I feel myself blushing. “No, it’s Sunday.”
“’Tis.”
“Irish lawyers don’t work on Sundays, apparently.”
“No, not generally.”
I feel like a complete moron standing here talking like a third-grader. I’ve completely lost my cool and I don’t know why. I’m going to blame it on Donal pretending like he doesn’t know me when he most definitely does know me. Or does he? The me he met today is not the normal me, so maybe he doesn’t know me at all. Or he’s the only one who knows me. Argh, I’m too confused to figure it out, so I decide to abandon ship.
I hold out my hand. “Goodbye, Mr. O’Henry. It was nice seeing you again.”
“And you, Ridlee, dear,” he says, shaking my hand. His skin is warm and his grip surprisingly firm. “Should ye feel the need to discuss yer match with me, I’m available to ye at yer convenience.”
“My match?”
He puts his hand on the book in front of him. “Yes. Yer match. The man who makes yer heart race and yer smile shine.”
I point at him and wink. “Yin yang.”
He smiles and nods. “Yin yang. Ye’ve got it.”
I walk as fast as I can away from him without looking like I’m running, headed straight for the bathroom.
Erin’s on her way out and the door hits us both as I try to force her back.
“Ridlee, what the hell …?”
“Get in, get in, I need to talk to you.” I’m flustered and panicked, suddenly desperately in need of shelter from all the eyes in the bar, especially one particular set of them.
She lets me in and we close the door behind me. There’s one sink and mirror to my right and a single walled-off toilet stall next to it. The towel holder is to my left.
“What’s going on?” she whispers, glancing worriedly at the door. “Is he following you?”
“He? Who?”
“The matchmaker.” She looks at the door again, like Gollum himself is out there waiting for her.
“No, don’t be ridiculous.”
She straightens up. “Well, who is it then?”
“It’s no one.”
She reaches around to grab the door and I stop her.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She stands up straighter and crosses her arms over her chest. “What’s the deal? Why are you afraid to go out there? Who are you hiding from?”
I cross my arms too and shrug. “No reason. Why are you afraid to go out there?”
We stare at each other for a long time. Her chin twitches and then finally she breaks, her face crumbling. “I don’t want to go out there because he’s talking to me about Micheál and he’s not … he’s not …” She can’t finish. The tears come too fast and furious.
I grab her into a hug and squeeze her tight. “Shhhh, I know, I know…”
“What do you know?” she whines over my shoulder.
“I know that you thought there was something there between you and it all felt right and perfect even when it shouldn’t have and then when you were ready to just accept it, it blew up in your face and he acted like it didn’t even happen that way.”
She stops sniffling and pulls away. “Wait a minute … what?”
I tap my foot and look up at the ceiling, willing the tears to stay inside their ducts. “I’m just saying…”
“Are we talking about Micheál here or Donal?”
I turn around and grab the door handle, but Erin stops me by putting her foot against the bottom of the door.
“Not so fast, there, girl.” Her tears are gone, like completely dried up, and now she’s back to being her confident self. “You’re upset.” She pulls on my arm to turn me around. Her tone changes. “You’re really upset, aren’t you?” She sounds mystified now.
“No, I’m not the one upset, that’s you.” I can’t meet her eyes. “Move your foot, I need to go drink a pint.”
“No way, not until you come clean.”
I turn around more fully, planning to shame her into letting me out. “There’s nothing to come clean about, okay? Jesus, give it a rest.”
She folds her arms and lifts a brow at me, saying nothing.
I try to stay mad, but I can’t. My face starts trembling in all kinds of weird places as I try to hold in my hurt.
“He blew you off,” she says.
I nod, unable to speak without crying over it.
“And that hurts like a bitch,” she says.
I nod again.
She puts her arms around me and holds me softly. “I know exactly how you feel.” She pats my back and hums.
After a few seconds, I can’t help but laugh. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Shhhh, it’ll be okay.” She keeps humming and then she pats my back, now leaning us side to side a little. It’s entirely possible that she’s mistaking my laughter for sobs. “That’s right, let it out. You’ll be stronger for it.”
Just then someone pushes the door in and hits me in the back with it. Unfortunately, Erin was still seriously into her hugging and humming program, so she got whacked on the top of the head.
“Ow, mother fucker,” she says with a hiss of pain, backing up away from me and the offending door with her hand holding the top of her scalp.
I turn around and face the girl whose head pops in around the corner.
“Ooops. Did I hurt someone?” She smiles as she locks eyes on us.
“It’s you,” Erin says with a scowl.
I move to quickly cover up my friend’s rudeness. “Oh, hey, Siobhan! Come on in. Don’t mind us hogging up the whole bathroom.”
She pushes in the door and enters the bathroom.
“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon,” she says, waiting for a reply, looking right at Erin.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ERIN
“IT’S ERIN, ISN’T IT?” THE goddess looks me up and down. Suddenly, I wish I’d made more of an effort when I was packing to come here. My jeans have lost their shape and are long over due a wash and there’s a Guinness stain on my Blondie t-shirt.
“Yeah. And you’re Siobhán.”
“That’s right. Micheál’s friend.” She lingers on friend and runs her tongue along her top lips, all Marilyn-esque; and I’m not talking Manson either. She has one of those sexy gaps between her front teeth. This bitch is way too hot for the west of Ireland. She actually looks like Debbie Harry circa Sunday Girl. Dressed in charcoal grey jeans with numerous zips, a funky striped t-shirt and Doc Martin boots, she exudes effortless cool chic. Her hair is teased to within an inch of its life, but her make-up is barely there. It is undeniable; she’s quite the looker. It’s no wonder she’s Micheál’s friend.
“Nice t-shirt,” she says, but I can’t be sure if she’s taking the piss or not. I decide to play nice.
“Thanks.”
She’s still holding the door open and an older woman brushes past us. “Is this the queue?” she asks.
“No, Ma’am. You go right ahead," chirps Ridlee. “We’re all good here. C’mon, Erin, it’s your round.”
Siobhán is still giving me the once-over but at least she’s smiling. I feel unaccountably shy all of a sudden. Following Ridlee back out into the pub, I turn and flash my friend-not-foe smile at her. I’ve gotta be honest, I’m gobsmacked when she blows me a kiss.
“Weird…,” I mutter to myself. “So, there you have it, Rid. He has a girlfriend. Still, it’s hardly her fault he’s a cheating bastard. Maybe we’ll become friends like in that film and then get together and teach him a lesson.”
“I like your thinkin’, Sweetcheeks, but right now you’ve got other fish to fry.”
“You’re right, you’re right. I know you’re right. I don’t have time for this nonsense. I do have other fish to fry and need to keep my focus on the pub and the business with this Padraig Flanagan fella, not distracted by some hunky holiday romance.”
Ridlee has already caught the barman’s attention and ordered the drinks. The pub is filling up now and Henry O’
Henry’s ‘office space’ has disappeared behind a sea of hopeful, lusty singles trying to get it on. We squeeze ourselves into a tight little corner where we can balance our pints on a tiny window ledge.
“Slainte!” says my now expert hibernophile friend.
“To your health,” I nod before breaking the creamy goodness of my perfect half-pint. The barman appears out of nowhere with two shot glasses and sets them down, giving Ridlee a wink as he does so. She passes me a glass.
“Fuck ‘em! Sisters are doin’ it for themselves,” she says by way of a toast.
“Eh, someone’s gotta drive us home, Rid.”
“The things I do for you, Sista," she says downing my shot too.
“Fuck ‘em all!” I echo, sipping from my Guinness.
“Woof!” says Ridlee, laughing. “Whoa! Hair of the dog, eh? You want another glass?”
“Eh, maybe in a bit, Rid. You don’t want to suffer again like you did last night.”
“This is the best I’ve felt all day!” She giggles, and I realise that a change of tempo is most definitely called for.
“C’mon,” I grab her hand, “let’s go chat with Mr. O’Henry again. Maybe he can hook us up with a couple of stand-ins for the night. We’re at the biggest matchmaking festival in the world after all. It’ll be a laugh!”
“Sure thing, Baby. Plenty more fish in the sea, right? And we’re staying in a fishing village so how hard can it be?” Ridlee laughs hysterically at her own joke.
Mr. O’Henry is enjoying a rare moment of quiet, staring into his pint. The crowd who’d gathered earlier has dissipated, and he seems to be a million miles away.
“Ah, ye’re back!” he welcomes us as we reach the table in the corner that he’s commandeered as his office. “I was hopin’ I’d see ye again. Come and chat with me a while.”
Ridlee and I slide into the long seat opposite him, and I nod to the barman and glance at Mr. O’Henry’s almost empty glass. The kindly barman winks back at me and moments later a pint arrives for the matchmaker.
“Now, who’s first?” he asks genially.
“You’re alright, Mr. O’Henry, we’re not lookin’ for love," I say smiling. “Haven’t ye heard, sisters are doin’ it for themselves?” Ridlee and I exchange smiles.
So we both got jilted. So what? Their loss! Or at least, that’s what we’ll tell ourselves over and over until we believe it. Thankfully, we have each other.
“Just Henry will do, and everybody needs someone to love, girls.”
“Not us. We have each other.” I snake my arm round Ridlee’s shoulder and squeeze.
“Oh, I see! You’re gay, is it? Homosexual. Batting for the other team, an all that. Well, I may have just the girling for you - a real stunner… Now, where did I put her details.” He leafs through his book.
“No, Mr., O! ” exclaim Ridlee and I in unison.
“We’re not gay!” I explain.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” adds Ridlee.
“To each her own,” I chime in, working the overkill button a bit too hard.
“I don’t understand,” says the matchmaker looking from me to Ridlee.
“We’ve just sworn off men for a bit,” says Ridlee.
“They’re more trouble than they’re worth,” I finish, smiling.
He looks from Ridlee to me and back to Ridlee again. “Nonsense! Now, I’m sure I can match ye with two fine fellas from me magic book.” Licking his thumb and forefinger he guides a shaky hand through the yellowed pages of his black ledger. Poor eyesight means that he has to lean in very close to the page to read.
Ridlee and I sit back, resigned to our fate. There’s simply no telling this old codger.
After a few minutes of us smiling indulgently while Henry peruses the pages like a blood hound following a scent, he looks up, grinning from ear to ear, and with arthritically twisted fingers he somehow manages to press the keys of a device sitting on the table next to his ledger.
Under the table Ridlee’s knee begins to press against mine, which means she is about to succumb to a fit of giggling that will likely prove quite contagious, making us look like a couple of nasty blow-ins taking the piss out of the most famous matchmaker in Ireland.
The corners of my mouth threaten to rise and I work hard to suppress the giggle that’s rising out of my throat. Ridlee has less self-control and a bubble of laughter bursts forth from her mouth. Often this is enough to cause me to dissolve into puddles of laughter too, but I really don’t want to insult this nice man.
I reach down to pinch myself hard to try to offset the inevitable fit of giggles, but thankfully a buzzing noise causes both Ridlee and me to look up, momentarily distracted. From the depths of the pub crowd, emerge Micheál, Donal and Siobhán, each holding one of those restaurant buzzers that alert you when your meal is ready to be collected.
Ridlee and I stare, slack-jawed.
“Now, I know ye said ye weren’t gay, but I invited Siobhán too just in case you’re bi-curious and are hiding in the cupboard.” Henry closes his book and drains his pint. “Well, good night to ye all. My work here is done.” And with that he exits the pub leaving the five of us staring at one another.
Siobhán breaks the silence. “I feel that my presence here may be superfluous. My gaydar tells me that neither of you two chicks are my type, so I’m off.” She turns to Micheál and kisses him lightly on the cheek. “See you later. Don’t stay out too late; we’ve work tomorrow.” Then turning to Donal, “Night, Donal. Be good.”
“See ye, Siobhán,” mumble the two lads into their pints, smiling like their mum’s just caught them with a couple of girls.
“I was hoping I’d bump into you again,” says Micheál, disarming me with his beautiful smile.
“Don’t you have phones in Ireland?” snorts Ridlee, quick as lightening.
I’m reminded of the agonising day I spent peeling potatoes with Mrs. O and watching my phone, and I’m grateful that my friend is there to speak for me while I pull myself out of this puddle of goo I have dissolved into on account of that smile.
“Evening, Ridlee,” says Micheál tipping his hat. “Lovely to see you too.”
Oh. My. God. That hat! Those eyes! Come on, Erin, get a grip.
With all the strength I can muster I steady my voice and cold as ice I acknowledge the greatest lover I’ve ever had with a perfunctory nod.“Micheál.”
He just smiles knowingly, then adds, “We do have phones, Ridlee. Even mobile ones, or cellphones as you Yanks call them, but I was out fishing all day where the reception was nonexistent. And, anyway, I had a feeling I’d bump into ye again.” He’s talking to both of us, but he’s looking at me.
“Gee, that’s too bad. ‘Cause we were just leaving,” retorts Ridlee, her voice ringing with mock disappointment, looping her arm through mine. “I’ve heard all about your fishing expeditions. I can imagine how inconvenient taking calls would be.”
And with that she marches me out of the pub leaving our two Romeos gawping after us. As we go through the revolving door, Ridlee explodes into laughter and I throw a quick glance back over my shoulder. Both Donal and Micheál are standing there watching us leave.
“Hah! What idiots! We showed them, eh, Erin?”
“We sure did, Rid. Fuck em!” I just wish I didn’t feel so sad.
“Where to, Sista?”
“Eh, could we just go home? I’m done in.”
“Sure thing. Lead on McDuff!”
“It’s ‘Lay on McDuff’,” I correct her.
“I like how quickly you bounce back, Erin, but I’m not sure I want to get laid just yet. Let’s just find the car, ok?”
Fifteen minutes later, I’m in the Bambino turning the key for the umpteenth time getting only a scratchy sound in response. Ridlee is in the passenger seat.
“You’re flooding the engine!” comes a voice from outside. I look around but I can’t see anyone. I try to turn the engine over one more time.
A white face fills
the windscreen, and Ridlee and I scream, grabbing hold of one another.
“I’ve got mace! I’ve got mace!” yells Ridlee, presumably to deter an attack.
“They won’t know what mace is here,” I hiss at her, still trying desperately to get the car started. The hopeful serrated growling noise has been replaced by a pathetic click each time I turn the key.
“Pepper-spray, then! I’m armed. Be warned!” Ridlee is brandishing a small hot-pink can in front of our faces.
“Quit it, will ye. If that goes off you’ll blind us both.”
The face appears at the driver’s window. “Having trouble, ladies?” inquires Micheál, all convivial and charming. Donal appears at the passenger window causing Ridlee to jump.
“No. No trouble here, unless you’d call being harassed by a couple of bog-men ‘trouble’.” I don’t mean to sound so, well … bitter, but I am bitter. How dare he use me and then toss me aside without a thought?
“Here, Bog-man,” calls Micheál to Donal, who’s mooning in at Ridlee, who in turn is staring fixedly ahead as though he doesn’t exist.
“Huh?”
“Get back here and help push so we can help these ladies get on their way.” Michaél shifts his attention to me. “Okay, Erin, we’re gonna push ye to that hill and when you get a bit o’ speed up I want ye to throw it into second, okay?”
“I do know how to jump-start a car thank you!” I yell from up front.
“Of course ye do. Excuse me for trying to be helpful,” he mutters to Donal, but I hear him all the same.
“When I require your help, I’ll ask for it, Micheál,” I quip, aware that I may have gone too far. Both men are leaning over the tiny car, hands on the back windscreen. Micheál stiffens and makes to stand up.
“Ignore her!” yells Rid. “She’s just pissed that you used her and threw her aside but we’ll take the push thank-you.”
“Ridlee!” I hiss, but the car is moving and I have to grab the steering wheel. We begin to pick up speed. I can see the boys running in the rear view mirror. I throw the long gearstick into second and the car bounces to life with a splutter.
“Yay!” Ridlee and I shout in relief.
“Hey! Hey! Come back! Wait for us!”