Page 45 of The Matchmaker
“Do you really not know how to do this?” he asks, as Danny returns to his drink. He takes a seat beside me and opens the computer to show the website-building site he learned to use at school.
“I mean, I’m sure I could if I tried,” I say. “But your mam said you were really good at it, so I thought I should just ask you.”
I get a weary sigh for that attempt at a compliment.
“You can pick any of these templates,” he says, clicking through a bunch of options. “And we can change the color and the font if you like. Move stuff around.” He gives me a look. “A child could do it. It’s not hard.”
“It looks hard to me.”
“Because you’re old.”
“Of course, sorry.”
He presses another button and takes me to the checkout page. “It’s one hundred and twenty-five euro for the year.”
“I think we can afford that,” I say, checking the list. I’m planning to scrimp on a lot of stuff, but not on the important bits. We need a professional-looking website. A professional-looking website put together by an eleven-year-old, but it’s not like I know anyone else who can do it.
“I want to help,” Noah says, reading my mind. “But I don’t work for free.”
“That’s fair.” I blow out a breath, meeting his serious expression with one of my own. “What will it take?”
“Can you convince Mam to get me a dog?”
“No.”
“A cat?”
This could go on for a while. “It’s your birthday soon, right?”
His gaze narrows, instantly suspicious. “Right.”
“Am I still invited to the party?”
“You make the best cakes.” He says it like it’s obvious and I try not to preen under the praise. He’s correct. I do make the best cakes.
“I’ll make you two.”
“Three.”
“No one needs three cakes. I’ll make one really big.”
“How big?”
“Extremely big.”
He watches me for a long moment, weighing up my words before he gives a slow nod. “Deal.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” I ruffle his hair before he can push me away. “And if any other adult asks what you’re doing—”
“I’m working on a school project.”
I give him a thumbs-up and leave him to his child labor just as Nush storms into the pub and slams a newspaper onto the table.
“Look at this shit!”
“Anushka!” Adam snaps from the bar, and she purses her lips before turning to Noah.
“Swearing is a conservative social construct. Curse words can’t hurt you and only boring people are offended by them.”
