Authors: Sally Clements
“That’s
great.” Michael shifted, pouring three mammoth whiskeys, and handing one to
Jack. His graying hair was cut short, and stood up straight on his head, the rough
bristles like a yard brush. “So, have either of ye made any matches?”
“Not me.” Jack
swirled the whiskey around in his mouth. The potent aroma assailing his
nostrils, and permeating every pore. “I only stood in for today. There’s
potential though.”
“I saw Noel
out with a quiet one, they seemed to be getting on well.” Michael seemed
genuinely interested.
“Pass Michael
the book, Jack. He knows the locals, and might be interested to see whom we’ve
matched with whom. Maybe you might come down and help me tomorrow, Michael?”
“I’d love to.”
Jack handed
the book into Michael’s huge paw. Yes, Michael certainly was interested. He
read through the details, making pertinent suggestions they hadn’t considered.
He was insightful, and focused. Why hadn’t Bull asked Michael to step in when
Annie was called away?
“So, Michael.
Are you interested in matchmaking?” It wasn’t his place to ask, but he asked
anyway. There was silence for a moment. Bull put his empty plate onto the
table, and picked up his whiskey.
“I am. It’s in
my blood I suppose. My grandfather was the matchmaker.”
Bull swallowed
a mouthful and spluttered. “Jaysus, that’s strong.” He grinned. “Michael always
sat next to me when he was a kid. Soaking in the atmosphere and learning the
craft. His father wasn’t interested, so it fell to me to be the next
matchmaker.”
“After you,
it’ll be Annie.” Michael’s eyes dulled, disappointment evident in the way his mouth
drooped at the corners.
Jack pulled in
a deep breath. Annie didn’t want it, and Michael so obviously did. She’d told
him to keep her secret safe, but this was the perfect moment to pass the baton.
If she were here, she’d speak. Tell them that she didn’t want to be the next
matchmaker. He didn’t have an option; he needed to do this for Annie.
“Does it have
to be Annie?”
There was
silence as both men stared at him.
Indecision
flickered across Bull’s face, as if he’d never even considered the possibility
she might not assume her inherited right.
“It’s her
inheritance. She’s always known it’s there for her.” Bull set his mouth in a
grim line. He crossed his arms and stared Jack down.
“You said
yourself she’s not a natural matchmaker. Are you sure she wants it?” He was
venturing out onto a branch, and hoped to hell no one was going to cut it off.
He couldn’t reveal what he knew to be the truth; that would be betraying her
confidence. But he could sow the seeds of doubt. Maybe if Bull saw he had
options, he might talk to Annie about it, find out the truth from her lips, not
Jacks.
Bull’s face
softened. “We’ve never spoken about it. I just presumed she wanted it.”
Jack swallowed
the last inch of whiskey in his glass. “Maybe you should ask her.”
Chapter Nine
Jack ran a
finger inside the collar of his new white shirt. The tight cotton chafed his
neck, after so many weeks of tee-shirts. He fiddled with the blue striped tie,
making sure it was straight, and undid his suit jacket. It was time. He
breathed in a lungful of calming air, and pushed open the heavy glass door of
the nursing home.
The smell
assailed his nostrils. Disinfectant, cabbage and that indefinable old person
smell. The grey paint of the lobby was thick and glossy. Doubtless easy to
wash. The thought made his heart sink. Through an open door he glimpsed the
dining room. Plates clattered, the sound of conversation swelled in the plain,
serviceable room. His feet squeaked on shiny linoleum. It was lunchtime. Six
elderly women and one old man sat around tables, while nurse’s aids brought
their meals. Jack sniffed.
Yes, definitely cabbage.
He couldn’t see what
else formed today’s lunch, but whatever it was it didn’t smell very appetizing.
One of these women was his grandmother.
A nurse
appeared at his side. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here to
see Mary Byrne.”
“Oh.” A look
of surprise flickered across her face. “You’d better come into the office.” She
maneuvered her trouser-clad ample bottom behind the desk, and gestured to the
chair in front of her. “Please, take a pew.” She smiled. “Are you a relative?”
“Her
grandson.” Anger tightened his chest and he clenched his hands into fists.
The woman
pulled out a file from the filing cabinet just within reach. “I didn’t know
Mary had any family.”
“My name is
Jack Miller. My mother was her daughter. Can I see her?”
She tapped her
pen on the file in front of her and avoided his eyes. “When was the last time
you saw Mary?”
“Never,” he
ground out. “I’ve only just discovered she’s still alive.”
“You’ll need
to talk to the doctor first. I’ll call him.”
She bustled
out. Jack cast an eye around the tiny room, resisting the urge to swivel the
file with his grandmother’s name printed on the front. The tension rose to
fever pitch, shredding what was left of his nerves. He glanced down at his
white clenched hands, and made a conscious decision to relax them. The nurse
had been nervous of him. Probably because he hadn’t smiled. He relaxed his jaw,
and tilted his head from side to side. He’d do better with the doctor.
The nurse came
back and hovered in the doorway, allowing the doctor to precede her into the
room. He was tall and thin, like an undertaker in a horror film. His wiry white
hair formed an irregular halo. He shooed the nurse away and took her seat.
“Mr. Miller.
I’m Dr. Lynch. Good to meet you.” His Adams apple bobbed up and down and he
swallowed. He fidgeted for a moment and avoided Jack’s eyes. Eventually he
pulled himself together. His hands stilled on the file in front of him, as he
echoed the nurse’s words.
“We didn’t
know Mary had any relatives. Nobody’s visited her since her husband died.”
“I didn’t know
Mary was still alive. I’ve been living in America. I came the moment I found
her.” Jack didn’t want to waste time going over the old story. He’d waited long
enough for this moment. But there were protocols to follow. He forced a tight
smile.
“I’m sorry to
tell you, Mr. Miller, but your grandmother has severe Alzheimer’s.” The older
man’s face was full of sympathy. “I’m afraid she won’t remember you.”
He’d come all
this way for nothing. Jack stared at the swirly patterns on the worn linoleum,
and gathered a response. “I’ve never met her.” Emptiness opened up a chasm in
his chest. Now he’d never know why she abandoned him. “My mother was pregnant
when my parents eloped. She cut all links with her family because they didn’t
approve of my father. I was born in America. They never looked back and I never
knew of my roots. When they died in a car crash, the authorities wrote to Mary
and asked her to adopt me. She refused.”
The doctor
flicked through the file open in front of him. “How old were you?”
“I was just a
child. I ended up in the care system.” There was no need to go into further
detail, as a doctor working within the health service; no doubt Dr. Lynch could
imagine what that was like.
“Mary came to
us ten years ago from Dundrum Mental Hospital.” He read through the yellowing documents.
Pieced together his patient’s history. “According to this she was admitted in
nineteen seventy-eight. She had serious mental problems which necessitated long
term hospitalization.”
“My parents
died in nineteen eighty.” Three years after she was committed.
“There’s a
letter here.” The doctor turned a piece of paper around and slid it across the
desk. Jack read it. The letter was addressed to Mary and said she had an
orphaned grandchild. A grandson who needed her help.
“Did she ever
see it?” His pain and anger were dissolving, like an iceberg in salty water.
The doctor
flicked through pages, and stopped when he found what he was searching for.
“This is the report.” He tapped his yellowing teeth with a fingernail. His
glasses slipped forward and he pushed them back up with a finger. “On receipt
of the letter detailing the sudden death of her only child, we have today had a
policy meeting to determine our response. Mary Byrne’s medical condition is
permanent with no possibility of recovery.” He looked up. “They go into more
detail of her condition. I’ll skip over it.”
Jack nodded,
he didn’t need the details.
“In
conclusion, it’s decided she will never be able to offer a home to her
grandchild. Breaking the news of her daughter and son-in-law’s death has resulted
in another episode. We have written to the American authorities and asked them
to place the child for adoption for there can be no home provided for him by
our patient.”
Adoption would
have been preferable to his foster homes. But no one wanted to adopt a troubled
eight-year old. Not when there were babies available. Taking on a child would
be too much for almost anyone.
“Does she know
I exist?” Sadness descended like freezing fog. The chill went so deep his heart
froze. He wished Annie were with him. Facing this alone was much worse than
he’d imagined.
“I’m sorry,
Mr. Miller, I’m afraid she doesn’t. She’s too far gone now to understand.”
“I’d like to
meet her.” The anger was gone, replaced by a lingering sadness that she’d never
be able to give him the family that he so desperately wanted. But she was alone
too. They needed each other, even if she had no idea that her blood flowed in
his veins.
The doctor’s
eyes searched his. “You realize she won’t be able to understand who you are?”
“Yes.” Pity
for the woman he’d been ready to hate flooded him. “But I’m still her family.
At least one of us knows that.”
It was a plain
room with few possessions. A bookshelf held an old bible and a few well-thumbed
paperbacks. It smelt of disinfectant mixed with something sweeter. He spotted a
bottle of perfume on the table.
Lily of the valley
. One of his mother’s
favorites too. An old woman, propped up on a mountain of cushions, lay in bed.
Her white hair was carefully styled; she was wearing a warm pink bed jacket. Faint
traces of face powder clung to her cheeks, and she had lipstick on. She looked
well cared for, and happy.
“Mary, I’ve
brought someone to see you.” The doctor smiled, and she smiled back. “This is
Jack. He’s come from America.”
“My husband is
called Jack.” She had his mother’s eyes.
She waved in
the direction of a small table cluttered with framed photographs. He wandered
over. The first picture he saw was one of his mother. White noise rushed into
his ears and tears pricked his eyes. He hadn’t seen the picture before, but
he’d know her anywhere. She was in her teens in the photograph but she looked
just like she did in his memory. A tiny vase containing sweet Williams sat
carefully on a small linen circle surrounded in lace. It was a shrine. Each
framed picture was free of dust, although the rest of the room looked less well
tended to. It was a shrine to his mother’s memory.
He picked up a
photo of a family group. It was Mary, her husband and his mother. He handed it
to her.
“Tell me about
them.”
Chapter Ten
Jack climbed
the steps of the townhouse, and pressed the bell.
“Hello?”
Annie’s disembodied voice drifted from the intercom.
“It’s me.” He waited
for the buzz of the automatic door, but nothing happened. Instead, he heard her
breathless voice again.
“I’ll be down
in a minute.”
He walked back
to the car and looked up. Wondering which flat was hers. The netted curtains
gave no hint. His eyes flickered to the front door again. How much longer was
she going to be? Urgency and anticipation cut a hole in his gut. He needed her.
Standing out here waiting was torture. The door slammed.
Annie stood on
the doorstep. A muted silver dress clung to every curve. Her hair flowed around
her shoulders, the ends hidden by the pink shawl fastened just above her
breasts with a silver broach. His heart thudded hard in his chest. She sashayed
down the steps toward him.
“You look
amazing,” he managed to croak out when she stood in front of him.
“So do you.”
She looked him up and down with a stunned expression. “You look different.”
He wrapped his
arms around her and pulled her close, kissing her hard. Her bag slipped from
her grasp to the ground. She wrapped her arms around his waist and responded.
Her fragrance,
a soft blend of flowers and lemon teased his senses, and time and place faded
away. His palms stroked her back through the silky silver of her dress. The
last thing he wanted was dinner. He was sorely tempted to carry her inside her
apartment and peel the silver sheath off her.
She pulled
back slightly, and he noted with satisfaction her uneven breathing. “I brought
some clothes with me, for tomorrow,” she said.
Jack loosened
his grip and leant back on the car. She bent to retrieve her bag, showcasing a
long stretch of perfect leg. Satisfaction welled up in him. “Good. Did you
bring the body paint too?” His voice was light and teasing, and her skin
pinkened with a blush.
“I thought I’d
save that for our second date.” Her dimple flashed. He felt a rush of relief.
After the day he’d had he didn’t think he’d be calm enough to carefully paint
her. It would take too much time.
“You better
not lean against this car, the owner won’t like it.” She straightened, the bag
clenched tightly in her hand.
“I don’t mind
it one bit.” He took her bag from nerveless fingers. “I’ll put the bag in the
back. Climb in.”
****
The beige
leather was warm against her bare legs, the walnut dash gleamed as little
glints of light from the city’s streetlights bounced off it. Annie trailed a
hand over the upholstery, nostrils flaring at the scent of warm leather mixed
with Jack’s cologne. She glanced sideways at him as the car pulled away from
the curb. He looked different. His haircut revealed the sharp angles to his
face, making him look stronger, more powerful somehow. And the clothes were a
revelation. The black shirt clung to his shoulders, making her painfully aware
of their breadth. When she’d come out of the apartment and walked towards him
she’d scanned him head to toe, and she liked what she saw.