The Mistletoe Matchmaker

by Felicity Hayes-McCoy

  After their drinks they’d proceeded to the kitchen from the patio, where Tom Casey’s night-scented stocks still perfumed the air. As they sat at the table, Brian had admired Mary’s bone-handled cutlery. Nothing could have endeared him to her more.

  ‘Well, now, do you like them? I’m glad to hear that. They were a wedding present, weren’t they, Hanna? My late husband Tom sent over to London for them, Brian. I’d seen a lovely canteen in a picture in a magazine. And, can you believe it, he got on to a shop in London and they sent him over the best.’

  Brian had turned a fork in his hand and balanced its weight on his forefinger. ‘They’re beautiful. I hope you keep them in their box.’

  ‘I do, of course, and it’s beautiful too. Lined with velvet. And, do you know what it is, Brian? Those handles have never seen a drop of hot water. Not a single drop. Though, God knows, if Hanna had her way, she’d probably have left them soaking in it. Isn’t hot water the one thing that’ll turn a bone handle yellow? I don’t know how many times I had to tell her that when she was small. God, she was a child that needed telling – you always had to keep your eye on her.’

  ‘And look at her now. A credit to you.’

  Mary had beamed and, seeing Jazz and Louisa’s faces, Hanna could well imagine the colour of her own.

  But the blush had receded in a wave of amusement when Brian glanced at her wickedly. And later, as he’d driven her home, she’d turned and smiled. ‘Thanks for making an effort.’

  ‘It wasn’t an effort. I really did enjoy myself. I adore apple tart and squirty cream.’

  ‘Oh, shut up. You know what I mean.’

  ‘No, seriously. It was good to meet them properly. Jazz is such a bright kid. You must be proud of her.’

  That night, watching the trees by the road leap up as the headlights caught them, Hanna had felt a renewed rush of gratitude toward Louisa. Jazz had been bewildered by the precipitous break-up with Malcolm but, with the resilience of youth and Louisa’s support, she was now focused on the future. Over dinner she’d been full of excitement.

  ‘It’s such a simple, brilliant idea. We’re developing and producing organic cosmetics made from herbs grown here in Finfarran. ‘Edge of the World Essentials’. That’s our name. I mean, it’s really early days so, right now, it’s more about development than production. But we’ve found the perfect manager. And I’m the creative marketing director. Louisa’s the brains of the outfit, and I’m the brawn.’

  It had been strange to hear Jazz, who until recently had called Louisa ‘Granny Lou’, refer to her as a business partner.

  There had been several similar occasions since at which Mary had monopolised Brian, who’d been vastly amused, and Hanna had observed her daughter’s shrewd interest in the unfolding relationships between the lot of them. In the car on the way home on that first evening, Brian had glanced at her. ‘Was that really why Louisa set up the business? Just to give Jazz a job?’

  ‘Well, her house in Kent was far too large, and she’s getting old. Malcolm loves her but he never could be bothered to entertain her, so if she’d sold up and moved to London she would have been awfully lonely. Anyway, under the genteel veneer, she’s always been a formidable woman. I think she’s just been waiting for a chance to spread her wings.’

  Brian said nothing and, after a moment, Hanna laughed. ‘Okay, I reckon it had a lot to do with Jazz as well. Louisa’s given her a reason to put down roots.’

  ‘What does Malcolm think?’

  ‘I gather he was slightly shocked to find that his mum had sold his childhood home without seeking his permission. But this way he escapes a weight of responsibility. If she’s mostly here in Finfarran she won’t be needing attention in London. And that was where she could have ended up.’

  ‘You’re really fond of her, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I am. I always was. Well . . . I suppose there was a while there when I felt she was to blame for raising Malcolm as a ratfink. But she didn’t, of course. That’s just the way he turned out. Anyway, this venture is going to move us all forward.’

  ‘All of us?’

  ‘Even you and me.’

  ‘And how do you work that out?’

  ‘Well, maybe I’ve spent too much of my time worrying about Jazz’s future. Now I can claim my life back.’ Seeing the look on Brian’s face, she laughed. ‘What?’

  ‘I was just wondering how often I’ve heard you make that statement.’

  ‘That’s nonsense!’

  ‘I’ve a special notebook in which I keep a tally.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, I’m going to start keeping a list of your shameless compliments to my mother.’

  ‘She does sort of command them. Still, every word was true.’

  ‘Oh, please!’

  Brian had chuckled. ‘Well, okay, maybe not the bit about loving her Padre Pio altar. But it does have a kitsch appeal, so it wasn’t exactly a lie.’

  Now, walking from her car to the entrance to the library, Hanna felt buoyant. In the weeks since the dinner party, Jazz and Louisa had forged ahead with their business, and the work at Mary Casey’s place was very nearly complete. Louisa would soon have her own section of the bungalow to live in, and Jazz had found herself a matchbox-sized flat in Lissbeg.

  The fact that Mary would have company was going to make life much easier. If nothing else, there’d be fewer demanding texts.

  9

  As if to celebrate Cassie’s arrival, Finfarran had produced a glorious morning after a night of rain. Peering through the window of her bedroom over the butcher’s shop, Cassie could see smoke rising from chimneys into a cloudless sky. When she leaned out and breathed the air it was clean and slightly chilly, touched with salt and mixed with the scent of smoke from a garden bonfire. Craning her neck, she could see that the wide street beneath her window was bright in the wintry sunshine, and the scurrying figures below were muffled in scarves and gloves.

  Everything in Lissbeg was smaller than she’d expected, perhaps because the surrounding landscape dominated the view. Out beyond the town’s grey streets, with their painted timber shopfronts, the low hills rolled away, dappled in green and brown; and, away to the west, a mountain range reared up on the horizon in a series of jagged blue peaks and crags.

  Cassie and Pat had both overslept, still suffering from the effects of jetlag, so it was eleven o’clock when they crossed the road from the butcher’s shop and paused by an old horse trough on a traffic island, where scarlet geraniums were shedding their petals onto the flagstones. At the far side of the road, in some kind of park beyond the traffic, Cassie could see the tips of tall fir trees and masses of late autumnal foliage.

  Pat took her elbow, waiting for a break in the traffic. Then, raising her hand to a van driver who’d paused to accommodate them, she piloted Cassie across to the other side. You’d have to take your chance when you got it in Broad Street, these days, she explained earnestly. The traffic was always woeful this time of the morning.

  To city-born Cassie, the single stream of traffic had looked easily negotiable and the courteous gesture from the driver felt rather sweet. The raise of Pat’s hand had been accompanied by a dignified nod, and they’d swept across the road like a couple of galleons in full sail. But while the rest of the traffic had taken its lead from the battered, red van, a stocky guy in the car behind it had sounded his horn.

  Glancing back, Cassie saw the van driver deliberately take his time starting up again. He was a rangy looking man in his late sixties, with a small dog on the passenger seat beside him, and the way he ignored the guy in the car was superb. ‘That was kind.’

  ‘No more than I’d expect from Fury, pet.’

  Apparently Fury was the rangy man’s name. Cassie was already getting used to Finfarran’s penchant for nicknames. They’d been given a lift from the train station last night by an elderly man called Horse.

  Over breakfast in the flat above the butcher’s shop, she and Pat had sorted out a few ground rules. ‘You’ll
have to call us Pat and Ger now we’re here in Lissbeg, love. We’ve never been anything else in this town, so you might as well follow the fashion.’

  ‘Deal. Provided you don’t start introducing me round the town as Cassandra.’

  Pat had shot a smile at her and said that she’d remember. Then Cassie had explained that she was planning to find her own place. ‘It’s nice of you to offer me a room but I really don’t think it would work out. You guys are used to your own lifestyle. And I want to be free to come and go as I choose.’

  Afterwards she’d thought that it might have been better to say she wouldn’t like to disturb them. But there was never any point in beating about the bush. Anyway, Pat had nodded, as if she’d expected it.

  Later, as she’d brushed her teeth, Cassie had thought that, while calling Gran ‘Pat’ felt perfectly natural, hailing Grandad as ‘Ger’ would feel weird. She hadn’t got to know him at all. In Canada he’d hardly spoken to her or Mom, and she’d had the impression that his outings with Dad and Uncle Jim had been taciturn as well. He’d slept most of the time on the journey to Ireland, when she and Pat had chatted. And when they’d arrived in Lissbeg his first action was to call Frankie for an update on the turkeys their supplier was fattening for Christmas. Then, with the call over, he’d retired to bed. This morning he’d got up at the crack of dawn and gone out to some appointment.

  Now, as Cassie and Pat reached the pavement, a tall girl emerged from a car park down the street. She was walking with her head bent, putting her keys in her handbag, when, looking up, she saw Pat. With her dark hair flying, she ran up and hugged her. ‘You’re back! How lovely! Did you have a great holiday?’

  The girl was about Cassie’s age, maybe a year or so older. She kissed Pat and, turning to Cassie, waited to be introduced.

  ‘This is Cassie. My granddaughter. Can you believe she’s come over on a visit? I’m taking her into the library to say hello to your mam.’

  The girl held out her hand and said that her name was Jazz Turner. ‘My mum’s the librarian here, but I guess Pat said. Are you going to be round for long?’

  ‘Could be. I’m not really sure. Most likely till after Christmas.’

  Pat beamed at the two of them. ‘Would we have a cup of coffee in the Garden Café before we go into the library? Hanna’s always up to her ears at this time of a morning.’

  Jazz shook her head. ‘I’m really sorry, Pat, I can’t. I’ve got a meeting. Did you know we’re renting space in the Old Convent Centre? I’m on my way to check it out.’ She smiled again, and walked away, her well-cut hair and expensive handbag swinging. Clearly this was someone else who was into empire-building. She seemed nice enough, though.

  Pat took Cassie’s arm. ‘It’s probably too soon to be thinking of coffee anyway. Come and look at the garden.’

  They walked to a gate through which Jazz had disappeared. This was the public space that Cassie had glimpsed from across the road. There was a little café, which, Pat explained, sold cakes and sandwiches made in the local deli. ‘You can sit indoors looking out if you want and, if the weather’s nice, the café has tables by the fountain.’

  The tables were set out today, looking inviting in the sunshine. Trees bordered the garden’s wide herb beds, which were separated by narrow gravelled paths. Where four paths met, a statue of St Francis, with his arms extended, stood on a plinth. Water gushing from stone flowers at the saint’s feet made ripples in a shallow granite basin with a broad rim.

  Cassie looked around. On two sides the garden was enclosed by high, grey buildings at right angles to each other, and the third side was bounded by a wall.

  Pat explained that one of the buildings had been the school and the other a convent. She’d been to the school herself. ‘The council has it all joined up inside now, and they’re doing the redevelopment bit by bit.’

  At the far side of the garden the sun shone on a row of stained-glass windows. ‘That was the nuns’ refectory. There’s big kitchens in there as well. I heard some crowd was interested in renting them for a cookery school.’

  ‘What’s Jazz going to use her space for?’

  ‘I’m not sure, love. Something to do with soap. There’s a grand set-up for the pensioners in there as well. A big lounge and space for yoga and dancing. And a room for a chiropodist. Isn’t it mad to think I get my feet done now in the room where I used to do my lessons?’

  The October sun falling through evergreens touched the crimson leaves of a Virginia creeper that grew against the wall. As Cassie watched, there was a flutter of wings in the dark branches and a tiny bird swooped across the herb beds to the fountain, to land on the statue’s hand. The bird’s gold crest and olive plumage echoed the colours of the stained-glass framed in its stone arches. Turning to look at the windows again, Cassie noticed rows of grey headstones beneath them, enclosed by cast-iron railings. According to Pat, this was the nuns’ graveyard, now cared for by volunteers who looked after the herb garden. ‘That’s the way the whole thing began, really. People got together to clear up the garden and they started planting new herbs. Most of the school was boarded up, and only a couple of old nuns were left living in the convent. Sister Michael and Sister Consuelo. They’re both dead now. Sister Michael was a lay sister who used to work in the garden. She knew every bit of planting here and remembered the lot.’

  As they walked down a path between the herb beds, Cassie brushed her hand across a rosemary bush, releasing its spicy fragrance. ‘You mean she helped in the restoration?’

  ‘Well, there was a book inside in the library. Hanna’s assistant found it stuck in some cupboard. And it had drawings of all the herb beds, and the flowers and bushes. The nuns here used them to make medicines. And they made beeswax polish and candles for the altars. God, there used to be a fierce smell of polish when I was at school. Furniture polish and the smell of cabbage from the kitchens.’

  They paused at a sunny bench and, by tacit consent, sat down.

  ‘Anyway, between what was inside in the herb book and what Sister Michael could remember, we got the garden looking mighty. And, in the heel of the hunt, the council bought the whole site from the Church. Mind you, they wouldn’t have lifted a finger if the volunteers hadn’t gone at the garden first.’ Pat beamed at Cassie. ‘You’ll have to ask Hanna. She’ll tell you all about it.’

  Cassie wasn’t sure that a visit to the local library was right at the top of her bucket list. But Pat and the librarian were obviously really close.

  ‘Her mam, Mary, and I were in the same class here at the convent. I knew Hanna’s father well too. Himself and Ger were great friends at the Brothers’. You didn’t have boys and girls going to the same schools in those days. God, the changes I’ve seen in my life, love, you wouldn’t believe them.’

  ‘For better or worse?’

  Pat straightened her shoulders and looked at her directly. ‘For better. That’s what I’d say. And I know well that there’s many going that wouldn’t agree with me. But look at this place that was once shut up so nobody could get into it. And look at the newcomers now in the town, bringing life and new ideas. It don’t do to have small lives and few choices, Cassie. It breeds a quare lot of jealousy and spite.’

  10

  Conor was under Miss Casey’s desk, looking for a rogue pencil sharpener, when Phil, the manager of the Convent Centre, stuck her head around the library door. As Conor wriggled out backwards with the sharpener in his hand, she laid a poster on the desk. ‘Could you hang these for me, please, Hanna? Somewhere prominent.’

  Phil’s posters always had to be hung somewhere prominent. They were always laminated too. The word was that she’d recently marched into some council committee and come away with a pile of money for the centre’s admin office. So her desk was now jammed with hi-tech gizmos. Half of which, according to Ferdia, who worked with her, would be obsolete by next Tuesday.

  Conor squinted sideways and read the top line of the lettering, which was printed in bright red: ‘RISE t
o the CHALLENGE of YOUR FUTURE in an EDGE OF THE WORLD WORKSPACE!!’

  It was Ferdia who’d come up with the idea of calling the peninsula ‘The Edge of the World’. Back when the volunteers were working on the nuns’ garden, they’d created a community website that he’d put together for free. It had taken off big-time, and the council reckoned it was a great tool for promoting local tourism.

  Conor remembered the day they’d announced the plan to develop the Old Convent Centre. Someone had kicked Ferdia on the ankle, saying the next thing he’d know would be that they’d claim the website as their own. They’d tried it, too, but Ferdia was too fly for them. Which was why he was now running the website from Phil’s office, and drawing a council salary with a pension down the way.

  Phil had always been one to get carried away by a project. And with the Old Convent Centre going from strength to strength, and tourists flocking to the psalter exhibition, she was charging round these days, like a bull on speed, on a mission to sell Lissbeg. Now she pushed her specs onto her head and burbled brightly at Miss Casey, ‘That’s eight small businesses we’ve accommodated so far. And three of them start-up! Isn’t it just the greatest thing for the town?’

  When Phil had left, and Conor was about to hang the poster, Miss Casey called him over to her desk. ‘Sit down for a minute, Conor. I’ve a proposition for you.’

  Conor sat down with the poster between his knees and his toes curling apprehensively. Propositions meant change and, right now, his life was complicated enough.

  ‘I’ve been wondering if you’d consider doing the mobile library run this winter.’

  ‘What – taking it over from you?’ Miss Casey, who lived a few miles out of town, had always done the mobile run herself. Two days a week Conor was in charge in Lissbeg while she drove to the county library in Carrick where the library van was kept. Then she’d do the regular route down the peninsula, taking the north side on one day, the south on the other, and dropping the van back to Carrick before going home in her car.