Isla cradled in one arm the kitten she’d begun calling Coal, having decided that was an appropriate interim name, and locked the door of the café with her other. It had been a productive day, she thought with satisfaction as she crossed the road and headed home. Annie, Kris, and Carl had shown up at lunchtime with sandwiches Annie had made, and Callum had stayed on sharing in the picnic. The café was now an empty, scrubbed shell of its former self. The magic could begin, once she’d organized somebody to wave their wand and do it. ‘Oh, Coal, there’s so much to do.’ Isla tickled him under his chin and smiled as he arched his little neck enjoying the fuss. ‘First things first, though, we need to see if Gran will let you stay until we can find out where you came from.’
‘Gran, I’m home, and I’ve got someone I want you to meet.’ Isla popped her head around the living-room door. Bridget peered over the top of her glasses, from where she was sitting in her recliner reading a magazine.
‘Good day, dear?’
‘A great day, Gran and this …’ she said coming into the room and holding Coal out towards Bridget, ‘… is Coal.’
The kitten cried hello, and Bridget’s eyes widened. ‘He’s tiny. Where on earth did you find him?’
Isla relayed the story of how they’d met, leaving out Ben’s churlish behaviour.
‘Well, you should go and check the community notices board at the Four Square to see if anybody’s missing him and if there’s nothing there, put a notice on the board yourself with our telephone number on it. I suppose he can stay with us for a few days if there’s no sign of anyone looking for him but you’ll need to pick up a bag of kitty litter and some food for him.’
‘Aw thanks, Gran, you’re the best. Will you keep an eye on him while I zip over there now?’
‘Oh alright, bring him here.’
Her brusque tone didn’t fool Isla – she was itching for a cuddle, and she smiled as Bridget tickled behind his ear and said, ‘You’d better behave yourself, young man. I’m too old for any nonsense, and if you so much as think of climbing the furniture there will be bother.’
Coal promptly shot off her lap and scampered up the arm of the settee. Isla beat a hasty retreat.
Lugging the bag of kitty litter and other supplies in through the front door twenty minutes later, Isla heard a shout from the living room and cringed. Coal had probably just made a deposit of some description. There had been no lost pet notice on the board at the supermarket, and so she’d penned a brief description of the little black kitten along with their phone number, pinning it to the board. She already knew as she trawled the aisles looking for kitten accessories, that she was hoping no-one would claim him and that she could convince Gran to let her keep him. Now she dropped her bags and opened the living room door in trepidation hoping he hadn’t just marked his card, or the carpet, permanently.
‘Sorry Gran, I’ll clean it up.’
‘What are you on about?’
Coal was curled up on Bridget’s lap looking like butter wouldn’t melt. Spying Isla, he jumped down and ran to her, mewling. Bridget looked decidedly agitated, and Isla wondered what had happened. ‘Are you alright?’
She waved her hand impatiently. ‘I’m fine. When you’ve sorted him out with some dinner can you fetch your computer? I need you to gurgle something for me.’
Despite her concern, Isla laughed. ‘Google something you mean?’ She bent down and scooped Coal up.
‘That’s what I said. I’ve had an idea, and I think it’s rather a good one. I take it there was nothing on the notice board then?’
Isla shook her head. ‘Nope and I put a notice up with our number on it. Come on Coal, lets’ get you fed. I’ll be back in a sec with my laptop, Gran.’
Coal wasted no time diving into the bowl of food Isla put down on a sheet of newspaper for him by the back door. He was obviously famished, poor wee fellow. Isla finished shaking out kitty litter into the plastic tray she’d purchased. She’d put it in the laundry and would introduce him to it properly once she’d figured out what had gotten Gran so hot under the collar.
‘Right Gran, ready when you are,’ Isla said a few minutes later when the laptop was open on the coffee table.
‘I want you to gurgle Lisdoonvarna,’ Bridget said.
Isla decided to let the mispronunciation go this time as she typed in the letters Bridget was spelling out for her. ‘Okay hang on a sec, ah right, here we go. According to Wikipedia, it’s a spa town in County Clare with eight hundred and twenty-two people living in it as of the 2002 census. What about it?’
‘Let me have a read of that, and you can have a read of this.’ Bridget held her hands out for the computer and balancing it on her lap, she passed Isla her magazine folded over to the page she’d been reading. ‘It’s my Ireland Today magazine, it comes quarterly. Why’s the screen gone black?’
Isla retrieved the search and showed Bridget how to use the laptop’s arrow keys. Once she had the hang of scrolling down, Isla turned her attention to the magazine frowning as she read the headline. ‘Gran, I’ve been back from the UK less than four months, and you’re already dropping hints about me heading off to some Matchmaking Festival over in Ireland.’
‘No, no, you silly girl. Nobody’s going to Ireland. I want us to organize a Matchmaking Festival right here in Bibury, at Barker’s Creek Hall. We’ll hold it on Valentine’s Day, and the proceeds of the advance ticket sales will pay for the hall’s renovation.’
‘Pardon me?’ Isla frowned, Bridget had a maniacal gleam in her eye.
‘A Matchmaking Festival dear,’ she explained patiently. ‘It will run throughout the day on the grounds of the hall, and come the evening we’ll hold a dance the likes of which Bibury hasn’t seen since Clara, and I took a turn on the floor all those years ago. What better way in which to remember her?’
‘Ah Gran, it’s a novel idea and a lovely one too,’ Isla said, but she was dubious. She began to skim over the article. It talked about how the tradition of matchmaking had been taking place in Lisdoonvarna for the last few hundred years. She looked up and said, ‘It says here that the Irish festival runs over the course of six weeks beginning in September and that they have a genuine Matchmaker in attendance called Willie Daly. He says he is the one true Matchmaker left in Ireland. Oh, and he’s a horse whisperer too.’ She held the magazine up and pointed to the picture of an affable, grey-haired man sitting on a log with a string bound old book under his arm. Isla thought that he looked like someone you’d trust with the important business of finding you a spouse. ‘But he’s not likely to come here now, is he? The closest thing to a Matchmaker we have in Bibury would be Mick from the pub, and it’s not his skills that get people together, it’s the amount of beer he plies them with.’
‘True enough and yes, I suppose this Mr Daly would be a busy man in his neck of the woods. We could advertise, though, couldn’t we?’
‘Advertise a six-week position as Bibury’s official Matchmaker?’
‘No, you’re missing the point Isla, not six weeks, one day. We’d hold the festival in the day and the dance in the evening, and I don’t see why we couldn’t advertise.’
‘I’ll tell you why not, because you’ll be inundated with weirdos.’
Bridget conceded Isla’s point, brightening as she had a thought. ‘What about asking Samuel West? Do you remember him? He does a lovely Father Christmas at the Four Square each year.’
‘Good grief! He’s not still dressing up in that red suit, is he? He was prancing around in that when I was a kid, and he seemed ancient then.’ He’d made a very dodgy Santa in Isla’s opinion because everybody knew the real Father Christmas didn’t have red whiskers nor an eye for the young ladies.
‘Yes he is, and he’s younger than me. I’m sure he’d be up for the craic, as the Irish say.’
Isla decided to humour her. ‘Alright then, but who do you think will come to this one-day festival? Are you planning on rounding up all the pig hunters and getting them to come down from the hills in search of a bride?’
‘Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, young lady.’
‘I wasn’t being sarcastic.’ Isla thought of the black singlet and shorts crew who regularly propped up the bar of the Pit.
‘Yes well, every pig hunter needs a bride and preferably one who is not a boar.’
‘Oh, Gran that’s terrible.’ Isla had to join in her laughter, though.
‘I’m thinking more globally than Bibury. Well, at least as far as Christchurch. Carl must know lots of glamorous single ladies in his line of work?’
‘I’m sure he does but what would be the lure to get them to come here to meet their match? We’d need lots of eligible bachelors to entice them, and I don’t think there are that many to go around on the Coast.’
Bridget frowned, wracking her brains. She was determined not to be thwarted where her festival idea was concerned.
‘Although, Carl did say his boyfriend David spends lots of time at the gym. I bet there are lots of buff chaps looking to meet their match there.’ Isla felt a frisson of excitement; perhaps Gran was onto something. It could be fun, and if they could pull it off, it’d bring a lot of people to Bibury. As a new business owner in the town that could only be a good thing! ‘I have to say the idea is growing on me Gran, and I’d love to sit here and plot, but I need to show Coal where his litter tray is before it’s too late. Then, I’ve got to get ready for my date. I’m going to the Pit and meeting up with Callum, Annie, Kris and Carl, so I’ll mention this festival idea to Carl and the others tonight, see what they think.’
‘Right, back up a moment. Just who exactly is this Callum fellow when he’s at home?’
The pub was busy. Isla scanned the room and spotted Callum up at the bar. She didn’t appreciate until then that she’d been feeling uptight in case he’d changed his mind. Her stomach gave an involuntary flutter. He was rather attractive, she thought, making her way over.
The black singlet brigade had swapped their singlets for Swanndri bush shirts worn over the top of their shorts, she noticed, ignoring their leers. Isla hadn’t seen one of those in a long time. Their tartan design should have been put forward when all that hoo-ha was going on about a new flag design for New Zealand, because the Swanndri was as Kiwi as, well, as the Kiwi.
She grinned up at Callum. ‘You made it.’
‘I wouldn’t miss it.’ He leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘You look lovely by the way. What would you like to drink?’
‘Thanks.’ Isla realized it had been a long time since she’d been given a straightforward compliment, one that wasn’t followed up with a ‘but’ and left her feeling that somehow she’d gotten it wrong once again. It felt good, and she smiled brightly at him. She’d come a long way in a short time. Rita would be proud of her. ‘Um, I’m a Sauvignon girl please.’
She scanned the room to try and spot a free table with enough seats for the others to join them too and saw a familiar face beaming over at her. Saralee was waving madly trying to catch her eye. She was sitting at a table with Ben near the pool tables, and there was no possible polite way in which she could ignore her. ‘Callum, you’d know Saralee from school. I think she wants us to go over and say hi.’
She knew Callum was thinking about their encounter with Ben that afternoon, but she admired him all the more for smiling and saying, ‘Great, lead the way.’
‘Hi guys, pull up a seat and join us,’ Saralee dimpled up at them both. Isla felt decidedly two-faced as Callum fetched a seat for her and she found herself sitting next to the pretty blonde. This was going to be uncomfortable, she thought, attempting a smile over at Ben. To her surprise, he seemed to have gotten over his pique with her because he smiled back. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad after all; she took a tentative sip of her wine. Callum and Saralee were already chatting away about one of the little chaps in the juniors and his penchant for pinching food out of the other kids’ lunch boxes. Isla looked at Ben. His hair was damp, he must have come out straight from a shower. She wondered if he still used the same shampoo, and fought the urge to lean over to see if he smelt like apples. Cut it out Isla; she cast around for something to say. ‘I took the kitten I saved home, and I’ve called him Coal. I’m hoping no one claims him because he’s such a sweetie.’
‘So, he was worth nearly being flattened for then.’
His smile softened his words, and Isla smiled back at him. ‘Definitely.’ She spotted three familiar faces walking in and waved over at them before turning her attention back to Ben. ‘You wouldn’t happen to know of any good builders, would you?’ She explained the changes she had in mind for the café’s interior.
‘What about Hayden?’
‘Hayden, as in your brother Hayden?’
‘The one and only.’
‘I’d forgotten he’s a builder. How’s he getting on these days?’
‘Yeah, he’s great. He wound up marrying Joanne Coombes, do you remember her?’
Isla nodded. ‘Oh yeah, Joanne was one of the cool girls a few years ahead of me that I used to idolize. I so wanted to get my fringe permed like hers.’
Ben laughed. ‘Yeah well, she keeps her hair pretty short these days, they’ve got two kids now. A boy, Harry who’s five and three-year-old Amelie. They live over in Greymouth. I’ll give him a call if you want and see how he’s placed. You might be in luck because this time of year’s not usually mad busy. I assume you want to crack on with it as soon as possible?’
‘That’d be great, and yeah I want to get things moving along. It’s all happened so fast, I don’t know where to begin.’
‘It’ll work out, and if Hayden has got too much on, he’ll know of someone else who can fit it in. From what you’ve said to me it doesn’t sound too big a job. Leave it to me, I’ll sort it.’
‘Thanks, Ben, I appreciate it,’ Isla enthused feeling warm under his gaze as he smiled back at her.