Page 46 of The Matchmaker
“Nush,” I warn, but she ignores me.
“Live your life, Noah. Be free.”
Noah doesn’t even look up from the laptop. “Mam says I’m not allowed to swear.”
“Because your mother has becomethe man.”
“His mother is also at work,” Adam calls. “So let’s not try and revolutionize her child when she’s not around. Noah, forget everything Nush just said to you.”
“Okay.”
Nush drops down into a chair and jabs a finger at a picture of Jack Doyle’s smiling face.
“He’s begun.”
“Begun what?”
She looks me square in the eye. “The charm offensive.”
My stomach knots as I pull the paper toward me. I’ve been expecting it, I guess. But it still makes me a little nervous to see.
Ennisbawn Hotel Development Breathes New Life into Disadvantaged Community
“Disadvantaged?” I scoff, skimming through the article.
…coming fresh off the redevelopment of the derelict Foxton’s Hotel in Waterford, Mr. Doyle is keen to replicate Glenmill’s success in their most ambitious project yet. Overseen by the chairman of the company, Gerald Cunningham, the hotel will not only provide much-needed employment opportunities for the area but bring thousands of tourists to a part of the country traditionally left unloved and—
“Have you got to the part about—”
“Still reading,” I interrupt, as I skim down.
…like so many rural communities in Ireland, the village has been destroyed by emigration and lack of investment. “It’s always a shock to see what was once a thriving town reduced to nothing but empty streets and abandoned homes,” Mr. Doyle says. “Our goal at Glenmill is not just to revitalize the area once the hotel opens, but to give it a new lease of life. A new beginning. A new Ennisbawn.”
It’s all I can bear to read.
“There’s nothing wrong with the old Ennisbawn!” I snap, flinging the paper down. “And there’s not going to be anything for all these tourists to experience if he keeps bulldozing over everything!”
“We’re going to have to up our game,” Nush says seriously, and I groan.
“Nush, I told you, I’m not setting fire to anything.”
“No, not that,” she says, exasperated. “I mean that we need to thinksmarter. We should target the Americans.”
“I don’t think—”
“We can all wear knitwear,” she continues. “They love when we wear knitwear. And Adam can put cabbage and stew on the menu, and we can hire a horse and carriage to bring them places. We’ll pretend we don’t have cars.”
“They know we have…” I pause. “Okay, the horse and carriage idea isn’t actually a bad shout.”
“On it, boss.” She slaps her hand on the table, but Noah grabs the paper before she can take it.
“Can I have this?” he asks, and when she nods, he carefully tears out Jack Doyle’s picture before asking Adam’s permission to replace the old one on the dartboard.
He says yes.
* * *
Once Noah is well on his way with the website, I head over to the barn, where I spend a few hours clearing out the space before my shift that evening. I accomplish embarrassingly little. It is not a one-person job getting rid of all the old equipment, and, by the time I’m done, I’ve barely made a dent, but leave the place sweaty and gross and with my lower back at literal pains to inform me I’m not seventeen anymore. It takes me longer than usual to cycle home, but Granny is waiting at the door when I do with a cup of tea in her hand, which I promptly gulp down as I kick off my shoes.
