The Matchmaker

by Marita Conlon-McKenna

  ‘It has been fun,’ agreed her mother, her blue eyes filled with emotion, ‘having you three in my life. Grace, I remember your dad and I got such a shock when we heard you were on the way. We were married barely two years when you arrived and we hadn’t a clue. It seems like only yesterday since you were born. God knows how we all survived.’

  For the rest of the night Maggie regaled them with childhood stories of mayhem and mischief and Grace laughed so hard she had a fit of coughing. The food was great. Sarah tucked into a massive fillet steak while Anna had a delicious chicken and pasta mix.

  ‘I wish your dad were here to celebrate with us,’ said her mother softly. ‘It’s funny how birthdays and Christmas are still so hard without him.’

  Grace thought of her father who probably would have insisted on a table in one of Dublin’s fanciest restaurants and ordered champagne and the works for his eldest daughter’s birthday. She’d always been mad about him and thought that there were very few men who could hold a candle to him. Leo Ryan had been a very special man.

  Her mother disappeared to the bathroom.

  ‘Should one of us follow her?’ asked Sarah. ‘She’s upset about Daddy.’

  ‘She’ll be back in a few minutes,’ Grace said confidently, who knew her mother occasionally still needed to have time alone. ‘Just let her be.’

  The desserts had arrived and there still was no sign of her. Anna, worried, got up to find her and retreated when she saw her standing talking to some people on a table at the back of the restaurant.

  ‘She’s fine,’ she reassured the others, sitting back down at the table.

  ‘You OK, Mum?’ they asked when she finally appeared.

  ‘You’ll never guess whom I met,’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s that McGuinness man who’s bought the house on the square. He’s here with a few friends.’

  ‘Mark’s here!’ Sarah smiled.

  ‘I told him we were out celebrating your birthday,’ beamed her mother.

  Oh no, thought Grace. Knowing her mother, she would have dropped her age right into the conversation. Maggie Ryan was never known for her discretion.

  A few minutes later the waitress came to the table and said the gentleman in the corner was insisting on sending them over a bottle of champagne.

  ‘Heavens no, we can’t take it!’ argued Grace, wanting to send it back.

  ‘Of course we can,’ retorted her mother. ‘He’s just being neighbourly.’

  ‘Champagne would be lovely,’ coaxed Sarah. ‘That’s so kind of Mark.’

  From her little acquaintance with him, Grace thought kind was certainly not a word that she would apply to her mother’s new neighbour.

  They waved over their thanks as the waitress brought glasses and poured it for them. A half-hour later they were all giggling furiously about one Halloween when their mother had made them dress up as the three little pigs.

  ‘I had to carry a bale of straw,’ protested Sarah, now almost hysterical.

  ‘Excuse me, ladies, I hope that you are enjoying the night?’

  They all jumped as their new neighbour suddenly appeared in front of their table with another man who was smaller and more muscular, with fair hair that was already starting to recede.

  ‘Thank you so much for the champagne,’ gushed Maggie. ‘There’s still a little left if you and your friend would care to join us.’

  Grace felt like strangling her mother there and then as the two men, dressed in expensive business suits, hesitated for a minute before sitting down. What was her mother playing at? she wondered as Mark McGuinness pulled his chair in beside hers. The waitress brought more glasses. He introduced John, a college friend who was home from America for ten days.

  ‘I believe this is a very special birthday?’ Mark said looking at her. ‘Thirty?’

  Honestly, she would definitely kill her mother for telling her age and making her look such a saddo who had no wonderful date or fancy outing to celebrate her thirtieth.

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled as if it was the most wonderful thing to be celebrating.

  ‘I went to New York for mine,’ he confided. ‘John and I and a few friends went on a bar crawl. To be honest I don’t remember much of it, only it was a good night. Funny how you suddenly feel all grown-up even if you don’t want to.’

  She nodded, not sure what to say. He was describing exactly how she felt.

  The talk around the table continued and Mark’s friend John Maloney regaled them with stories of the bar he ran in New York and the Irish and Irish-American political dignitaries who frequented it.

  ‘I’m really sorry but I’ve got to go,’ Anna excused herself an hour later. She was genuinely reluctant, having thoroughly enjoyed John’s witty take on American politics. ‘I’m giving a lecture to a hundred and twenty American academics on Irish literature early tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Oh Anna, I don’t believe it,’ protested Grace, who despite her qualms was really enjoying herself.

  ‘Teaching Joyce and Beckett and Synge is difficult enough but believe me you don’t want to be doing it with a hangover.’

  ‘I suppose I should be going too,’ said Sarah reluctantly. ‘I promised the babysitter that I wouldn’t be out too late.’

  ‘Sarah, you stay, love,’ offered Maggie, standing up. ‘You and Grace finish your drinks and enjoy yourselves with Mark and John. I’ll go home with Anna and take over babysitting from Sinead.’

  Grace was instantly embarrassed by her mother’s unbelievable manoeuvring. The guys must think that they were mad!

  ‘Are you sure, Mum?’ Sarah grinned. She was keen to stay on.

  ‘Of course,’ Maggie insisted. ‘At my age I’ll leave it to you young ones to enjoy yourselves.’

  Grace cringed, noticing that Mark had ordered a second bottle of champagne for the table.

  ‘I’ve settled the bill. Have a good time!’ Her mother waved as she and Anna disappeared into a taxi outside the door.

  ‘Your family are rather fun!’ said Mark, looking at her over the rim of his glass. His eyes were a strange almost hazel colour and he had thick dark eyelashes, which for some reason had a disturbing effect on her as she tried to work out if he was being sarcastic or genuine. She managed to keep up some type of conversation with him about his house.

  ‘I’ve great plans for it,’ he confided. ‘Great plans.’

  Alarmed, she tried to hazard a guess about those plans. ‘The O’Connors were elderly and I suppose had let the house go,’ she admitted, remembering the floral carpets and awful storage heaters and the gas cooker in their kitchen.

  ‘A slight understatement.’ He laughed as he refilled her glass from the fresh bottle of champagne that had arrived at the table, his eyes roving over her dress, her neck, travelling upwards to meet her gaze.

  ‘But they are great family houses,’ she insisted. ‘Well, that’s what they were intended for and, although there isn’t an official conservation order in place on the area, most owners would agree to be respectful of the original features and design.’

  ‘Good for most owners!’ he teased.

  She suddenly realized that putting him in the same bracket as a couple buying the house to raise their family or a sympathetic fan of Georgian architecture was foolish. Mark McGuinness was out on his own! She doubted he had ever followed anyone else’s lead or gave a toss about what neighbours thought of him.

  ‘Tell me, Grace, what you would do if the house was yours?’ he asked, totally turning the tables on her.

  Grace found herself mentally standing at the front door and moving room by room through the house, opening the back up to light and knocking the warren of small pokey rooms off the kitchen and basement into better living spaces. Before she realized it she had been talking for more than twenty minutes, Mark’s leg against hers, the two of them rapt in their conversation, his eyes locked on hers.

  ‘I do agree with you, it is a house with great design possibility but it still needs to stand alongside its neighbours the way
it was first designed,’ he said knowledgeably.

  ‘Hey, you two, where are we off to from here?’ demanded John who had his arm around her sister. ‘You girls probably know the latest nightclubs!’

  Oh, Mother of God, thought Grace, they want us to join them. She tried to signal to Sarah about going home, but Sarah’s eyes were sparkling. She was certainly up for continuing the night.

  ‘Come on, Grace, it’s your birthday,’ wheedled John. ‘Surely you’re not going to call it a night yet!’

  ‘Please, Grace, Mum’s babysitting and it’ll be fun having a night out together,’ pleaded her youngest sister.

  Grace looked at Mark. She was enjoying the night; he was good company and if Sarah was up for a late night so was she!

  ‘What about The Club?’ suggested Mark as they all left the Cuban restaurant.

  There was a small queue outside the door of the exclusive late-night club situated on the corner of St Stephen’s Green, but the doorman waved them in, obviously recognizing Mark. The upstairs lounge was crowded as John and Mark led their way to the bar.

  ‘More champagne, ladies?’ offered John.

  ‘No, a glass of white wine’s fine for both of us,’ smiled Grace, signalling to Sarah to agree.

  The patrons of The Club ranged from mid-twenties to thirties and for the most part were stylishly dressed; a group of guys in black tie had obviously come on from a formal dinner and were a little drunk but determined to enjoy themselves. Grace tried to avoid them and was relieved when Mark guided them to another part of the room. An appealing combination of swing and soul came from the dance floor below. They chatted easily for a while before John took Sarah’s hand and led her off to dance, leaving Grace standing there feeling awkward as Mark made absolutely no move to ask her to dance. Embarrassed, she was about to make an excuse to find her sister when he introduced her to a stunning redhead in a skimpy pink cocktail dress. The girl was pretty and young and all over him. What in heaven’s name was she doing in this place on what should be a very important night in her life with a virtual stranger who had little or no interest in her? Grace thought impatiently. She must be mad. If this is what the future held she wanted no part of it.

  The other girl was flirting with Mark outrageously and Grace stepped away from them, not wanting to intrude. She took herself off to the ladies’ room, where she brushed her hair and chilled out, listening to the chat of all the other females who were packed into the cramped bathroom and toilets. She emerged to find herself the target of two of the guys in tuxedos, who were even drunker and more obnoxious than before. One of them blocked her way and began to whisper some comment about the size of her chest.

  ‘Hey, Grace, I’m here.’ She suddenly felt Mark’s arms around her. ‘Let’s dance.’

  Relieved, she held on to him as they walked downstairs, his six-foot frame like a buoy she could cling to.

  ‘Why did you go off like that?’ he asked, looking down at her as other couples shoved and pushed against them, forcing them close together.

  ‘You were busy and I didn’t want to intrude,’ she said lightly.

  ‘Sharon’s only nineteen,’ he said measuredly. ‘I know her father – he’s my bank manager. She’s a nice girl and I’ve probably known her since she was ten years old, but she’s had a bit too much to drink so I walked her to the door and made sure she had a friend go home with her in a taxi.’

  ‘Point taken,’ she said softly. His arms enfolded her as they danced slowly to Nina Simone. He had a good sense of rhythm and made an excellent dance partner even if he said very little. Grace just enjoyed the music and the feel of his body beside hers, imagining what it would be like to be in even closer proximity to him if they were alone. She could feel his hand warm on her waist and his breath on her neck, his mouth pressing against her skin as the music continued, neither of them saying a word. Maybe she had drunk too much or was giddy with the emotions of hitting thirty or was simply easily seduced by an attractive stranger, but whatever it was Grace realized that she wanted it to continue, this powerful feeling of sensuality that had suddenly sprung up between them.

  She blinked, jolted back to reality by Sarah and John dancing close by them. Both looked animated, still talking ninety to the dozen.

  ‘Hey, Mark!’ said John. ‘What about letting me have a dance with the birthday girl?’

  Reluctantly Grace and Mark stopped dancing, the rhythm between them broken. But for an instant Mark kept a hold of her wrist, his fingers pressing against her pulse point. Grace looked up, but the enchantment was gone as they swapped dance partners. John took her arm while Sarah gave a twirl and took hold of Mark’s hand.

  ‘Sarah’s a great girl, told me all about her kid Evie and your family,’ John said as the music changed to a Justin Timberlake number. Grace did her best to relax and enjoy the rest of the night as they talked about their favourite New York buildings and the changed face of Dublin. ‘It’s a developer’s paradise,’ he joked, ‘so no wonder investment guys like Mark are making big bucks.’

  As time went on the floor thinned out and Grace found her eyes drawn to Mark and her sister. They had stopped dancing and were talking and laughing together over at a table on the left. Sarah, unlike her, was totally relaxed and at ease with him. As the DJ finished up for the night John and she joined them.

  ‘What about a nightcap back at my place?’ asked Mark, glancing over at her.

  Grace was relieved when Sarah refused the offer.

  ‘Thanks, guys, but no,’ she said. ‘Grace and I had better get going home.’

  ‘We’ll get a taxi and drop you off first at the square,’ offered Mark. ‘John’s staying in Donnybrook with me.’

  Sitting in the back of the taxi-cab Grace realized that she’d enjoyed the night far more than she had expected. The spectre of her thirtieth birthday had been vanquished by the dinner, the champagne, the nightclub and the company of two rather handsome guys.

  ‘What a great night!’ giggled Sarah as the cab stopped on Pleasant Square and she hugged and kissed Mark and John in turn. ‘Thanks guys, I really enjoyed myself!’

  ‘Yes, thanks for helping to make it a great birthday,’ added Grace, saying goodbye to John. He was flying home in two days’ time and had spent half an hour while they were dancing telling her about his wife Cindy who was pregnant again and not allowed to fly, and his two-year-old son Sam. He really was a nice guy and she kissed him on the cheek and then found herself hugging and thanking Mark also.

  ‘Grace, I’m glad that you enjoyed the night,’ he said, his fingers keeping hold of her hand, forcing her to make eye contact with him in the dark. ‘I’m going to be away on business for a week,’ he explained, ‘but I’ll be in touch when I get back . . .’

  His eyes were serious and she could feel the pressure of his thumb in the palm of her hand as her fingers closed around his.

  ‘Sure,’ she said, suddenly flustered. Guys were always promising to get in touch, it was a line; it didn’t mean a thing.

  ‘Happy birthday, Grace!’ He bent down and, to her surprise, touched his lips tenderly to hers before taking off in the cab.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Maggie Ryan rose early and after a quick shower and a glass of fresh orange juice took the Luas tram into town. She was meeting her sister Kitty for breakfast so that they could get an early start on ‘Wedding Outfit Shopping’.

  Poor Kitty, they had trawled the boutiques on the Southside, the Northside, in Wicklow and in Gorey to no avail. The right mother-of-the-bride outfit was proving elusive and even a lovely day’s shopping down in McElhinneys’ famous wedding store where Kitty had tried on at least twenty outfits, none of which she liked, had failed.

  ‘I’m the mother of the bride,’ she complained. ‘I have to look right on Orla’s big day.’ Maggie had been more fortunate and had bought a sleeveless terracotta silk dress with a scoop neckline and a matching wrap that would be perfect for Orla’s wedding in September.

  Over a pot
of tea and toast and rashers and sausages she had to be firm with Kitty. ‘We are not racing all over the place today and no detouring to handbags or shoes, Kitty. Today the focus is on the outfit. Once you get that the rest will follow. We’ll try Brown Thomas first, then Richard Alan’s again and Arnotts and Clerys!’

  ‘Orla told me the designer floor in Arnotts is great,’ said Kitty, ‘and that her friend Jennifer’s mother got her outfit in Pamela Scott’s.’

  Thanks be to heaven town was quiet early in the morning, thought Maggie as they went from dressing room to dressing room in all the big stores. Her duty was to pass her sister outfit after outfit and help with zips and buttons and then give a candid comment on each outfit.

  ‘Makes your hips look big!’

  ‘Wrong colour. It drains you.’

  ‘Shows your tummy . . .’

  Kitty was smaller and slightly slimmer than her but had a pear-shaped figure. Along the way Kitty updated her on the invitations that were being printed, the choir that Orla had engaged, the outrageous cost of bridal and church flowers. Maggie listened intently, conscious that some day she would with any luck be organizing a wedding for one of her own girls.

  Crossing over the Halfpenny Bridge they found the outfit – at last – on the designer floor in Arnotts: a jade-green dress with an exquisite little matching jacket in the same colour but with a fine band of cream piped around the hem and front and collar. It fitted perfectly.

  ‘It’s gorgeous!’ said Kitty, turning in every direction as they studied it from every angle.

  ‘Is this it?’ asked Maggie excitedly. She truly didn’t think her sister would find anything that suited her better or made her look so good anywhere else.

  ‘I think it is,’ said Kitty, her brown eyes shining, ‘but I’d like Orla to see it too.’

  The grey-haired shop assistant was kindness itself and put the outfit away for Orla to come and see it with her mother tomorrow.

  ‘Maggie, thank you so much for all your help and patience. Come on, I’ll buy you a celebration lunch,’ promised Kitty. They found a table in the window in Fallon and Byrne.