The Matchmaker (12 page)

‘I’ll think about it,’ Sarah had fobbed them off, determined to find some way of creating extra income of her own. She wanted to be able to provide for Evie herself, give her the same standard of living that she’d enjoyed growing up.

She had her job in Evie’s school, St Bridget’s, where she worked three mornings a week teaching art and helping in the library, her part-time work with Cora’s catering company and the odd bit of graphic design work she managed to pick up. This income combined with the single parent’s allowance and the very odd bit of money she received from Maurizio helped her to provide for her child. It was a struggle and like most single parents who didn’t work full-time she was almost constantly broke. If she weren’t living rent-free in the basement of her family home she didn’t know how she would survive.

With time to spare she opened her ‘Mitten’ file. Mitten had started life as a squiggly drawing of a cat that she had done on a sketch pad for Evie. Mitten was a very bold little cat, who got into all kinds of scrapes and mischief and drove her owner Miss Bee mad. A weekly evening course in computers had helped her convert the bold black cat from the page in her sketchbook to a section of his own on her computer and she enjoyed adding to his antics whenever she got the chance. It was a silly childish thing to be doing when she should be ironing or hoovering or cleaning the bedroom but she couldn’t help herself whenever the tip of that little black tail and ears appeared on the screen.

‘Oh God!’ Now she’d forgotten the time and was late to collect her child. Hitting the
save
button she grabbed her denim jacket and bag and raced out the door. If she ran all the way she might only be a few minutes late. She ran as fast as she could in the rain, head down as mothers with children by the hand and buggies and prams walked towards her. Out of breath and panting she got to the door of the school where Florence Roche, Evie’s teacher, was waiting expectantly for her.

‘Hi, Mummy,’ announced her angel, coming over and taking her hand.

‘Everything OK?’ asked the senior infants’ teacher.

‘Yes, yes, fine,’ she explained, ‘just caught up with a work thing.’

Sarah could see that Evie was about to ask what this work thing was and began to edge her towards the door.

‘Sorry,’ she apologized, but could see Florence had already forgotten and was picking up her large blue denim bag, which was filled with copybooks and papers.

‘No rest for the wicked,’ the teacher laughed.

Sarah paused, looking around the gaily decorated walls covered with paintings and a large cut-out alphabet that the kids had made with pictures from magazines and newspapers.

D was for dog, dinosaur and daddy. Evie had pored over Sarah’s old
Cosmo
s and
Image
and
U
magazines to find the perfect picture of what she thought a dad should look like. Sarah had resisted the urge to influence her as she contemplated George Clooney and Brad Pitt and Homer Simpson, saying nothing when she had cut out a tall curly-haired dark-eyed male model who was holding a dog from a cheese advertisement.

‘I think he’s a nice daddy,’ she’d said firmly as she cut him out with her plastic pink scissors and put him into her school bag.

‘Me too,’ agreed Sarah, who’d had to go to the bathroom and throw water on her eyes so her daughter couldn’t see the emotions that a stupid school task had conjured up.

‘Sarah, Evie’s alphabet picture was so sweet,’ praised Florence as they walked together out into the small paved yard. ‘And she did a lovely painting of a big green frog sitting on a green tree.’

‘It’s hiding,’ insisted Evie from under her dark eyelashes and fringe.

‘Well, you’ll have to help me find it.’ Sarah laughed.

‘See you tomorrow, Evie.’ The pretty young teacher nodded as she made her way to a silver car parked near the railings.

Sarah took her daughter’s hand as they waited for the traffic lights to change and watched the car drive away. She’d always imagined herself as a teacher or something like that, busy, occupied, with a career and money, a car of her own, a different life. Yet she wouldn’t change having Evie for the world. Her five-year-old daughter was the most precious and wonderful thing in her life but she just wished she was a better provider and could give her daughter everything all the other mammies and daddies could.

Stopping off in the butcher’s she purchased some minced beef. It was on special. Tonight she’d make hamburgers and fried onion and Bolognese tomorrow. Next week if she got paid she was going to buy one of their big plump free-range chickens and roast it with all the trimmings. Maybe she could invite someone over? Open a bottle of wine, be sociable instead of spending so much time alone?

‘Mummy!’ Evie tugged at her sleeve.

‘Yes, pet?’

‘There he is again.’

Sarah looked out of the shop door. That huge wolf of a dog was standing there again.

‘He’s hungry, Mummy.’

‘Evie, he just likes waiting there, hoping to get a bone.’

‘I think he’s hungry,’ Evie insisted, going over to pet him.

Sarah sighed. There wasn’t a dog in creation that didn’t attract Evie but for the moment a pet was definitely out of the question. It was bad enough having her mother help to support herself and Evie without adding the cost of an animal.

‘What about we get a DVD to watch in Xtravision then I’ll just grab what we need from Spar and head home!’

‘Bye bye, Mr Bones,’ Evie said, slipping her hand in hers. Sarah felt emotion squeeze her heart as she realized that one day her little girl would no longer automatically reach for her or need her.

The video shop was quiet and Sarah passed the rows of expensive new releases with their big stars and well-advertised features and headed for the discount children’s section where a range of Barbie, Barney and dinosaur cartoons filled the shelves. Evie, with a determined expression, searched the shelf until she found the DVD of the little mouse ballerina surrounded by her ballerina classmates.

Sarah was rooting in her handbag for her money to pay when she recognized Angus ahead of her. He was wearing a black leather jacket, his black leather boots, and a bright red knotted scarf.

He spotted Evie and immediately bent down to chat to her.

‘Hi.’ Sarah smiled, glad to see him.

‘How are you two pretty ladies?’

‘Fine thanks,’ she said as Evie showed him her DVD.

‘Looks really good, but I’m more of a Bond man. I saw this on the big screen but I’m going to chill and watch it again. Guns and girls and fast cars – that is my kind of movie! Have you seen it?’

‘No,’ admitted Sarah. Trips to the cinema were a pretty rare occurrence and were usually confined to the latest Disney blockbuster that Evie would enjoy or a chick flick with her sisters or friends.

‘Why don’t you come round to my place later and we can watch it then?’ he offered.

She tilted her head towards Evie. She’d have to organize a babysitter.

‘OK, point taken. Then why don’t I come over to your place instead? You provide the DVD machine and I’ll bring the movie and the popcorn.’

‘That sounds good.’ Sarah found herself agreeing. Suddenly she realized it would be good to have a bit of adult company.

Evie was fast asleep by the time Angus came over. Curling up in the chair chatting to him and watching suave James Bond tackle a series of odious villains and win the heart of every lady he came into contact with made Sarah smile.

‘Total bloody escapism,’ enthused Angus, ‘just perfect for a Wednesday night.’

Sarah agreed and afterwards made a pot of coffee for the two of them and some toast as Angus gave her an in-depth rundown of his favourite Scottish rock bands. It was funny but with Angus she felt totally relaxed and comfortable and able to talk easily. He had opinions about everything, she discovered, and was really funny.

They got into a mock argument about the best five films they had seen and who was their favourite director.

‘Hey what about we do this again next week?’ he suggested as he helped her carry the mugs to the kitchen. ‘Only this time you pick the film. We can take it in turns – that’s if you want.’

Sarah did want. He was lovely, just the kind of guy she would normally fancy, but he’d been totally up front about his girlfriend Megan and she was no boyfriend-stealer! Still, it must be lonely for him stuck in Dublin midweek without her. Maybe they could just be friends, have a laugh together. There was no contest between sitting at home on her own watching stupid stuff on the TV and having Angus over to watch a DVD next Wednesday.

Anna was in love. Unlike her sisters who were utter disasters where men were concerned, she was in love with the perfect man, a man of intelligence, who was spiritual and intellectual and had a rare knowledge of a woman’s psyche. With his dark curling hair and long face and full lips and wise eyes she suspected he could all but see into her soul.

She had fallen in love with him when she was sixteen years old and that love had never faltered or wavered over the succeeding years. He was constant and true, unlike other men, and had the ability to move her like no other person had. She had been overwhelmed by him when she had first read his poem about spreading the cloths of heaven under the feet of his beloved. The genius and brilliance of his poetry lifted her up in a whirlwind of words as she read and studied his poetry and plays. William Butler Yeats was the perfect man and no living, breathing human could come in any way close to matching the depths of emotion he stirred in her. Her passion and obsession for his work had driven her to study English first at UCD and then to undertake a Ph.D. at Trinity.

This love of W. B. Yeats possessed her and she could not help comparing the mere mortals she met at parties and dances and pubs with the poet. Her friends and sisters told her she was crazy but Anna persisted in choosing the life of an academic where she had the opportunity to immerse herself in the life and times of Ireland’s most famous poet and his fellow writers.

‘For God’s sake, he was an old man and he loved Maud Gonne and he was on our Leaving Certificate exam papers,’ her sister Sarah had teased her. ‘How can you possibly compare him to the guys we meet when we go out?’

‘Exactly!’ Anna had shouted triumphantly.

Her sisters and friends constantly fell for the Heathcliffs and Darcys, the Rhett Butlers and Gatsbys of the world and then wondered why they were left vulnerable and heartbroken. Anyone who had studied literature could have told them that such romances were doomed. She herself had no intention of following that route and if she did ever decide to settle and marry would choose an intellectual companion like Philip Flynn who at least understood her passion for literature. She had shown him the latest drafts of her paper on ‘The Role of Women in W. B. Yeats’s Life’ and Philip had been most encouraging and supportive. However, the quest to find an interesting man with a spark of genius was proving more difficult than she imagined.

As she walked across the cobbled square of Trinity College and made her way to the library she phoned Grace, agreeing to meet for lunch in Luigi’s, one of the nicer Italian restaurants in Temple Bar. She was banning all talk of Shane O’Sullivan and their break-up during the meal and had got two tickets for the opening of a new play in the Project tomorrow night, which Grace should enjoy. At eleven o’clock she had a tutorial with a group of fresh first years who were still labouring under the impression that college life was a doddle and there was no need to make any effort to study or research until a few weeks before the end-of-year exams, a belief she was doing her best to shatter. She contemplated doing a small handout for them and then reminded herself that it was up to them to do the work and discover the gems hidden in the realms of language and literature they were studying.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, you are explorers. Miners digging for treasure!’ she reminded them as she glanced around the crowded lecture theatre at the faces of her eighteen- and nineteen-year-old students. She recalled crusty old Louis Redmond, one of the university’s finest English professors, who had steered her through the rough and tumble of an English degree. She had almost swooned as he read from ‘The Rose’ from his copy of Yeats’s
Collected Poems
in her first year in Belfield and had signed up for all his classes the very next day. At eighteen years old she was ready to have her mind opened and her spirit untethered from the usual pursuits of UCD’s student life.

That had been almost ten years ago and she could never have imagined how vast was the realm of words and poetry that would enchant her, hold her, and to which she now dedicated her life. A Masters and a Ph.D. and nine months at Harvard were all stepping stones on the route to the Holy Grail: a professorship.

She was not anti-men; in fact she liked most of them and had even enjoyed a few romances along the way with students and other academics, but nothing touched her heart the way Yeats did. A passionate fling with fellow student Brad Lewis while at Harvard; a disastrous few months dating Tom Kinsella, who lectured in Economics here at Trinity, which had ended badly. At times she did miss male companionship, sex and the giddy ease that the first days of a relationship brought, but she consoled herself with the fact that she was betrothed to the love of a genius who, with his words and insights and wisdom, had woken her to something much stronger and important than simple romance.

Reluctantly Grace had given in to the persuasion of her sisters, friends and work colleagues to stop moping around and get back into the social scene. She had agreed to join the Saturday night crowd in Café en Seine, one of Dublin’s busiest bars. She pushed through the throng with her friends, wearing a figure-hugging jade-green dress with a little black cropped cardigan, ignoring the numerous appreciative glances from the wall of men balancing pints all around them. The place was busier than ever, packed with noisy groups laughing and shouting and running the waitresses off their feet with orders.

Niamh and the girls were being more than supportive and were ensuring that she was kept topped up with her favourite vodka and orange, but she felt as if she was in some kind of market as guys eyed her up and down. Being single sucked. However, she made an effort to mingle and make small talk and look like she was having a good time.