Chapter 6 An Experiment in Being Played by a Player
Birdsong gently tugged me from sleep. Not the honk of cars, the blare of an alarm, or the chatter of people on their phones as they walked by, but the lyrical lilt of unfamiliar birdsong.
Sun warmed through two little windows as I opened my eyes and looked around the room for that first moment of weightless vertigo when one wakes to new surroundings, no idea where they might be.
Overhead, crooked wooden beams lined the slanted ceiling, knots and all. Faded roses bloomed from a quilt that smelled like it had been dried in the sun.
I stood in front of the footboard and stretched my sore bones. I was very nearly too tall for that bed—another inch or two would have been my downfall, but luckily, it had been perfectly cozy, just like everything else in the room.
I could hear movement downstairs. My phone said it was after ten, but I’d needed those extra hours of sleep.
I groggily considered getting changed, brushed, and showered before I headed down, but even the thought of it made me tired.
Instead, I shrugged on my biggest, softest, lumpiest sweater, slid my feet into some slippers, and decided my flannel pajama bottoms would do me just fine.
I was comfortable here, and I was comfortable with Jackie, and it would be a long week if I didn’t try to make a home here and settle into my routines.
The crooked stairs creaked out news of my approach to Jackie, who was in the kitchen, busying himself with something or other.
He whirled around with a smile and a floral apron tied over clothes that looked like he’d spent the morning gardening.
A few pieces of hay stuck out of his sweater.
I didn’t know if the apron was to keep his clothes safe from the food or vice versa.
“Well, good morning, Maya. You slept well enough, I trust? I put the kettle on when I heard things rattling around upstairs. Do you take milk? Or would you rather I drip some coffee?”
I rubbed at my messy puff of hair and blinked a few times. “No, no. Tea would be lovely. I’ll take it however you take it, if that’s okay.”
“Strong as an ox, then, with milk and sugar, if that’ll do ye.”
“Perfect.”
He gave me a wink and went back to the demands of the kitchen. “Now, you can sit at the window there by the stove and warm up, or you can do what I like to do and take this back to your bed with a hot-water bottle while you work at rejoining the world of the living.”
“Oh, wow. Can I? That sounds . . . incredible.”
“’Course ye can. I’ve boiled plenty of water for both.”
I’d had loads of lazy mornings, but I’d never had one in an old Irish cottage with a hot mug of Irish tea just the way Jackie liked it.
And I’d never had a hot-water bottle at all, in fact, and was thrilled to find that it was covered in pink polka-dotted fur.
Jackie filled it and handed it over, and I instinctively curled around it before he carefully handed me a very full mug.
The day before, with the travel, and the crowds, and having to perform and be charming, had been a major battery drain.
I needed to recharge with silence, soft pajamas, and a good book.
“Now, enjoy a bit of the quiet country life, and I’ll see you when the hunger gets to ye.
Off you go. Oh, and close your door if you don’t want company.
There may be a tomcat wandering around here somewhere, and he might just reckon you’d be his hot-water bottle.
” He laughed. “I hope you’re not allergic. ”
“You have a cat? Oh, yes, please! I’m crazy about cats, Jackie.”
“Good. Well, this one is called Fearghal, so’s you can introduce yourself when you meet him.”
I almost could have hugged Jackie. “All of this is perfect. Thank you so much.”
“Oh, I’m happy to have ye. House has been feeling too empty lately.”
SOMETIME AROUND NOON, I showered and dressed and made my way back down. Jackie was out pulling weeds in the front garden, but when he saw me, he made his way in, removing gloves and taking off a totally different pink apron.
“Ah. There she is! Are ye hungry for a bit of lunch? I thought we could pick at some of those bits and bobs from the pub last night. See if we can make a dent.”
“Perfect. I’m starving, now that you mention it.”
“Me too. Though I’m always starved, if you hadn’t noticed.” He patted his stomach. “I’ll make us a wee salad from the garden, and we’ve got a bit of that crumble for after.”
“Sounds amazing. I can’t get over how good the food was at the tavern last night. That fish pie made me weak in the knees.”
“Yes. Too bad about the date, though. No chance there, I suppose?” I’d already told him the long and short of it on the drive home the night before, and yet even after hearing about the flaming catastrophe in great detail, he still held a little question in his voice.
A little hope. That was just the sort of optimistic spirit one needed to be a matchmaker, I guessed—always leaving a door cracked open.
I laughed. “No, no. No such luck, I’m afraid. I’m not sure that anyone has ever hated me more than that man did last night. Anyway, you’re not getting off that easy, Jackie! I’ve got a whole month here, and I hired you to do your worst.”
“Ah, well. Ye never know until you try, eh? We’ll see who’s out there tonight for ye.”
He laughed, and I was glad that things were already so easy between us. It wasn’t always that way for me. But Jackie and his sparkly eyes and easy smile had a way of putting me at ease. Which was probably why he was so good at his job.
We ate in cozy stretches of silence and easy chat. He didn’t interview me and I didn’t interview him. But when we were done with our tea and crumble, I sensed my reprieve was over.
“What do ye say, shall we go for a little walk outside? You can explore and meet the animals while we have ourselves a little chat.”
“Animals? That sounds fun. Would it be okay if I recorded the chat for the podcast? I may not use it, but I think listeners might be interested in what questions you ask me.”
“That’ll be just fine. That way we’ll have your answers on record in case my mind goes! Here. Find a pair of wellies there that fit. Just in case. One never knows what they’ll step in at a place like this.”
I laughed but did as instructed. He had lots of wellies in all sizes and colors lined up by the door. I found a red pair, clipped my mic to my cardigan, and we set out at a pace.
“This land here was bought by my grandfather when they moved from Wicklow back in, ohh . . . 1822, if I’m not mistaken. And most of it is just as they left it. From that hill there to about that road over there.”
Soft hills stretched out in every direction, and in the distance, round-topped rocky mountains framed the farmland with gray, unhurried brushstrokes, while stone walls broke the land into patchwork. The color green was somehow different here—highly saturated, glossy.
“Was the house here when they bought the land?”
“Oh, yes. I reckon that house has been here, looking pretty much as it is now, since sometime in the late 1700s.” I smiled and blinked into the sun.
I liked that idea. That Jackie’s family had been here in this house for over two hundred years, bringing up big, noisy families and matchmaking the county.
The walk felt good. I had gotten a morning of extra sleep and quiet time, and now the soft sounds of the countryside, the wide horizon, and the fresh air on my skin soothed my nerves after a full day of sensory overload. I’d always been a city girl, but the country felt good. Different.
We walked into a nearby barn where Jackie held the lid open to one of the large plastic feed cans.
“Here now, scoop some of that out, and we’ll give them a little treat.
” He handed me an old plastic jug. I didn’t know what kind of animals these treats were for, but I was excited and didn’t want to spoil the surprise.
“So, why don’t we start with the basics, then.” His voice was gentle, casual, conversational. “What sort of person are you looking for, Maya?”
I took a deep breath. Here we go. Luckily, I was well practiced in talking through the intimate details of my nonexistent love life.
“Well, I like men. I’ve tried a couple of times with ladies but didn’t feel anything overwhelmingly sexual. That seemed like as clear an indicator as any.”
He nodded. “It’s always good to explore your options. Well, what sort of looks are you attracted to?” We left the barn, and I followed Jackie down a well-walked path where the grass had been rubbed away by too many wellies.
“I mean, frankly, I’m not that picky. I’ve dated all sorts of men, in all different shapes, sizes, and skin tones.
Some were more attractive to me, of course, but never with enough overlap to categorize a type.
Also, sometimes it’s the ones that are less pretty who have more character or a better sense of humor, right? ”
“To be sure. All right, then, flexible on looks. That’s a good start.”
Uh-oh. Was that a mistake? Was it too late to tell him that I might have just discovered a new type—angry, bearded lumps of granite?
“And how about personality, then?”
“Well, I guess the basics—no jerks, no murderers, no book haters, no barnacles. They’d have to like cats. And be nice to their parents.”
“Barnacles? What the devil is that? Some unpleasant sex disease?”
I laughed. “Clingy. Someone who latches on and doesn’t let go. I would need a busy person who has their own stuff, because I have my own stuff. And I like a lot of time on my own.”
He studied me for a moment. “I see. Independent. What else?”
“Hmm. I think it would be good to find someone who helps me get out of my routines. Because I really like to try new things, but I don’t often think to do it myself. If I’m left to my own devices, I’ll just stay at home with a book every day. That’s why this podcast has been so good for me.”