Match Me If You Can

by Michele Gorman

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Rachel

  The doorbell went just as Rachel was lathering her hair over the bathroom sink. ‘Shit shit shit … You’re early!’ she shouted through the closed door, even though there was no way the builders could hear her all the way downstairs. She wedged her head under the tap to rinse away as much shampoo as she could. Then, dripping all over the floor, she bolted down the stairs, tying her dressing gown as she went.

  ‘Hi, come in,’ she said to Nate.

  ‘Morning,’ he said. ‘Where’s Sarah?’

  ‘She’s at her sister’s doctor’s appointment. I’m working from home today.’ She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to explain her presence. She did live there. ‘I’m Rachel.’

  She couldn’t shake his hand without flashing him, so she settled for a polite nod. ‘I’m just getting cleaned up. There’s coffee in the thingy on the hob and tea in the cabinet. Do you know where everything is?’

  ‘Oh yeah, we’re right at home, aren’t we, lads?’ he said to the boys crowded behind him. ‘Don’t worry about us. You won’t even know we’re here.’

  She stepped aside to let them all in. Instead of going downstairs to the kitchen though, they made their way upstairs.

  But she wasn’t finished in the bathroom yet. And she didn’t like the idea of strangers on the other side of the door.

  She rushed to the bathroom as soon as they were safely on the top floor. Poor Sarah! She’d had to be up and ready for Nate every morning for weeks. Yet she’d never complained. That wouldn’t be her style.

  Quickly she re-rinsed her hair. There’d be no time for conditioner, she thought crossly. And she’d so looked forward to working from home today. Laying out her coloured pens and tracing paper on the big kitchen table. Drinking gallons of coffee. Having a luxurious nap when she felt sleepy after lunch.

  There was no way she’d be able to nap with builders in the house.

  She jumped when someone knocked on the door. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Are you gonna be long?’ The boy’s voice cracked.

  Nate definitely got his workers from the local primary school.

  ‘Erm, well, a few minutes, yes.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll wait.’

  What did he mean, he’d wait? Outside the door? She crept over to listen. She could hear him shifting around out there.

  And if she could hear him moving, then he’d be able to hear her …

  She wasn’t about to poo with a stranger listening. She took a deep breath and tried to ignore her intestines. Summoning all her self-control, she left the bathroom.

  ‘It’s all yours,’ she told the boy who squeezed through the doorway before she’d even left the room.

  Within a few seconds she heard him crapping with abandon. He clearly didn’t share her worries about noise travelling.

  Just lovely.

  She plopped on the sofa with her coffee to answer her emails. The plumbing knocked and rattled as the cistern filled. There was a courtesy flush. Then she heard the door opening.

  It immediately closed, and the faecal orchestra began its next movement, with a new conductor.

  An email from James popped up.

  James.McCormack@DDR.co.uk 8.02am (7 minutes ago)

  To: me

  Hey, I saw Sarah on the website. She wasn’t that hot the last time I saw her. Are you up? Or slacking?

  Rachel.Lambert@DDR.co.uk 8.09am (0 minutes ago)

  To: James.McCormack@DDR.co.uk

  I’m up. Builders are here. They’re shitting in my bathroom.

  James.McCormack@DDR.co.uk 8.10am (0 minutes ago)

  To: me

  Where do they usually shit?

  Rachel.Lambert@DDR.co.uk 8.11am (0 minutes ago)

  To: James.McCormack@DDR.co.uk

  It’s just rude, no?

  James.McCormack@DDR.co.uk 8.12am (0 minutes ago)

  To: me

  Needs must. So back to Sarah. Is she having luck online?

  Rachel.Lambert@DDR.co.uk 8.12am (0 minutes ago)

  To: James.McCormack@DDR.co.uk

  Why the interest in Sarah?

  James.McCormack@DDR.co.uk 8.13am (0 minutes ago)

  To: me

  Just making friendly conversation.

  Rachel.Lambert@DDR.co.uk 8.14am (0 minutes ago)

  To: James.McCormack@DDR.co.uk

  Go back to work.

  James.McCormack@DDR.co.uk 8.15am (0 minutes ago)

  To: me

  Am working. Typing with one hand, drawing with other.

  She closed her laptop as one of the boys came down the stairs. ‘’Scuse me,’ he said. ‘Nate wants you.’ He picked up two sawhorses that were nearly as big as him and struggled back up the stairs. They bounced along the wall most of the way.

  ‘Can you be a little careful with those?!’ They hadn’t budgeted to redecorate the ground floor.

  He was startled into a spin, where he bashed the horse into the landing wall. A shower of plaster rained from the ceiling. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Just be careful please.’

  They were wrecking as much as they fixed.

  Now she knew what her dad’s clients went through. No wonder sometimes he didn’t even break even on his jobs.

  The thought made her feel guilty. And sad for him, even though she doubted if he realised how bad he was. He never let on that he did. And they certainly weren’t going to tell him that he wasn’t in the running for Builder of the Year.

  ‘Ah, Rachel, I forgot to mention,’ Nate said when she went upstairs, ‘we don’t know how to use your coffee maker.’

  ‘Oh, it’s simple, really. You just unscrew the top and clean out the filter where the old coffee grounds are. Fill the bottom with water, put the filter in with two dessertspoons of coffee, then screw it back together and put it on the hob.’

  He looked at her like she’d just explained nuclear fusion.

  ‘Sarah usually just makes it for us,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, right. Okay then.’ Because she didn’t have anything better to do than be their barista for the day. ‘White for everyone? I’ll bring up some sugar.’

  She stomped downstairs to make coffee for her builders.

  They were caffeinated to their back teeth by the time they finished in the afternoon. Between their questions and their banging and their wanton destruction, the day was a complete write-off, work-wise.

  And now, thanks to Nate drilling through an electrical cable, they had no lights on the top floor.

  She couldn’t wait to get to her parents’ house. She stuffed a dress into her overnight bag. They’d invited her for dinner but sometimes she just wanted looking after.

  She knew she was a mama’s girl, though she did stay with them much less than she had in her early twenties. Then she’d slept in her single bed at least once a week, with Kylie Minogue smiling down from the walls in her over-the-knee socks. She’d tried the look, until Micky Flaherty said her thighs looked like chipolatas. The socks went in the bin.

  She let herself into the house with her key. Dad’s rubble-covered work boots were on the rubber mat by the front door.

  Her mum was hunched over her laptop at the kitchen table. ‘Is Dad in the bath?’ Rachel asked.

  ‘Whirling away,’ she said, brushing the strawberry blonde curls from her eyes.

  They’d got him the whirlpool bath last year for his birthday after years of trying to convince him to put one in the downstairs bathroom for himself. It was like he was afraid to admit that doing manual labour every day took it out of a man nearing sixty. Which of course it did.

  So they’d bought the tub and, controversially, hired a plumber to fit it. Mum had told him it was because he was too busy with his clients. It was sort of true. They only had to look around the house at all the half-finished jobs. The kitchen cabinets had been installed when Labour was in power. They might be in power again before her dad fitted the handles.

  The whirlpool was a rare concession from her mum, who usually view
ed such things as frivolous luxuries. She could design six-star hotels but would only paint the front door black in case it looked too fancy.

  Design unto others what you would not design unto yourself.

  ‘How’s the project coming?’ Genevieve asked. She didn’t need to say which project. There was really only one in Rachel’s life at the moment.

  Unlike the mothers who liked to wade into the dramas of their offspring, Rachel’s wasn’t interested in love lives or friendship troubles. Her dad was a better confidante there, as long she told him the Suitable For All Audiences version. But mention a project and her mum was all ears.

  ‘It’s good I think … James came up with a compromise that might work.’

  ‘Why didn’t you come up with the compromise?’

  ‘We’ve been working together to merge our designs, Mum, so it’s not really about who came up with what.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  Rachel smiled. ‘Yeah, it totally is. I wish I’d thought of it, but as long as he doesn’t take the credit, it’s okay.’

  ‘Can I see it?’

  ‘Maybe when it’s done.’

  Genevieve shook her head. ‘I wish you wouldn’t be so cagey about showing me your work. I’m sure it’s fantastic.’

  ‘I will, Mum, I promise. Just not yet.’

  This time she’d have to show her. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but what if she didn’t like it? Or worse: what if she pretended to like it and Rachel saw that telltale eye-slide that she did when she was trying to be nice? Then it wouldn’t matter if everyone else thought it was fantastic. It would make no difference if the client commissioned it or even if she won awards. Her mum’s judgement was what she really cared about.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Sarah

  ‘It smells of lavatories,’ Robin said, sniffing the air of the care home.

  ‘Disinfectant,’ said Sarah.

  ‘What are they disinfecting? The residents?’ He glowered at the nurses’ station as if that’s where they hid the giant human squeegees.

  They’d only visited one facility so far and she was depressed already. If this was the standard of the alternatives for Sissy, Sarah would be better off figuring out how to keep Whispering Sands open. ‘I suppose at least it’s clean.’

  ‘I told you it’s a waste of time,’ he grumbled. ‘We don’t even know if Sissy’s is closing.’

  ‘We have to be safe, Robin, or we’ll be sorry. Kelly said they might not get much warning. Will you take Sissy to live with you until we find her another place? If so, then by all means let’s go home and take our chances.’

  That shut him up. Of course his girlfriend wouldn’t let him take his sister in. He probably wouldn’t do it anyway, even if Lucy wasn’t in the picture. Family responsibility had always fallen more heavily on Sarah. She didn’t usually mind, as long as when she asked him to do something, he did it. This was one of those times. She knew he’d complain, but he wouldn’t let her or Sissy down. Not when they only had each other now.

  ‘We have to get all the information,’ she continued. ‘Just in case we need it.’

  The director was around fifty with jet-black hair and a permanently startled expression. She insisted on being called Ms Bunny, which made Robin cringe.

  ‘We’re like a family here!’ she gushed when he asked about the residents’ age range.

  Ms Bunny didn’t offer anything else, so Sarah asked, ‘Do all the residents have Down’s syndrome or other learning difficulties?’

  Ms Bunny pursed her mouth into an O, which seemed to be the only expression her Botoxed face still allowed. ‘Oh no, Ms Sarah,’ she said. ‘Most are perfectly fine.’

  Sarah bristled. Sissy wasn’t not fine, you silly cow. She had an extra chromosome. ‘Do you have any Down’s residents?’

  ‘No, but our staff is fully trained. We know how to deal with them.’

  Was Sarah just being overly sensitive? Sissy was a person just like them. She just happened to need more care than they did.

  She already knew it wouldn’t be this Bunny person providing it. ‘Do you have any questions, Robin?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. She didn’t need her sibling telepathy to know their thoughts were in sync. Let’s just get out of here, his face told her.

  ‘That’s two hours we’ll never get back,’ he said as they walked back to the railway station together.

  ‘Maybe, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have to do it. Robin, we need to make sure Sissy will be okay if Whispering Sands closes. It’s a pain in the arse but you know we’ve got to.’

  If she was honest with herself, the thing that really bothered her wasn’t the wasted trips or the possibility that they wouldn’t be able to afford the care that was right for their sister. It was no contest between her free time and her sister’s safety and happiness. And with Mum gone and Sissy only being sixteen, there were social services funds to help, for the next few years at least.

  No, if Sarah was really deep down, middle-of-the-night honest with herself, she’d admit that her conscience was getting hard to live with.

  Because Sissy did have another alternative, didn’t she? If their mum had still been alive, Sissy would be buttering her toast in the kitchen where she grew up. And despite the promise their mum had extracted, families did look after their Down’s syndrome relatives all the time. So shouldn’t Sissy be living with her or Robin?

  As long as the home stayed open, Sarah could ride along on the status quo, honouring her mother’s wishes, letting the people who knew what they were doing keep her healthy, blah blah blah. And Sissy did like living at Whispering Sands.

  But what if it closed?

  The time was coming to make a new decision.

  The last thing Sarah felt like doing after seeing frozen-faced Ms Bunny was to meet her RecycLove date. But Rachel would have a cow if she came home from work and found her slobbing about in the house. She was caught between a date and a bollocking, so she slicked on more make-up and took her hair out of its elastic band so that it bouffed up … as much as her long straight hair would bouff. She wriggled into her cornflower blue dress with the gathered bodice and went to meet her date.

  One quick drink and she could tell Rachel all about it later while watching Grand Designs reruns on the sofa.

  She probably wouldn’t have agreed to meet Jeremy at all if it hadn’t been for his ex-girlfriend’s endorsement. ‘A kind, shy soul who needs to stop worrying and have more fun’. Birds of a bashful feather, she thought when she read his profile after getting his message.

  From: Jeremy

  To: Sarah

  Hi Sarah, I’m not an expert baker but I do make a mean apple crumble (my granny’s recipe). I also know where my local Patisserie Valerie is. Do I qualify for a return message do you think? Hope so! Jeremy

  If there was some rule about how long to wait to answer, Sarah didn’t follow it.

  From: Sarah

  To: Jeremy

  There’s an art to the crumble so if you make it well then, yes, you qualify I see that you also confessed to liking housebuilding programmes. Any other reality TV addictions? Sarah

  From: Jeremy

  To: Sarah

  I don’t know how much to confess to at this point, Sarah. There’s a fine line there, as you know. I can probably get away with housebuilding (manly) and cooking, since you’re also a fan. I might have to wait till we meet to talk about Don’t Tell the Bride. What do you think? Should we meet?

  From: Sarah

  To: Jeremy

  Only if you’re kidding about Don’t Tell the Bride! I’m free on Weds or Thurs.

  From: Jeremy

  To: Sarah

  Wednesday works. It’s a date.

  He wasn’t her usual type, she thought, looking one last time at his photo so she’d recognise him in the bar. She liked tall, dark, handsome men, though after so long on her own, her usual type would be anyone who peed standing up.

  It had been almost four ye
ars since she’d had a date. Four. Years. Hard to believe, though she tried not to beat herself up too much. Sometimes circumstances got in the way. Romance had been the last thing on her mind while her mum was ill. Even now that she wanted to meet someone, how much free time, not to mention headspace, did she really have to be doing this? And what were the chances of finding anyone anyway? She probably had better odds as the outside bet at the Grand National.

  She stifled a yawn. Just one drink, she repeated to herself all the way to the pub. There was always a chance.

  He was waiting for her outside.

  ‘Sarah? I thought it might be easier to find each other out here.’

  He gave her an easy smile that made his blue eyes crinkle. He was only her height, and slight, with pale blond hair and a smattering of freckles across his nose. He’d buttoned his long navy wool coat tightly against the wintery wind but she could tell that he was as athletic as he looked in his photos. That was good.

  It would be nice to have someone to play tennis with once the weather got better, or to jog with around the park.

  As long as she was ordering her perfect man, she’d take the fully baked, kind guy from the starter menu, and for the main course, a homely boyfriend with a side of funny who was as close to his family as she was to hers … with a reputation for being a stallion in bed for pudding.

  She bit down the sudden urge to whinny at Jeremy.

  Must not be weird, she told herself. ‘Please let me get the drinks,’ she said when they found a table inside. ‘What would you like? I’ll be right back.’

  Waving away his protest, she went to the crowded bar.

  She noticed a text on her phone when she pulled out her purse.

  Thanks for making me go today, Robin texted. Lucy says I was an arse. Sorry about that.

  She doubted that Lucy was really concerned for her boyfriend’s little sister. She was just protecting her Down’s-free territory.

  That’s okay, you’re my brother, you arse. Sarah x

  When she returned with their drinks she found Jeremy scrolling through his phone. ‘Sorry, I’ve just had an email about a club night tonight.’ He gave her a winsome smile. ‘If we hit it off maybe we’ll go later?’