by John Marrs
And for the first time in a handful of years, she allowed herself to imagine what it might feel like to share that space with somebody else.
Chapter 11
MANDY
Mandy hovered at the stone wall which surrounded the address she’d pulled from Richard’s Facebook page. She watched everyone ahead of her hurry up the path, escaping the drizzle, and prepared herself to follow them.
Although she was generally a confident person in most social situations, when it came to large groups of strangers she clammed up and was prone to becoming tongue-tied. She had no idea what she would say if anyone attempted a conversation with her, so she tried to keep a low profile. It wouldn’t matter if she were a few minutes’ late – nobody knew or was expecting her.
Mandy hadn’t thought twice about throwing a sickie from work, and had told her sisters she’d be out of contact on a course. Even if they did find out that she was lying, they’d probably assume it had something to do with Richard Taylor, her DNA Match, anyway.
She took a packet of mints from her handbag and popped a sugar-free Polo into her mouth. She also took out her handheld mirror and angled it in an attempt to check that she still resembled something presentable after the two-hour-long car journey. She ruffled her hair hoping the damp hadn’t made her curls too frizzy.
Finally, when she heard music begin to play inside, she walked slowly up the path, approached the door and braced herself for what she would confront inside.
If she were being brutally honest with herself, she didn’t know what she was doing there or what she was going to get out of it. She was only aware that she and Richard were destined to share something together, no matter how complicated that might be. So she made her way inside and found a seat at the very back.
She picked up an order of service that’d been left at the end of the pew and flicked through it, trying to calm her nerves. Two guitarists played by the microphone stand at the front, singing along to a ballad that she didn’t recognise. Upon finishing, a man with a sincere smile replaced them.
‘Thank you, Stuart and Derek,’ he began. ‘First of all, I’d like to thank you all for coming. And secondly, on behalf of the Taylor family, I’d like to welcome you all to St Peter and All Saints Church for a special ceremony in memory of our dear friend, Richard.’
Chapter 12
CHRISTOPHER
Christopher stared hard at her through the restaurant window, attempting to decipher her body language.
Amy, his Match Your DNA date, was sitting at the table with her arms folded and her legs crossed at the ankle. She looked nervous, he thought. But according to one of the many instructional YouTube videos he’d viewed, this meant she was defensive. Either one worked for him, as it put him at an advantage.
Amy glanced at the clock on her phone’s display at least once per minute. She frequently fiddled with her hair or tapped her feet against the leg of her chair. She was an attractive woman, he conceded, and looked exactly like the picture she had emailed him, after having been filtered, of course.
Her long, dark hair had a slight wave to it. Fashionable black-rimmed glasses framed her eyes and her use of make-up on her pale skin was subtle. She was of a slim build but did little to advertise it, playing it safe with trousers, heels and a plain blue top and jacket.
Christopher was aware it was perceived to be bad social etiquette to arrive late for a date, especially with a person science decreed had been made for him. But he didn’t care; it was all part of the game. It was better to keep her waiting and on edge, as then he’d be in control of the situation and maintain the upper hand from the off.
As he bided his time outside the busy restaurant, he caught sight of his own reflection in the window. He’d not been acquainted with a good night’s sleep for some weeks, so had bought a cover-up stick from Boots to dab at the bags and shadows under his eyes. He’d also used a tinted moisturiser he’d obtained from the bathroom cabinet of Number Four to disguise the fact his nocturnal project affected his melatonin levels; he mainly slept during the day.
While he’d found time to shave, he hadn’t been able to book an appointment to get his hair trimmed, so he’d done the best he could with his side parting, using a generous helping of a product that made it look much darker than its usual reddish brown colour. He smiled to himself, satisfied that, unlike many of his former schoolmates, his wrinkles were minimal, his teeth were as near to straight as could be and his features were angular rather than plumped by excess skin. He looked at least five years younger than his thirty-three years.
Christopher straightened the lapels of his tailor-fitted jacket, holding out a little longer until Amy looked like she was about to leave, and then entered the restaurant.
His eyes scanned the generically furnished room as he pretended to search for his date. Her frustration at his tardiness dissipated the moment their eyes locked. To Christopher, it looked as if an invisible force had thrown her back into her chair, as she stammered a nervous, ‘Hello.’
‘Amy, hi. I am so sorry I’m late,’ Christopher apologised, shaking her hand confidently and kissed her on both cheeks.
‘That’s OK, I only just got here myself a few minutes ago,’ she lied and swallowed hard.
‘I was held up at work on a new magazine I’ve been working on,’ Christopher said as he took his seat. ‘And then I got stuck in traffic.’
‘You said in your email you were a graphic designer?’ she asked. As she drank him in he could tell that she was playing it cool.
‘Yes, I’m freelance so I have a quite few projects on the go at any one time.’
‘Who do you design for?’
‘Mainly luxury trade magazines, you know, companies that build yachts or planes and brochures for holiday destinations that you won’t find at Thomas Cook,’ he boasted. ‘It’s very exclusive.’
She didn’t look as impressed as he had hoped, and asked, ‘Where are you based?’
‘I work from home in Holland Park, which is convenient. Shall we order some drinks?’
Christopher moved his glass so it sat next to Amy’s, then opened the wine menu. When the waitress arrived, he ordered the most expensive bottle on the list.
‘Will you be eating tonight?’
He looked up and into the waitress’s eyes as she spoke, wondering what noises she’d make if his trusty garrotte penetrated her throat and severed her thyroid cartilage. It fascinated him how each one of his sitting ducks had, so far, offered a different squawk from the last.
Christopher looked at Amy and raised his eyebrows. ‘Do you have time for something to eat?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I’d like that,’ she replied, trying – but failing – not to appear too eager.
As they both read their menus in silence, Christopher felt Amy’s eyes lift from the page to his face. He glanced at her and she offered an embarrassed smile. Her cheeks flushed and he looked to see if her irises widened. He’d read enough about human behaviour to know that that meant she was attracted to him.
‘I’m sorry, do you mind if I just quickly use the bathroom?’ she asked. ‘You can order for me if you like. See it as your first test of how much of a Match we really are.’
‘Of course,’ he replied, and rose to his feet as she left the table.
Impersonating a gentleman came easy to Christopher, but other behaviours, like reading facial expressions and being mindful of people’s emotions, he’d learned from books and online. He rehearsed several different smiles as he waited for Amy to return, and checked his mobile phone to see where Number Eight was. He hoped she would have returned home by the time he and Amy finished their desserts, as it was only a ten-minute car journey from the restaurant to her flat.
He spotted Amy slipping her phone back into her purse as she left the bathroom, and wondered if she’d called a friend to inform them her first date with her Match was going well. It was clear she was one of the 92 per cent who felt an instant attraction to their pairing.
Then, as she sat down, there was something about the way her tongue ran over her lips that sent a mild rush of blood to his head, like the first puff from a cigarette or when he stood up too quickly. He dismissed it as tiredness and shook the feeling off as quickly as it had arrived.
‘Is everything all right?’ he asked. She was still visibly flushed.
‘Yes, I just had to make a call to work,’ she replied. ‘It’s been a chaotic few weeks.’
‘I don’t think I asked you what you did for a living?’
‘Oh, I thought I’d mentioned it?’ Amy took a sip of her drink. ‘I’m a police officer.’
Chapter 13
JADE
Jade slept for around three fitful hours of her thirty-hour journey. Before that day, the furthest she’d ever flown to was Magaluf with the uni girls and that ended with her drunkenly getting ‘No Entry’ tattooed on her left buttock.
Much of the journey from Heathrow to Bangkok, Thailand, and then to Melbourne, was spent with her fingernails embedded in the armrests of her seat, terrified that each jolt of turbulence was going to bring her plane down. That’s one of the things she hadn’t wanted to tell the girls when they were persuading her to come. She was terrified of flying. She read one of the several thriller novels she’d downloaded to her Kindle, then watched six movies back to back to take her mind off it. She eventually drifted off to sleep shortly before landing.
Jade had just enough time to change her outfit and freshen up before she picked up a pre-booked sedan-style hire car. She was relieved to discover Australians drove on the same side of the road. She programmed the vehicle’s satnav with the address she’d be travelling to. It was some 250 kilometres to Echuca, Murray Basin, the place where she would begin the next phase – and the biggest adventure of – her life. As she drove along the Great Northern Highway, she sang along to Ed Sheeran and Beyoncé, and tried to keep her nerves at bay.
Jade thought about her conversation just ten days earlier with Lucy and Shawna. She’d stared at them across the canteen table, growing ever more conscious that she was morphing into them with their over-made-up faces, fake hair extensions and their obsession to stay skinny just to remain viable in an ever-shrinking dating pool. But she was grateful for their home truths. They were right. There was no excuse not to travel to Australia to meet Kevin. The only thing stopping her was the fear of the unknown. And, after she’d got the flight over and done with, Jade liked to think she wasn’t scared of anything.
By the end of that week, Jade had purchased an open-ended return flight on her credit card to Australia. As Shawna was settling into Jade’s sublet flat, Jade had made herself comfortable in an aisle seat on a Megabus to Heathrow, beside herself with what the next few weeks might hold.
She sent her parents a text message from the airport informing them of her plan. She assumed the speed at which they then phoned her meant they weren’t supportive, although she couldn’t be sure because she refused to answer. Jade knew just how quickly her fiery temper could flare, and she didn’t want their negativity tainting the nervous anticipation she was feeling.
She took another glance at the picture of Kevin she had as her phone’s screensaver and knew she wasn’t going to be disappointed.
The three-hour car journey to Kevin’s farm passed quickly and she was on edge with a nervous excitement as she pulled the car over to the side of the road, stepping outside and stretching her tired legs. She was immediately struck by the searing heat and was glad she had lathered herself in factor fifty before setting off. Her pale skin could never handle the heat. She had no idea how it was going to fare here.
She glanced over at a sign reading ‘Williamson’s Farm’, which was attached to waist-high wire fencing running the length of the dirt track road. Tall, scrawny trees framed the road with their trunks buried deep in arid soil, and in the distance, she could make out a large, white house and the roofs of outbuildings and barns which she recognised from Kevin’s photos.
Jade felt her stomach begin to churn just like it had every other time she had daydreamed about what it might feel like to meet Kevin in person. Now the moment was almost upon her and she was terrified, particularly as he had no idea she was about to appear at his home without warning.
Back at Heathrow Airport, she’d texted him a white lie, telling him she was changing mobile phone network suppliers so she’d be out of contact for a day or two. He’d sounded agitated by the news, but she reassured him it wasn’t her subtle way of trying to break up with him. Far from it, she thought to herself.
She picked up her phone and switched it to camera mode, then took a selfie of herself with Kevin’s parents’ farm in the background.
‘Hey babe, you OK?’ she typed, her fingers trembling so much so that she was grateful for predictive text.
‘Hey!’ he replied, almost immediately. ‘I’ve really missed you! You got your new phone sorted out?’
‘Yes thanks.’
‘I’m with the cows in the shed, the place reeks, man!’
‘Aww, poor you! Guess where I am?’
‘In bed?’
‘Try again.’
‘Still at work?’
‘No,’ she replied and then sent him the photo she’d taken.
Her heart raced as she awaited Kevin’s text. Instead, the phone rang.
‘Surprise!’ she squealed. ‘I’m here!’
‘You shouldn’t have come, I’m sorry,’ Kevin said curtly, and hung up.
Chapter 14
NICK
‘Don’t open it!’ Sally had yelled down the phone to Nick. She sounded anxious. ‘Wait until you get home and we’ll do it together.’
Sally had admitted to Nick that from the moment her smartwatch had indicated an email had arrived from Match Your DNA, her stomach had felt like it was trapped in a lift falling twenty flights. She’d called him immediately and, after checking his inbox while she waited patiently on the other end of the line, he found he too had received a notification.
At the media agency where he worked, Nick was supposed to be thinking of snappy, original ways to promote a new brand of intimate wipes for women, but he was instead wondering what the contents of the email might reveal.
But it was Sally’s insistence on taking the test in the first place that really concerned him. He’d assumed they were content and in agreement that their future was together, but her need for scientific confirmation tapped into his recurring worry that he wasn’t good enough for his wife-to-be, that their five-year age gap was too large and that he was, and always would be, too immature for her.
When Nick finally made it home, thirty minutes after Sally, she was already clutching her second glass of red wine, sitting on the kitchen island with her legs dangling over the side.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ he began. ‘I got held up in a meeting and—’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Sally interrupted and took an anxious gulp of her drink. ‘Can we get this over with?’ She was rapping her other hand on the counter top, clearly nervous.
‘May I say one thing first?’ Nick asked, and perched on the island next to her. ‘I don’t care what these results say. I could be Matched with Jennifer Lawrence as far as I’m concerned and it wouldn’t make the blindest bit of difference. You are the one I’m destined to be with, no matter what these emails tell us.’
Sally smiled and hugged him, then picked up her phone and pressed the email icon. ‘Are you ready?’ she asked, scrolling down and opening the message. Her face fell. ‘It says “No Match”.’
A foreboding silence filled the room. Neither knew what to say to the other. Eventually, Nick wrapped his arm around her shoulder.
‘We’re going to make it work, I know we are,’ he offered. ‘Millions of couples have and we’ll be no exception. Just because we aren’t DNA Matched it doesn’t mean we aren’t meant to be together. You still love me, right? After reading that, you still love me?’
‘Of course I do.’ Her voice was muffled from where she�
�d buried her head in his shoulder.
‘Then who cares what a bit of chemistry or biology says. Nothing is going to change that.’
Sally swallowed hard and began to weep. ‘I’m sorry,’ she sniffed. ‘I just wanted to make sure we stood a chance … that we were pre-destined to be together.’
‘Fuck that, let’s take a punt instead.’
Sally smiled and they rested their foreheads against each other’s. She ran her fingers through his thick, dark hair, and drew his lips towards hers.
‘Let’s go out and get an early dinner,’ he suggested. ‘That new Turkish restaurant has opened on the high street. My treat.’
Sally nodded and Nick hopped off the island, making his way towards the coat hook on the back of the door to grab his denim jacket.
‘What about yours?’ she asked tentatively.
‘My what?’
‘Your results.’
‘I don’t care.’ He shrugged. ‘I know what I need to know.’
‘And I need to know what you don’t. Put yourself in my shoes: my fiancé is probably Matched with somebody who isn’t me. I’d like to know who my competition is – if they’ve done the test.’
‘You have no competition.’
‘Nevertheless, please, babe, open it.’
‘Here, catch,’ he said as he threw his phone towards her. She caught it and searched for the email.
‘Oh. My. God.’ She laughed loudly. She put her hand over her mouth and looked at him with wide-open eyes.
‘What? Have I got a Match?’
‘You certainly have.’ She was grinning.
‘Oh, Christ, please don’t tell me I’m Matched with your mum.’
‘No, don’t worry, it’s not my mum,’ Sally replied. ‘Your Match is a man called Alexander.’
Chapter 15
ELLIE
Ellie’s face felt rigid as if it’d been caked in concrete. She couldn’t wait to return to her home and start removing the thickly applied make-up, layer by layer.
