Mismatched (18 page)

“
Nice t-shirt,” she says, but I can’t be sure if she’s taking the piss or not. I decide to play nice.

“Thanks.”

She’s still holding the door open and an older woman brushes past us. “Is this the queue?” she asks.

“No, Ma’am. You go right ahead," chirps Ridlee. “We’re all good here. C’mon, Erin, it’s your round.”

Siobhán is still giving me the once-over but at least she’s smiling. I feel unaccountably shy all of a sudden. Following Ridlee back out into the pub, I turn and flash my friend-not-foe smile at her. I’ve gotta be honest, I’m gobsmacked when she blows me a kiss.

“
Weird…,” I mutter to myself. “So, there you have it, Rid. He
has
a girlfriend. Still, it’s hardly
her
fault he’s a cheating bastard. Maybe we’ll become friends like in that film and then get together and teach him a lesson.”

“I like your thinkin’, Sweetcheeks, but right now you’ve got other fish to fry.”

“You’re right, you’re right. I know you’re right. I don’t have time for this nonsense. I do have other fish to fry and need to keep my focus on the pub and the business with this Padraig Flanagan fella, not distracted by some hunky holiday romance.”

Ridlee has already caught the barman’s attention and ordered the drinks. The pub is filling up now and Henry O’Henry’s ‘office space’ has disappeared behind a sea of hopeful, lusty singles trying to get it on. We squeeze ourselves into a tight little corner where we can balance our pints on a tiny window ledge.

“
Slainte!”
says my now expert hibernophile friend.

“To your health,” I nod before breaking the creamy goodness of my perfect half-pint. The barman appears out of nowhere with two shot glasses and sets them down, giving Ridlee a wink as he does so. She passes me a glass.

“Fuck ‘em! Sisters are doin’ it for themselves,” she says by way of a toast.

“Eh, someone’s gotta drive us home, Rid.”

“The things I do for you, Sista," she says downing my shot too.

“Fuck ‘em all!” I echo, sipping from my Guinness.

“Woof!” says Ridlee, laughing. “Whoa! Hair of the dog, eh? You want another glass?”

“Eh, maybe in a bit, Rid. You don’t want to suffer again like you did last night.”

“This is the best I’ve felt all day!” She giggles, and I realise that a change of tempo is most definitely called for.

“C’mon,” I grab her hand, “let’s go chat with Mr. O’Henry again. Maybe he can hook us up with a couple of stand-ins for the night. We’re at the biggest matchmaking festival in the world after all. It’ll be a laugh!”

“Sure thing, Baby. Plenty more fish in the sea, right? And we’re staying in a fishing village so how hard can it be?” Ridlee laughs hysterically at her own joke.

Mr. O’Henry is enjoying a rare moment of quiet, staring into his pint. The crowd who’d gathered earlier has dissipated, and he seems to be a million miles away.

“Ah, ye’re back!” he welcomes us as we reach the table in the corner that he’s commandeered as his office. “I was hopin’ I’d see ye again. Come and chat with me a while.”

Ridlee and I slide into the long seat opposite him, and I nod to the barman and glance at Mr. O’Henry’s almost empty glass. The kindly barman winks back at me and moments later a pint arrives for the matchmaker.

“Now, who’s first?” he asks genially.

“You’re alright, Mr. O’Henry, we’re not lookin’ for love," I say smiling. “Haven’t ye heard, sisters are doin’ it for themselves?” Ridlee and I exchange smiles.

So we both got jilted. So what? Their loss! Or at least, that’s what we’ll tell ourselves over and over until we believe it. Thankfully, we have each other.

“Just Henry will do, and everybody needs someone to love, girls.”

“Not us. We have each other.” I snake my arm round Ridlee’s shoulder and squeeze.

“Oh, I see! You’re gay, is it? Homosexual. Batting for the other team, an all that. Well, I may have just the girling for you - a real stunner… Now, where did I put her details.” He leafs through his book.

“No, Mr., O! ” exclaim Ridlee and I in unison.

“We’re not gay!” I explain.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” adds Ridlee.

“To each her own,” I chime in, working the overkill button a bit too hard.

“I don’t understand,” says the matchmaker looking from me to Ridlee.

“We’ve just sworn off men for a bit,” says Ridlee.

“They’re more trouble than they’re worth,” I finish, smiling.

He looks from Ridlee to me and back to Ridlee again. “Nonsense! Now, I’m sure I can match ye with two fine fellas from me magic book.” Licking his thumb and forefinger he guides a shaky hand through the yellowed pages of his black ledger. Poor eyesight means that he has to lean in very close to the page to read.

Ridlee and I sit back, resigned to our fate. There’s simply no telling this old codger.

After a few minutes of us smiling indulgently while Henry peruses the pages like a blood hound following a scent, he looks up, grinning from ear to ear, and with arthritically twisted fingers he somehow manages to press the keys of a device sitting on the table next to his ledger.

Under the table Ridlee’s knee begins to press against mine, which means she is about to succumb to a fit of giggling that will likely prove quite contagious, making us look like a couple of nasty blow-ins taking the piss out of the most famous matchmaker in Ireland.

The corners of my mouth threaten to rise and I work hard to suppress the giggle that’s rising out of my throat. Ridlee has less self-control and a bubble of laughter bursts forth from her mouth. Often this is enough to cause me to dissolve into puddles of laughter too, but I really don’t want to insult this nice man.

I reach down to pinch myself hard to try to offset the inevitable fit of giggles, but thankfully a buzzing noise causes both Ridlee and me to look up, momentarily distracted. From the depths of the pub crowd, emerge Micheál, Donal and Siobhán, each holding one of those restaurant buzzers that alert you when your meal is ready to be collected.

Ridlee and I stare, slack-jawed.

“Now, I know ye said ye weren’t gay, but I invited Siobhán too just in case you’re bi-curious and are hiding in the cupboard.” Henry closes his book and drains his pint. “Well, good night to ye all. My work here is done.” And with that he exits the pub leaving the five of us staring at one another.

Siobhán breaks the silence. “I feel that my presence here may be superfluous. My gaydar tells me that neither of you two chicks are my type, so I’m off.” She turns to Micheál and kisses him lightly on the cheek. “See you later. Don’t stay out too late; we’ve work tomorrow.” Then turning to
 
Donal, “Night, Donal. Be good.”

“See ye, Siobhán,” mumble the two lads into their pints, smiling like their mum’s just caught them with a couple of girls.

“I was hoping I’d bump into you again,” says Micheál, disarming me with his beautiful smile.

“Don’t you have phones in Ireland?” snorts Ridlee, quick as lightening.

I’m reminded of the agonising day I spent peeling potatoes with Mrs. O and watching my phone, and I’m grateful that my friend is there to speak for me while I pull myself out of this puddle of goo I have dissolved into on account of that smile.

“Evening, Ridlee,” says Micheál tipping his hat. “Lovely to see you too.”

Oh. My. God. That hat! Those eyes! Come on, Erin, get a grip.

With all the strength I can muster I steady my voice and cold as ice I acknowledge the greatest lover I’ve ever had with a perfunctory nod.“Micheál.”

He just smiles knowingly, then adds, “We do have phones, Ridlee. Even mobile ones, or
cellphones
as you Yanks call them, but I was out fishing all day where the reception was nonexistent. And, anyway, I had a feeling I’d bump into ye again.” He’s talking to both of us, but he’s looking at me.

“Gee, that’s too bad. ‘Cause we were just leaving,” retorts Ridlee, her voice ringing with mock disappointment, looping her arm through mine. “I’ve heard all about your fishing expeditions. I can imagine how inconvenient taking calls would be.”

And with that she marches me out of the pub leaving our two Romeos gawping after us. As we go through the revolving door, Ridlee explodes into laughter and I throw a quick glance back over my shoulder. Both Donal and Micheál are standing there watching us leave.

“Hah! What idiots! We showed them, eh, Erin?”

“We sure did, Rid. Fuck em!” I just wish I didn’t feel so sad.

“Where to, Sista?”

“Eh, could we just go home? I’m done in.”

“Sure thing. Lead on McDuff!”

“It’s ‘Lay on McDuff’,” I correct her.

“I like how quickly you bounce back, Erin, but I’m not sure I want to get laid just yet. Let’s just find the car, ok?”

Fifteen minutes later, I’m in the Bambino turning the key for the umpteenth time getting only a scratchy sound in response. Ridlee is in the passenger seat.

“You’re flooding the engine!” comes a voice from outside. I look around but I can’t see anyone. I try to turn the engine over one more time.

A white face fills the windscreen, and Ridlee and I scream, grabbing hold of one another.

“I’ve got mace! I’ve got mace!” yells Ridlee, presumably to deter an attack.

“They won’t know what mace is here,” I hiss at her, still trying desperately to get the car started. The hopeful serrated growling noise has been replaced by a pathetic click each time I turn the key.

“Pepper-spray, then! I’m armed. Be warned!” Ridlee is brandishing a small hot-pink can in front of our faces.

“Quit it, will ye. If that goes off you’ll blind us both.”

The face appears at the driver’s window. “Having trouble, ladies?” inquires Micheál, all convivial and charming. Donal appears at the passenger window causing Ridlee to jump.

“No. No trouble here, unless you’d call being harassed by a couple of bog-men ‘trouble’.” I don’t mean to sound so, well …
bitter
, but I am bitter. How dare he use me and then toss me aside without a thought?

“Here, Bog-man,” calls Micheál to Donal, who’s mooning in at Ridlee, who in turn is staring fixedly ahead as though he doesn’t exist.

“Huh?”

“Get back here and help push so we can help these ladies get on their way.” Michaél shifts his attention to me. “Okay, Erin, we’re gonna push ye to that hill and when you get a bit o’ speed up I want ye to throw it into second, okay?”

“I do know how to jump-start a car thank you!” I yell from up front.

“Of course ye do. Excuse me for trying to be helpful,” he mutters to Donal, but I hear him all the same.

“When I require your help, I’ll ask for it, Micheál,” I quip, aware that I may have gone too far. Both men are leaning over the tiny car, hands on the back windscreen. Micheál stiffens and makes to stand up.

“Ignore her!” yells Rid. “She’s just pissed that you used her and threw her aside but we’ll take the push thank-you.”

“Rid
lee!”
I hiss, but the car is moving and I have to grab the steering wheel. We begin to pick up speed. I can see the boys running in the rear view mirror. I throw the long gearstick into second and the car bounces to life with a splutter.

“Yay!” Ridlee and I shout in relief.

“Hey! Hey! Come back! Wait for us!”

I glance in the mirror and see the two lads running after the car, rather pathetically. I look to Ridlee, pleadingly. I know that I should know better but he’s just so damn cute.

“Okay,” she says, “but no sex. Promise?”

“Pinkie promise. We’ll just play with them a little.”

I slow the car down but leave my foot resting on the accelerator so that it doesn’t cut out. The boys catch up. I have to shout over the roar of the engine. “Well, I suppose we have to go for a drive to recharge the battery, if youse wanna come! There will be no hanky-panky and you have to jump in while the car’s still moving! Are ye game?”
 

Ridlee leans froward, flipping the front seat up so there’s a space for the boys to access the back. Donal looks as though he’s going to stop for a moment, but then he increases his pace and jumps on the small runner before throwing himself into the back. I speed up a little. Micheál is now jogging at a clip. I allow myself a small smile and think,
Oh well. All is fair in love and war.
He manages the jump, and soon the two men are squished into the back of the Fiat Bambino and we’re on our way to one of the most spectacular sites, as well as one of the most popular suicide spots, in Ireland. We’re off to the cliffs of Moher.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

RIDLEE

WHEN SOMEONE TELLS YOU THERE are some pretty cliffs you really should visit when you go to Ireland, it really doesn’t prepare you for what you’re going to see. The Cliffs of Moher are nothing short of spectacular. And dangerous. And scary. And romantic in a rough seas, you-could-slip-and-kill-yourself-with-great-pain kind of way. Apparently several people have taken their final leap from the edge of this place, so the local government’s done what it could to prevent it from happening again, namely putting up signs saying ‘Very Dangerous Cliffs Ahead. Be careful.’ I guess they figure seeing the two-hundred-foot drop, the raging seas, wailing wind, and the freezing cold wouldn’t be enough to warn away someone not planning suicide. Crazy Irish.