Page 30 of The Matchmaker
I mean, come on. How hard can it be?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Turns out, very hard.
“You barely have a business plan, Katie.”
“But I have spirit,” I protest. “And gumption.”
“And I admire that, but that’s not going to be enough here.”
I pout at Harry as he sits back in one of the low leather armchairs dotting the café. It’s a chain one in the city center and is still busy with the last of the lunchtime rush. I usually wouldn’t dare pay so much for a coffee I could make at home, but his office is nearby and, though it took two bus rides to get here, I wanted to meet him in person.
Harry grew up in Ennisbawn, and we dated for a while when we were teenagers, doing all the things young couples do until he moved away for college and, in the space of a few weeks, joined a rowing club, realized he was gay, broke up with me and then met the love of his life. I don’t think the rowing club had anything to do with the other stuff, but he was very excited about it at the time.
We remained friends, and last year I acted as one of the groomspeople at his wedding, an extremely fancy affair where I had too much champagne and ate nine mini quiches. Now he sits before me, dressed in a navy suit and light brown shoes, with his dirty blond hair gelled to the side in such a way that I know he spent a long time practicing how to get it just right.
I called him over the weekend but am already regretting my decision to come all this way to see him. He seemed mostly amused on the phone, but now he’s acting like Gemma did, shutting me down at every turn.
“Your bank literally ran a multimillion-euro campaign about backing small businesses,” I tell him, as he takes a sip of his foamy latte. “Iam a small business.”
“You are a woman with an idea.”
“An exciting idea.”
“You need plans,” he says. “You need financial forecasts. You need mini essays about the good of the community and cost analysis.”
“Youneed to tell the truth in your television adverts.”
“I’ll pass that along,” he says diplomatically. “Look, it’s not a bad start. You just need to take smaller steps first. Have you applied for an arts grant?”
“It will be too late. I won’t get the money until next year and this needs to happen now. That’s the whole point of it. They’re going to tear down the pub, Harry.Ourpub.”
“Yourpub. I haven’t been to Kelly’s in years. I don’t even drink that much anymore. Only on special occasions.”
“You don’t have to drink to visit,” I say, outraged. “We have mocktails now.”
He smirks, but it fades almost immediately, and I know what he’s going to say before he even opens his mouth. “If you need a job—”
“I have a job.”
“I can help you with some applications,” he continues as if I haven’t spoken. “We have lots of entry to mid-level positions open. I can think of at least three off the top of my head that you’d be great at.”
“Stop trying to change the subject.”
“I’m not. If the pub closes, then you’ll need work. There’s work in the city. Good work. With benefits and pensions and cake on people’s birthdays.”
“I’m not going to commute for three hours a day.”
“Then move closer.”
“And leave Granny?”
“Move her with you.” He leans forward, clasping his hands together as he looks me in the eye. “You need to be realistic about this.”
“What Ineedis money to get this thing off the ground. And surely the whole point of knowing someone in a bank is to benefit from a little nepotism. It’s like we don’t even know who we are as a country anymore.”
“You have no experience in running something like this. If you want to put on a show, you need to get someone who knows what they’re doing. Why don’t you hire a project manager? Or an events team?”
