Uncle Mic

Lucy couldn’t believe it had come to this, looking for a man in the frozen food section of her local supermarket. She decided that even if the men she’d seen had actually all been available to take home, she would still have left alone. The best specimen was looking at her as if he didn’t exactly consider her to be bargain of the week either. Lucy couldn’t blame him she decided, as she began piling her purchases onto the belt for the check-out person to scan. Her local supermarket had a singles evening the first Tuesday of each month. It was a marketing gimmick for the sad and lonely. That, Lucy told herself, was not why she was there. She needed to buy groceries. This shop was on her way home and at least on singles nights the queues moved quickly.

Of course, the supermarket didn’t turn away any potential customers just because they were part of a couple, but anyone not looking for love tended to avoid shopping that night so as not to attract unwelcome attention. Most of the customers at these things were either spotty students or no longer young. The women wore too much make-up and not enough skirt. The men had ponytails; it wasn’t nice. Those who were trying hard, filled their baskets with smoked salmon, organic strawberries and Chablis. Lucy placed her tampons next to her anti-dandruff shampoo, and then added a couple of tins of own label beans. Her heart wasn’t really in this at all and she’d have stayed at home had she not promised her friend Sally that she’d go out somewhere there was at least a chance she could meet someone.

The only offer she got was, “D’you want help packing?”

As the thin youth who made the enquiry then proceeded to wipe the back of his hand under his dripping nose she rejected even this grudging proposition. When she had to report to her friend Sally on ‘progress towards getting a man’ she wasn’t entirely sure this was going to count. Sally herself was completely loved up and thought it was her duty to ensure as many of her friends as possible were in similar bliss.

Lucy’s problem, she mused, was that she was a romantic. She expected (or at least hoped) that love would come and sweep her off her feet. She wasn’t completely unrealistic; she knew no one was perfect and that relationships take work. She just wanted that initial spark of mutual attraction. She wanted to be in love with a nice man who loved her.

“Is that too much to ask?” she enquired of Sally at work the following day.

“Course not, everyone should be in love, just like me and Malc. Do you want to see the poem he wrote me?”

Lucy hastily offered Sally the last sugary doughnut. She was sure Malcolm had many admirable qualities, but having heard a sample before she knew poetry wasn’t his strong point, (or if it was, Sally was in trouble.) Sally held a serviette under her chin to catch any jam that might escape from her doughnut and tried to make sympathetic sounds. Their morning break was over and they left the canteen.

“Look, sorry the supermarket thing didn’t work, but it was always a bit of a long shot. I’ve done all I can for you without success, now it’s time for drastic action.”

“What do you mean by drastic?”

“Don’t panic, I just meant we have to get Uncle Mick on the case.”

They were not able to continue the conversation as at least one of them and usually both were busy all morning.

“Portsmouth City Council, how may I help you?” She might just as well have said directory enquiries or Samaritans, they got such a varied range of queries.

“My great granddad was killed in the Crimean war, how can I find out if he was entitled to any medals?”

“Mrs. Simpkins’ children keep throwing their ball into my garden, what are you going to do about it?” and “Do your knickers match your uniform?” were about par for the course. Still, it was interesting and helped keep her mind distracted from her own problems.

On the bus journey home Sally again suggested calling on the skills of Uncle Mick.

“I know he’s the guy that introduced you and Malcolm, but that’s all I do know about him. He’s not that long-haired weirdo who keeps coming round trying to get us to flog his poetry pamphlets, is he?”

“Good grief no! That’s mad Mike. Have you read his poetry?”

“No.”

“Pornographic.”

“Oh.”

“And it doesn’t rhyme. Malcolm’s poetry always rhymes. I think it’s just lazy if it doesn’t rhyme.”

“Well, there are probably not many words that rhyme with bondage.”

“Thought you hadn’t read it.”

“Haven’t, I was just using my imagination.”

“Well don’t,” Sally said.

“Sorry. So tell me about Uncle Mick.”

“He’s the animal welfare inspector.”

“Oh yeah, I know who you mean. Is he Irish?” Lucy asked.

“His name is Mick O’Flaherty, and he greets everyone with ‘top o’ the morning to ya.’ Polish obviously.”

“That’s it, I’m off.”

“Hey, I was just kidding. Can’t you take a joke?”

“My stop, see you tomorrow.”

Lucy arrived at work later than Sally on Wednesday. She saw her talking to Mick O’Flaherty so kept out of sight, joining her friend once he’d gone.

“Oh, Lucy you just missed Uncle Mick, don’t worry though I’ve told him all about you and he’s on the case.”

“Hang on a minute, what have you told him?”

“That you are a sad lonely spinster in need of the services of a marriage broker, of course.”

“A marriage what?”

“Oh don’t worry about that, it’s just an old Irish thing, just means that he’s great at fixing people up.”

“I don’t need fixing up.”

“Going to get a man on your own then?”

“Having a boyfriend is not the most important thing in the world you know. Haven’t you heard of female emancipation?”

“You can still vote for goodness sake. I just want you to be as happy as I am with Malcolm.”

“Yeah. I know you do, but I’m fine, really I am and I don’t need some weird bloke I don’t know fixing me up with some other weird bloke I don’t know.”

“Suit yourself, you’d better tell Uncle Mick he’s off the case, he works fast you know.”

It was not until Friday that Mick O’Flaherty called into the council offices to see if any more cases of animal neglect had been reported. Lucy spotted him and rushed out, saying she was taking her lunch break early.

“Mr. O’Flaherty, may I have a word with you?”

“Ah. Lovely Lucy, top o’ the morning to ya. Call me Uncle Mick, that’s what all the girls I help call me.”

“Mr. O’Fla, um, Mick . . . oh. That’s what I wish to discuss.”

“My, but you’re an impatient one.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Oh, there’s no need to beg.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Ah to be sure I do. Was I not single myself once?”

“I’m quite sure you were; that’s not the point.”

“No of course not, it’s you that’s looking for a man now, not my lovely wife.”

“I don’t want a man!”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Well, there’s a thing. Well, aren’t I broad-minded then? Not to worry, I’ll find you a girl.” He winked, grinned and chuckled then left before the startled Lucy could react, let alone think of a reply. She ran after him and tried to explain. She wasn’t sure she succeeded. Lucy herself was rather confused by the end of the conversation. She finally agreed to meet him at the animal rescue centre Saturday morning. He thought he had an answer to all her problems. Lucy hadn’t known she had problems, and wasn’t sure a puppy could solve them even if she did. That didn’t deter Mr. O’Flaherty in his mission to set her up with at least a canine companion.

Lucy told her mother about the day’s events, cautiously mentioning the fact she was to look at some homeless dogs. To her surprise, the idea of a dog was accepted readily.

“I always had a dog before I met your father, but with his asthma we didn’t have one after we married.” She looked sadly at her husband’s photograph in its silver frame. “Between us, we could manage one, I’m sure. It’d be company for me when you’re at work.”

Lucy and her mother met Mick O’Flaherty and chose a mongrel pup. He had the ears of an Alsatian, the body of a terrier and a huge fuzzy tail. He was black with white spots, a negative of a Dalmatian. He was like no other dog, anywhere, ever. Time was given for Lucy to purchase a bed and other essentials before the visit to ensure that she and her mother would be able to provide a good home for him.

As the time for Stripey to come and live with her neared, Lucy had many conversations with Mr. O’Flaherty. They were mostly about the dog.

“You’ll be wanting sensible shoes to go walking him in.”

Sensible shoes? Was he still thinking she’d prefer a girlfriend to a boyfriend? Looking down at her red patent stilettos and up at his innocent smile, she decided he was just being practical. When he told her about interesting, yet muddy, paths which were ideal for dog walking she was sure she was right.

Mick had more practical advice, including the address of a charity shop which saved donated towels and blankets found to be in poor condition for pet owners.

“Let you have them for loose change and they’re easier to keep clean than them fancy pet beds as you can just swap them over when they get grubby.”

“That’s a good idea, thank you.”

A few days before she was due to collect her new pet, Mick asked, “What are you going to call him?”

“I thought … Stripey.”

Mick grinned. “That’s just grand!”

“I don’t think anything too sensible would suit him.”

“To be sure you’re right enough there. A name has to fit, that’s why I like people to call me Uncle Mick.”

Lucy resolved to address him that way in future. He was such a nice man, now she’d got to know him properly and he was no longer trying to fix her up with a partner of either sex, that she thought it would come easily.

On Uncle Mick’s advice she enrolled herself and Stripey in puppy training classes. Conveniently the class began at the local village hall two days after Stripey officially became her dog. As she walked to the hall Lucy was astounded to see another dog almost identical to her own. They must be related.

She was impressed with his owner too. He was slim, but not weedy looking. Neatly dressed, clean-shaven with his dark curly hair well cut he looked just the sort of boy her mother would like her to bring home. Mum, Lucy had always felt, had excellent taste. He didn’t hide the fact he’d noticed her too. His smile was relaxed and confident, that spark of attraction she’d been searching for sparkled in his eyes.

She introduced herself to him as they registered for the class. “Hi, I’m Lucy and this is Stripey.”

“Patrick and er, Mickrick,” he said in a soft drawl.

They discovered both dogs had come from the same rescue centre.

“They must be from the same litter,” Lucy said.

“I can’t see how it could be otherwise,” Patrick agreed.

“It’s great they’ve been reunited at these classes.”

“It is, yes. I’m really glad I took the advice to sign up.”

“Me too.”

Lucy almost asked him if it had been a Mr. O’Flaherty who’d made the suggestion. He’d been keen to see the puppies found good homes so it seemed entirely possible. Remembering Uncle Mick’s reputation as a matchmaker made her reluctant to raise the subject; she didn’t want Patrick to assume she needed such a service or thought he must.

Stripey responded well to the class and seemed eager to listen to his new mistress. He was even more eager to play with Mickrick though; the only times he didn’t pay attention to Lucy was when he caught sight of his brother.

After the class finished, Lucy suggested she and Patrick allow the dogs to play together. “That’s if you’re not in a hurry to get off.”

“I’m not, no.”

The two puppies rolled each other over and over in a blur of black and white fur and fuzzy tails.

“Do you live close by?” Patrick asked. “If you do, maybe we could walk these two together sometimes.”

“I live just up the road and walking them together is a nice idea. I’m sure they’d like that.” She could have added she rather thought she would too.

They exchanged phone numbers and arranged to meet the following evening.

Soon they were meeting regularly, discovering new paths and parks and talking about their dogs’ progress.

At work too Stripey and his brother were an important part of Lucy’s conversation.

“Yes but what about Patrick? Has he asked you out yet?” Sally asked.

“He’s fine, but it’s not like that, we’re just good mates.”

“Yeah so why do you go on about him just slightly more than I do about my Malc then?”

It turned out that Sally was right and Lucy was wrong.

When they met with the dogs after work that evening, Patrick said, “Would you like to have dinner with me one evening?”

“Bring a picnic on our walk do you mean?”

“We could do that if you like, but I meant just the two of us in a restaurant.”

“Like … a date?”

“Exactly like that, yes.”

“Yes please.”

They shared a huge pizza topped with Lucy’s favourite vegetables, palma ham and mascarpone cheese as those were Patrick’s preferred choices too. They drank prosecco from glasses that sparkled in the candlelight. Patrick held her hand as he walked her home. When he kissed her goodnight her heart beat faster than it had when she and Stripey had raced him and Mickrick up a hill.

On Saturday they look the dogs out for a long walk all morning, then sat on a blanket in the sun to share a picnic lunch. It felt so right to lie in his arms with the two dogs sprawled across them. On Sunday Patrick joined Lucy and her mother for lunch. Over the next few weeks, they spent increasingly more time together until they, and their dogs, were hardly ever apart.

Lucy was so deeply affected by her happy relationship that she even sighed over the beautiful sentiments in Malcolm’s wonderful poetry. Lucy was so happy with Patrick that even the most cynical and least romantic of her friends didn’t doubt her future happiness. Lucy and Patrick were perfectly compatible in every way, including their ready-made canine family.

One day when they were walking along the edge of a river, Lucy noticed something on Mickrick’s collar which sparkled even more brightly than the sun on the water. “Oh, that’s really pretty.”

“I’m glad you think so, it’s for you,” Patrick said.

Lucy knelt for a closer look. It was a diamond ring.

“I know it’s supposed to be me on one knee, but Lucy, will you marry me?”

It took her a moment before she was able to stand, but when she did she hugged Patrick. “I will! Most definitely I will.”

It was no surprise to Sally, Mick O’Flaherty or casual acquaintances when Lucy announced she and Patrick were engaged.

“I just knew you two would end up like me and Malc,” Sally said.

“Ah to be sure, I recognised that look on your face. Haven’t I seen it so many times before then?”

Mum was delighted. “Your dad would have been so pleased and I know he’d have liked Patrick.”

“Thanks, Mum.”

“He put some money aside for your wedding, so don’t you worry about that. I don’t want to wait long for a celebration though, how about having an engagement party?”

They decided to hold it in the same village hall which had been home to the puppy training classes. Sally helped with the arrangements and invited some people from work. Everyone brought a plate of food and a bottle or two for the buffet. Malcolm read a poem about the couple and Stripey and Mickrick. It was both funny and touching. It rhymed of course.

Lucy spotted Patrick bringing Mick O’Flaherty towards her. “It was nice of you to come, in a funny way I suppose I should be grateful to you. It was partly your idea about Stripey.”

“Lucy,” asked Patrick. “Do you two know each other then?”

“Yes to be sure we do, but don’t worry ‘bout it Patrick lad, go ahead and introduce us properly.”

“Well, Mick I would like to present to you my darling fiancée Lucy. Lucy, meet my Uncle Mick.”