Catch Me a Catch Page 10

  “So, how’s the matchmaking going?” Michael’s bulk filled every inch of the chair, he stretched his legs out in an attempt at comfort.

  “Grand. Jack’s been helping, because Annie had to go to Dublin to make chocolates,” Bull answered through a mouthful of pie. “She’s got through to the finals.”

  “That’s great.” Michael shifted, pouring three mammoth whiskeys, and handing one to Jack. His graying hair was cut short, and stood up straight on his head, the rough bristles like a yard brush. “So, have either of ye made any matches?”

  “Not me.” Jack swirled the whiskey around in his mouth. The potent aroma assailing his nostrils, and permeating every pore. “I only stood in for today. There’s potential though.”

  “I saw Noel out with a quiet one, they seemed to be getting on well.” Michael seemed genuinely interested.

  “Pass Michael the book, Jack. He knows the locals, and might be interested to see whom we’ve matched with whom. Maybe you might come down and help me tomorrow, Michael?”

  “I’d love to.”

  Jack handed the book into Michael’s huge paw. Yes, Michael certainly was interested. He read through the details, making pertinent suggestions they hadn’t considered. He was insightful, and focused. Why hadn’t Bull asked Michael to step in when Annie was called away?

  “So, Michael. Are you interested in matchmaking?” It wasn’t his place to ask, but he asked anyway. There was silence for a moment. Bull put his empty plate onto the table, and picked up his whiskey.

  “I am. It’s in my blood I suppose. My grandfather was the matchmaker.”

  Bull swallowed a mouthful and spluttered. “Jaysus, that’s strong.” He grinned. “Michael always sat next to me when he was a kid. Soaking in the atmosphere and learning the craft. His father wasn’t interested, so it fell to me to be the next matchmaker.”

  “After you, it’ll be Annie.” Michael’s eyes dulled, disappointment evident in the way his mouth drooped at the corners.

  Jack pulled in a deep breath. Annie didn’t want it, and Michael so obviously did. She’d told him to keep her secret safe, but this was the perfect moment to pass the baton. If she were here, she’d speak. Tell them that she didn’t want to be the next matchmaker. He didn’t have an option; he needed to do this for Annie.

  “Does it have to be Annie?”

  There was silence as both men stared at him.

  Indecision flickered across Bull’s face, as if he’d never even considered the possibility she might not assume her inherited right.

  “It’s her inheritance. She’s always known it’s there for her.” Bull set his mouth in a grim line. He crossed his arms and stared Jack down.

  “You said yourself she’s not a natural matchmaker. Are you sure she wants it?” He was venturing out onto a branch, and hoped to hell no one was going to cut it off. He couldn’t reveal what he knew to be the truth; that would be betraying her confidence. But he could sow the seeds of doubt. Maybe if Bull saw he had options, he might talk to Annie about it, find out the truth from her lips, not Jacks.

  Bull’s face softened. “We’ve never spoken about it. I just presumed she wanted it.”

  Jack swallowed the last inch of whiskey in his glass. “Maybe you should ask her.”

  Chapter Nine

  Jack ran a finger inside the collar of his new white shirt. The tight cotton chafed his neck, after so many weeks of tee-shirts. He fiddled with the blue striped tie, making sure it was straight, and undid his suit jacket. It was time. He breathed in a lungful of calming air, and pushed open the heavy glass door of the nursing home.

  The smell assailed his nostrils. Disinfectant, cabbage and that indefinable old person smell. The grey paint of the lobby was thick and glossy. Doubtless easy to wash. The thought made his heart sink. Through an open door he glimpsed the dining room. Plates clattered, the sound of conversation swelled in the plain, serviceable room. His feet squeaked on shiny linoleum. It was lunchtime. Six elderly women and one old man sat around tables, while nurse’s aids brought their meals. Jack sniffed. Yes, definitely cabbage. He couldn’t see what else formed today’s lunch, but whatever it was it didn’t smell very appetizing. One of these women was his grandmother.

  A nurse appeared at his side. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m here to see Mary Byrne.”

  “Oh.” A look of surprise flickered across her face. “You’d better come into the office.” She maneuvered her trouser-clad ample bottom behind the desk, and gestured to the chair in front of her. “Please, take a pew.” She smiled. “Are you a relative?”

  “Her grandson.” Anger tightened his chest and he clenched his hands into fists.

  The woman pulled out a file from the filing cabinet just within reach. “I didn’t know Mary had any family.”

  “My name is Jack Miller. My mother was her daughter. Can I see her?”

  She tapped her pen on the file in front of her and avoided his eyes. “When was the last time you saw Mary?”

  “Never,” he ground out. “I’ve only just discovered she’s still alive.”

  “You’ll need to talk to the doctor first. I’ll call him.”

  She bustled out. Jack cast an eye around the tiny room, resisting the urge to swivel the file with his grandmother’s name printed on the front. The tension rose to fever pitch, shredding what was left of his nerves. He glanced down at his white clenched hands, and made a conscious decision to relax them. The nurse had been nervous of him. Probably because he hadn’t smiled. He relaxed his jaw, and tilted his head from side to side. He’d do better with the doctor.

  The nurse came back and hovered in the doorway, allowing the doctor to precede her into the room. He was tall and thin, like an undertaker in a horror film. His wiry white hair formed an irregular halo. He shooed the nurse away and took her seat.

  “Mr. Miller. I’m Dr. Lynch. Good to meet you.” His Adams apple bobbed up and down and he swallowed. He fidgeted for a moment and avoided Jack’s eyes. Eventually he pulled himself together. His hands stilled on the file in front of him, as he echoed the nurse’s words.

  “We didn’t know Mary had any relatives. Nobody’s visited her since her husband died.”

  “I didn’t know Mary was still alive. I’ve been living in America. I came the moment I found her.” Jack didn’t want to waste time going over the old story. He’d waited long enough for this moment. But there were protocols to follow. He forced a tight smile.

  “I’m sorry to tell you, Mr. Miller, but your grandmother has severe Alzheimer’s.” The older man’s face was full of sympathy. “I’m afraid she won’t remember you.”

  He’d come all this way for nothing. Jack stared at the swirly patterns on the worn linoleum, and gathered a response. “I’ve never met her.” Emptiness opened up a chasm in his chest. Now he’d never know why she abandoned him. “My mother was pregnant when my parents eloped. She cut all links with her family because they didn’t approve of my father. I was born in America. They never looked back and I never knew of my roots. When they died in a car crash, the authorities wrote to Mary and asked her to adopt me. She refused.”

  The doctor flicked through the file open in front of him. “How old were you?”

  “I was just a child. I ended up in the care system.” There was no need to go into further detail, as a doctor working within the health service; no doubt Dr. Lynch could imagine what that was like.

  “Mary came to us ten years ago from Dundrum Mental Hospital.” He read through the yellowing documents. Pieced together his patient’s history. “According to this she was admitted in nineteen seventy-eight. She had serious mental problems which necessitated long term hospitalization.”

  “My parents died in nineteen eighty.” Three years after she was committed.

  “There’s a letter here.” The doctor turned a piece of paper around and slid it across the desk. Jack read it. The letter was addressed to Mary and said she had an orphaned grandchild. A grandson who needed her help.
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  “Did she ever see it?” His pain and anger were dissolving, like an iceberg in salty water.

  The doctor flicked through pages, and stopped when he found what he was searching for. “This is the report.” He tapped his yellowing teeth with a fingernail. His glasses slipped forward and he pushed them back up with a finger. “On receipt of the letter detailing the sudden death of her only child, we have today had a policy meeting to determine our response. Mary Byrne’s medical condition is permanent with no possibility of recovery.” He looked up. “They go into more detail of her condition. I’ll skip over it.”

  Jack nodded, he didn’t need the details.

  “In conclusion, it’s decided she will never be able to offer a home to her grandchild. Breaking the news of her daughter and son-in-law’s death has resulted in another episode. We have written to the American authorities and asked them to place the child for adoption for there can be no home provided for him by our patient.”

  Adoption would have been preferable to his foster homes. But no one wanted to adopt a troubled eight-year old. Not when there were babies available. Taking on a child would be too much for almost anyone.

  “Does she know I exist?” Sadness descended like freezing fog. The chill went so deep his heart froze. He wished Annie were with him. Facing this alone was much worse than he’d imagined.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Miller, I’m afraid she doesn’t. She’s too far gone now to understand.”

  “I’d like to meet her.” The anger was gone, replaced by a lingering sadness that she’d never be able to give him the family that he so desperately wanted. But she was alone too. They needed each other, even if she had no idea that her blood flowed in his veins.

  The doctor’s eyes searched his. “You realize she won’t be able to understand who you are?”

  “Yes.” Pity for the woman he’d been ready to hate flooded him. “But I’m still her family. At least one of us knows that.”

  It was a plain room with few possessions. A bookshelf held an old bible and a few well-thumbed paperbacks. It smelt of disinfectant mixed with something sweeter. He spotted a bottle of perfume on the table. Lily of the valley. One of his mother’s favorites too. An old woman, propped up on a mountain of cushions, lay in bed. Her white hair was carefully styled; she was wearing a warm pink bed jacket. Faint traces of face powder clung to her cheeks, and she had lipstick on. She looked well cared for, and happy.

  “Mary, I’ve brought someone to see you.” The doctor smiled, and she smiled back. “This is Jack. He’s come from America.”

  “My husband is called Jack.” She had his mother’s eyes.

  She waved in the direction of a small table cluttered with framed photographs. He wandered over. The first picture he saw was one of his mother. White noise rushed into his ears and tears pricked his eyes. He hadn’t seen the picture before, but he’d know her anywhere. She was in her teens in the photograph but she looked just like she did in his memory. A tiny vase containing sweet Williams sat carefully on a small linen circle surrounded in lace. It was a shrine. Each framed picture was free of dust, although the rest of the room looked less well tended to. It was a shrine to his mother’s memory.

  He picked up a photo of a family group. It was Mary, her husband and his mother. He handed it to her.

  “Tell me about them.”

  Chapter Ten

  Jack climbed the steps of the townhouse, and pressed the bell.

  “Hello?” Annie’s disembodied voice drifted from the intercom.

  “It’s me.” He waited for the buzz of the automatic door, but nothing happened. Instead, he heard her breathless voice again.

  “I’ll be down in a minute.”

  He walked back to the car and looked up. Wondering which flat was hers. The netted curtains gave no hint. His eyes flickered to the front door again. How much longer was she going to be? Urgency and anticipation cut a hole in his gut. He needed her. Standing out here waiting was torture. The door slammed.

  Annie stood on the doorstep. A muted silver dress clung to every curve. Her hair flowed around her shoulders, the ends hidden by the pink shawl fastened just above her breasts with a silver broach. His heart thudded hard in his chest. She sashayed down the steps toward him.

  “You look amazing,” he managed to croak out when she stood in front of him.

  “So do you.” She looked him up and down with a stunned expression. “You look different.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, kissing her hard. Her bag slipped from her grasp to the ground. She wrapped her arms around his waist and responded.

  Her fragrance, a soft blend of flowers and lemon teased his senses, and time and place faded away. His palms stroked her back through the silky silver of her dress. The last thing he wanted was dinner. He was sorely tempted to carry her inside her apartment and peel the silver sheath off her.

  She pulled back slightly, and he noted with satisfaction her uneven breathing. “I brought some clothes with me, for tomorrow,” she said.

  Jack loosened his grip and leant back on the car. She bent to retrieve her bag, showcasing a long stretch of perfect leg. Satisfaction welled up in him. “Good. Did you bring the body paint too?” His voice was light and teasing, and her skin pinkened with a blush.

  “I thought I’d save that for our second date.” Her dimple flashed. He felt a rush of relief. After the day he’d had he didn’t think he’d be calm enough to carefully paint her. It would take too much time.

  “You better not lean against this car, the owner won’t like it.” She straightened, the bag clenched tightly in her hand.

  “I don’t mind it one bit.” He took her bag from nerveless fingers. “I’ll put the bag in the back. Climb in.”

  ****

  The beige leather was warm against her bare legs, the walnut dash gleamed as little glints of light from the city’s streetlights bounced off it. Annie trailed a hand over the upholstery, nostrils flaring at the scent of warm leather mixed with Jack’s cologne. She glanced sideways at him as the car pulled away from the curb. He looked different. His haircut revealed the sharp angles to his face, making him look stronger, more powerful somehow. And the clothes were a revelation. The black shirt clung to his shoulders, making her painfully aware of their breadth. When she’d come out of the apartment and walked towards him she’d scanned him head to toe, and she liked what she saw.

  “I thought we could eat in the hotel.” The big car wove deftly through the traffic. He flicked the indicator and pulled into an underground car park.

  Jack walked around to open her door, and slid his arm possessively through hers. They climbed into the lift, sexual tension sparking the inches between their bodies as the numbers counted upward. Her nostrils flared with the familiar scent of his cologne. She felt his body heat as he stood silently next to her, and itched to be closer. She wanted to reach for his hand, to make physical contact, but if she did she’d be in his arms tearing his clothes off frantically in mere moments. Half naked and sweaty wouldn’t be the way to arrive in the lobby. She clenched her hands at her sides, to avoid acting on her impulses.

  The door slid slowly open into a plush corridor with rooms leading from it. Presumably, they were going to the room to drop off her overnight case before dinner. She followed him down the corridor, heels sinking in the thick carpet. He opened a door into an elegant suite.

  Sumptuous pelmeted curtains of a rich dark gold softened long glass windows facing Dublin’s inner city park, St Stephen’s Green. A glittering chandelier hung from the ceiling. Below it was a large dining table, set for two with silver cutlery and crystal glasses.

  “It seemed a shame not to use the dining table.” He unfastened the broach at the front of her dress, and removed her shawl with gentle fingers. “I didn’t want to be in a room full of people tonight.”

  “We’re eating here?” Her heart fluttered like a captive bird longing to break free and fly out of the cage of her ribs. She glanced at him, and b
it her lip. For the first time, her stomach clenched as she registered the changes in him. Last night, after their hot flirtation on the phone, she’d dreamed of them together. His hair was long, and she’d peeled his worn tee-shirt over his head to stroke over his hard chest as he stripped her of her negligee and ran his scorching lips all over her body. Now, she was alone in the hotel room of a man she barely recognized. It wasn’t just the shorter hair. The strong line of his jaw made him different somehow. Harder. She glanced down at his grey suit, insecurity gnawing at her. It was a very expensive grey suit. To match his very expensive car.

  “Yes. We’re eating here.” Oblivious to the emotions warring within her, he strode to the telephone and called room service. “They’ll be up with dinner in a few minutes.” He plucked a bottle of champagne from a waiting ice bucket and filled two glasses. “Here, have something to drink.”

  “This must have cost a lot of money. What did you do, rob a bank?” she joked to cover her unease. She felt awkward, unsure. This polished stranger offering her a glass of champagne didn’t seem like the same man she’d known in Durna.

  “What’s the matter?” He stepped closer, and she stepped back, away from him.

  Betrayal and confusion warred within her. The old, easygoing, longhaired Jack was gone. The Jack she’d been falling in love with. Echoes of his ghost lingered, but her heart plummeted. When Steve left her at the altar she’d found out she was useless at judging someone’s character. His actions had brutally proved that. Had she made the same mistake again? The distance between them was more than just physical. It was mental.

  “I thought I knew you, but now I’m here,” she flung her arm around the sumptuous suite, “in a suite which must cost more than two month’s rent of my flat, I don’t know that I do.”

  She swept him foot to toe with a glance. “It’s not just the hair, the clothes, and the car. You’re different.” Her chest constricted. She reached out and laid the palm of her hand flat on his chest, unable to stop herself from touching him. “I guess I’m confused. Because I feel like there’s so much about you I thought I knew, but now realize I don’t.” She pulled her hand back. Her emotions tangled into a knot, so open and vulnerable it almost hurt.