Page 93 of The Matchmaker
“I have no idea how to play that game.”
“So, we’ll play for money.”
“Yes, a thing I famously have lots of.”
He smirks. “Fine. I’ll play Gemma.”
“Mam can’t play,” Noah says dismissively.
“Woah now,” Adam says, as Gemma bites her lip. “Who told you that?”
Noah looks confused. “She never plays.”
“Does she not?” Adam asks, grinning from ear to ear at my now…blushingfriend? Is Gemma blushing?
“Don’t look at me,” I say, when Noah sends a questioning glance my way. “I’m as lost as you.”
“Let me tell you a secret about your mother,” Adam says, as Gemma blatantly kicks him under the table. “She’s a ruthless bi—”
“Adam!”
“Person,” he corrects. “And one hell of a gamer. We used to play when we were younger all the time.”
“You did?” Noah sounds suspicious, looking like he’s trying to figure out if we’re teasing him or not. “You never play with me.”
“Because she knows if she so much as picks up a controller, she’ll be lost for eight hours. And then who’s going to cook your dinner, huh?”
Noah’s eyes slide to his mother curiously. Gemma just shrugs.
“I played to relax.”
“There is nothing relaxing about watching you play.” Adam sits back. “Winner out of five games,” he says. “Ten quid. Except that gambling’s bad,” he adds, flinching when Gemma kicks him again. “So no money. Winner plays you for the trophy and loser of that has to clean up.”
“Mam says I don’t have to clean up because it’s my birthday.”
“So it’s a win-win for you. Gemma, get your butt in here. Show the birthday boy what you’re made of.”
“I’m not—”
“Yeah, you are,” Adam says, pushing a now grinning Noah back into the front room. Gemma, for all her show of reluctance, follows them quickly, smiling to herself.
“Bring the rest of the icing, Katie,” Adam adds. “Birthdays don’t end until midnight.”
“No one is staying up till midnight,” Gemma calls, and Adam responds with something I can’t make out. Whatever it is, it makes Noah laugh.
Callum and I watch each other from across the kitchen, and I know the contented glint in his eyes is reflected in mine.
“I like your friends,” he says, and I smile, grabbing the bowl of leftover icing, and taking him by the hand before going in to join them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
You might think that with all the interview requests I get after the video, I’d get used to answering the same questions over and over again. That the words might come easier to me, or that my voice would stop wavering. But you would be wrong. I am not good at public speaking. I am not good at being on radio or television or any form of attention on me at any stage. And no matter how many tips or tricks or times Nush mouths at me toenunciate, I can never fully hide how nervous I am. I agree to do them only because I know we need as much attention as possible, but they drain me, and it’s agreed by everyone that I should stop.
That is until the day before the festival when we get a call from a major television show in Ireland, who want to record one final chat to go out that evening. It’s a show I’ve watched with Granny a few times, one where they go around the country interviewing “normal” people about local achievements. It’s the exact audience we need to find people to support us, but that only puts more pressure on me to get it right.
Which is why when most of my friends and neighbors are out putting the final touches on everything; I am in the ladies’ room at Kelly’s with Gemma and Nush as they argue over which blush I should use.
“Maybe I should change,” I say, as Nush pulls my hair back with a small army of clips.
