Page 18 of The Matchmaker
“Hah.” Granny smiles, looking pleased with herself. “I did, yes.”
“We’re cutting down the tree,” I say. “But luckily for you and your fairy friends—”
“Not friends. Respected beings.”
“—it will probably be a few months until we can afford to do it.” I turn on the television, flicking through the channels until I land on a documentary about sharks. Granny likes documentaries about sharks. “But you’re in charge of getting someone to clear the garden, okay?”
“So we can destroy more of their habitat?”
“Granny—”
“Just don’t come crying to me if they steal you from your bed in the middle of the night.”
I kiss her on the cheek, catching a whiff of lavender hand cream when she reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Please get someone to clear out the garden.”
“Fine. But only because you asked nicely.” She pulls back to look at me, nodding at whatever she sees. “You look better.”
“That’s because I’m sleeping like a normal person.”
“How is it?” she asks. “Up there.” She gestures at the window, and I know she means the site. She told me a few weeks ago that she couldn’t bring herself to go and see it. That she was too old for so much change.
“It’s weird,” I admit. “Different. I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like when the hotel is finished. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.”
“People can get used to anything,” she says, growing solemn as Plankton comes in to curl up at her feet. “That’s what people like them rely on.”
* * *
An hour before lunch, I get a text from Gemma asking if I’m free, so I heat up some soup for Granny, grab my bike, and head into the village. I mean it when I say Ennisbawn is small. One lone gently curving street with farmland on either side doesn’t look like much at first sight, but it has everything we need.
Kelly’s is down by the lake and some campsites by the forest are on the other side, but on the street itself are mostly terraced houses and small shops. There’s the general store with a converted phone box, now used as a library, and the pharmacy where the GP operates from one day a week. Nush’s hairdressing salon is next to that, beside a small restaurant/coffee shop/whatever else Bridget and her wife feel like operating as. These days, there is also more than one empty building, but I’ve grown so used to them being vacant that I barely notice them anymore.
Gemma lives on the far side of the village in a small two-bedroom house in which I spend almost as much time as I do my own. She greets me at the door when I arrive, pulling on a pair of loafers.
“You’re a lifesaver, you know that? I owe you big time.”
“You’re grand. I was free.” I follow her in, stepping over some discarded shoes as I peer into the empty living room. “Where’s Noah?”
“I sent him to the shops. He’s in a mood.”
“Oh, goody.”
“No backing out,” she calls from the kitchen. “You know where everything is, yeah? Just don’t give him any chocolate and don’t steal my jewelry.”
“I make no promises.”
I follow her voice down the narrow hallway, spying the same Glenmill brochure Granny and I got this morning tacked to her noticeboard. Only with theirs, someone—Noah, I presume—has added a half dozen or so shapes that can only be described as male genitalia pointing at Jack’s head.
“It’s only for a couple of hours,” Gemma says, as she flies around the kitchen, closing drawers and dumping dirty dishes into the sink. Gemma works at a frequently short-staffed nursing home a forty-minute drive away, meaning myself and a few of her neighbors often act as babysitters on call. “And if Patrick comes to the house, Noah’s not allowed out with him. He’s half-grounded.”
“What’s half-grounded?”
“It’s when I still need him to leave sometimes because I want peace and quiet. What’s this I hear about you sorting out that traffic issue?”
“It’s because I’m such a capable adult? I managed to talk to someone who rerouted their main entrance so no one’s right outside the house anymore. With the earplugs, I’m fine.”
“That’s great news. Who did you talk to?”
“Just some guy.” I pour myself a glass of water, secretly hoping she’ll push me a little more so I can tell her all about it. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of Callum since. The last few nights I kept expecting him to waltz through the doors of the pub, even though none of the workers on the site have worked up the courage to do so yet. Not that Adam would mind the business, but he’s right in that some of the locals might have something to say about it. Callum didn’t seem too bad, though, and surely, once everyone gets talking, they’ll realize most people down there are just doing their job. Then he could come all the time. Then he could—
