Page 26 of Experiments in Offline Dating

“Drink first? For courage?” I suggested. Jackie was speaking to someone, but when he turned around and saw my face, he changed course.

“Not a bad idea, Maya. It can be our little tradition. Seemed to do us some good yesterday, if I recall.”

We headed into the pub of the hotel off the square, which I was delighted to discover was named the Ritz, despite being quaint and old-fashioned and looking nothing at all like its swanky Parisian counterpart. The same man tended the bar and grinned at us as we came in.

“All right, Jackie? Maya?”

“Aye, we’re grand, thank you, Bobby.”

“You remembered my name,” I said. “What a pro!”

He laughed. “I hate to say it, but everyone remembers you right enough after your blind date with Tadhg last night.” He smiled. “Ah, you’re a brave woman, you are! You know what? This one’s on the house. You too, Jackie, what’ll it be?”

“Oh, I’ll take a Bushmills, please and thank you, Bobby.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s an Irish whiskey.”

“No, no. I think I’ll start a little slower today.” It was only just after six, and I figured I would probably be in for a long night, and if I was going to dance, I would have to dose carefully—too little alcohol and I would be a nervous wreck, too much and I would make a total ass of myself and probably injure several innocent bystanders. “Just some light summery lager would be great, thanks.” Bobby gave me a taste of one on draft, and I nodded, but that was all the time we had before the wife-hunters descended.

“Jackie. I’m in town until Sunday. Can you find me a wife before then?”

“I got my hair cut like you suggested, Jackie, but it doesn’t seem to be helpin’. And one girl last night said it looked like I’d just got out of prison!”

“Now, if a woman says she’s fifty-two, do you think she’ll be too old to have kids, Jackie?”

Jackie waited for the word storm to stop and answered carefully. “Well . . . there’s no telling what a bit of luck can do.” But I couldn’t tell which one of them he was responding to.

“Hello there. Can I get you a drink?” someone new asked me.

“Oh, no, thank you. This one’s pretty full.”

“Hi, I’m Ollie.” New Haircut moved in, only just realizing that I was standing next to Jackie, and not wanting to waste any time.

“I’m Stan. Nice to meet you.” Wife by Sunday stuck his hand out, and I shook it. “You don’t want to be givin’ Ollie here any of your time. Word is he just got out of prison.”

“Hey, don’t go tellin’ women that! Me mam cut this, and she said I looked handsome.”

Jackie caught my eye and what I could only guess was a look of abject horror on my face. “Why don’t we go outside and have a seat, Maya? How does that sound? Get a bit of fresh air like. Just until you get your dancing legs, that is.”

Thank God for Jackie. I’d name my next cat after this guy.

We went back into the bright summer afternoon and found half of a wooden picnic table to have a seat. Jackie sat with his back to the dancing so that I could have the view. The music was too loud for us to make conversation, so we sat and sipped our drinks, and I got lost in watching the dancers.

This place felt almost like stepping back in time. It was such a simple pleasure—music, dancing, people catching up with old friends and meeting new ones. Nobody danced like this where I came from, and yet I knew people from this part of Ireland had been coming here to dance for generations. It was so wholesome.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I fished it out to see an unexpected text, rather than a WhatsApp message from home. Jackie was here; who else could it be?

maria this is arnold i’m waiting in the van

Um.

. . .

What?

My first instinct was that it was the wrong number. I hadn’t given anyone my number here. But then “Maria” was just a little bit too close to “Maya” for comfort.