family fold.’

  She was curious and was just about to ask him what he did when his phone rang.

  ‘Listen, I’d better be going,’ he excused himself, glancing at his mobile and putting his mug over by the Belfast sink. ‘I’ll order the tiles and try and get that mower part for you, OK?’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, giving him the spare key to Gull Cottage, knowing instinctively that she could trust him.

  She walked down to the car with him and watched him drive off down along the coast road.

  Anna worked for another two hours then went for a quick swim in the cove. The sea water was bracing and icy as usual; a curious seal watched her from the distance. Anna dried herself off and pulled on her sweatpants and then jogged slowly along the strand to warm up. As the evening drew in she made herself a big vegetarian stew and found herself picking up one her grandmother’s old sketchbooks with its drawing of the view from the kitchen window, the heavy fuchsia, the dogwood roses and the low stone wall that gave way to the field and hedgerow and the blue line of glimmering water in the distance. Granny’s love for this place was evident in every line. She had found a peace here and become part of the small local community. Anna almost envied her. She pulled out her folder of notes and references, raking through them with a fine felt pen before the ideas came and she turned on her laptop and
began to write.

  Over the next two days she worked in the morning and pottered around the garden in the afternoon, the physical exercise relaxing and calming her. There was no sign of Rob and she guessed he was probably too busy and caught up in work of his own to call over. Repairing her grandmother’s ancient mower was hardly top on his list of priorities.

  On Wednesday afternoon Anna packed up the car reluctantly. Gull Cottage looked lonely as she closed it up and she vowed to return in the next few weeks even if it was only for a weekend. Sitting into her little red Polo she braced herself for the return to the city and her normal life.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  As the late April afternoon sun glinted in through the tall window of the drawing room, Oscar Lynch studied the view over Pleasant Square, taking in the street of red-brick houses with their granite steps and railings. He had considered this selfsame view, the park with its tall chestnut trees and cherry trees, the central square with its seasonal border, the small play area with its two swings and rather wonky see-saw and the grass tennis court at the rear for almost half a century. Embarking on the purchase of this house he and Elizabeth had given much thought to the amenity of having an almost private park as your front garden; each had decided it was the perfect place to raise a family, far from the newer sprawling estates that were being built around the city. The cost of a new roof, wiring, heating and a kitchen were outweighed by the charm of the square, its proximity to town and of course the park.

  Year after year had passed and they had waited and waited, ever-hopeful for a much-longed-for son or daughter to arrive. Then Elizabeth had endured a miscarriage at sixteen weeks and never fell pregnant again. With every subsequent year the thoughts of a family of their own had somehow receded. Unfortunately Elizabeth would not countenance the thought of adoption.

  ‘If we have a child, it will be our own,’ she’d insisted, ignoring his pleas that they talk to one of the adoption societies. So he too in time had accepted that no child of his would run through the grass or play on the red-painted swings or lob a tennis ball across the net.