by Haley Hill
My thoughts were interrupted by a middle-aged lady sitting down in front of me and placing her hands on her lap as though she had just joined a bus queue. It took a few moments to register that she was thirty years older than I was expecting her to be.
‘Emily?’ I asked.
‘No, don’t be silly, dear. I’m Susan, Emily’s mother.’ She opened her Margaret Thatcher handbag. ‘This is Emily.’
She placed a photo on the table. It was of a fresh-faced brunette, wearing a summer dress and eating an ice-cream on a pebbled beach. Her nose looked slightly burned, I noticed.
‘She’s pretty,’ I said, unsure as to what she expected.
‘She is very pretty, dear. Never had any problem with suitors. Plenty of boys sniffing around.’
‘Does she know you’re here?’ I asked, suspecting that her mother had taken it upon herself to find poor unsuspecting Emily a husband.
‘No, of course not, dear,’ she said, waving my question away. ‘Can I get a cup of tea, dear? I’m parched.’
I suppressed a giggle and tried to think of who she reminded me of as I waved Steve over.
‘Mrs Doubtfire,’ Steve whispered in my ear after he’d taken her order of “Lady Grey, in a pot, two tea bags, splash of cold water.”
Yes, there was definitely something Robin-Williams-in-drag about her, but perhaps with a little bit of Angela Lansbury thrown in.
Emily’s mother was quick to the get to the point.
‘Emily needs a good man. The problem with her is she chooses the wrong ones. And she sleeps with them too. That’s her mistake. He’s not going to buy the donkey if he can get the ride for free, is he?’
I frowned at the bizarre analogy.
‘And she could do with losing a few pounds.’ She pointed to Emily’s thighs in the photo. ‘She’s got my hips, poor love. She has to be careful. Men don’t want to marry a little Oompa Loompa, do they now? That’s what I tell her. But she doesn’t listen.’
‘You tell her she’s an Oompa Loompa?’ I asked, unsurprised as to why poor Emily might be packing on the pounds.
She shook her head. ‘And look how short that skirt is?’ She pointed back at Emily’s thighs. ‘She complains about the men she meets. But you know what I say?’
‘Go on.’
‘If you don’t like the fish you’re catching, then change the bait.’
‘I thought Oprah said that?’
Suddenly Steve was standing next to us with a pot of tea. Emily’s mum looked him up and down.
‘You seem a nice young man,’ she said, snatching the teapot from him. ‘But Emily can do better than a barman. Are there any biscuits?’
‘It’s more of a wine bar,’ I replied, noticing that Steve had skedaddled.
‘If they sell tea, they should have biscuits. Some nice Bourbons would go down a treat. But probably best for you they don’t, though. That dress is a little tight already, isn’t it dear? And that awful stain. Soak it in vinegar water tonight. That’ll lift it.’
I forced a smile and she continued.
‘What Emily needs is a wise woman like you to send her on the right path. With a job like this, you must have all the answers. It’s too late for me. Martin left me years ago and now it’s just me and Gerald.’ She took another sip of tea.
‘Gerald?’
‘Yes dear, Gerald, the old boy, flea-ridden furball, love him with all my heart. But I want more for Emily. So how much do you charge? I’ve got some savings for a rainy day.’
‘Let me have a chat with Emily first and I’ll only charge if she’s willing to give it a go.’
‘That’s sweet of your dear. But you will persist with her, won’t you? She’s stubborn as a mule that one.’
Wonder where she gets it from, I thought as I watched her marching up the stairs, knocking people out of the way with her handbag.
When I arrived home, I found two Post-it notes from Matthew stuck to the fridge. The first was a list of urls for recruitment websites along with a stern reminder that I “needed help”. The second informed me that he had moved out and that I could help myself to any of his food in the fridge. Baffled by the bizarre manner in which he was choosing to relay crucial information and uninspired by his offering of half a tin of baked beans and some stale bread, I rummaged in the freezer drawer for my emergency microwavable meal. After I’d consumed the contents, the appearance of which differed vastly from the image on the packet, I switched on my laptop and typed in the first web address on the list.
Once I’d set up a profile, I paused when I came to the job description box. I knew I needed help. I’d received a hundred new enquiries that day alone, I had another party to organise and I still hadn’t finished matching all the Claires. However, the kind of help I needed, I was unsure. Regardless, I began to type.
Matchmaker wanted.
I paused again as I considered what else to write.
Must care about people, be a self-starter and willing to work antisocial hours. No qualifications necessary.
I filled in the rest of the details, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief that help would soon be on its way. Then, just as I was about to shut down my laptop, an email slipped into my inbox.
To: Ellie
From: Jeremy
Subject: New addition
Attachment: RustyJunior.jpeg
Hi Ellie
Harriet and I wanted to say hello from the Scottish
Highlands and introduce you to our new family member!
Love and thanks
J + H
Xxx
Family member? It had only been a few weeks! I opened the image, half-expecting to find a black-market baby propped up in an infant hiking sling. However instead, it was of Jeremy at the top of a mountain, grinning against the wind, his arm wrapped protectively around Harriet. Between them, nestling snugly was a large and excited-looking puppy, all paws and ears and with his tongue hanging out. The puppy’s eyes shined with contentment. The kind that is only experienced by beings who are truly capable of living in the moment.
A tear weaved its way down my cheek. Maybe I didn’t have all the answers. Maybe there were no answers. Maybe a string of extrapolated assumptions was all we needed to begin. And, as with the mountain Jeremy and Harriet had climbed, it wasn’t the research, equipment or clothing that took them to the top, it was the motivation and will to get there.
Chapter Ten
To: Ellie
From: Mandi
Subject: Cupid’s apprentice
Dearest Ellie,
I was so excited to read your ad for a matchmaker and (without wanting to sound big-headed!) I believe I was made for this role and this role was made for me. (Isn’t that a song?)
I’m sure you’ll receive hundreds of applications, so, instead of waffling on about my interest in dating and relationships and having transferable skills from my current sales role, I would like to take a more unorthodox (and I hope you don’t think unprofessional) approach and get directly to the point.
Pretty, pretty please (with lashings of pink icing, and some of those sugary silver balls on top) give me the opportunity to meet with you. I promise you won’t be disappointed!
I have attached my CV and a photo of me hosting my annual “Cupid party” for single friends.
Yours hopefully!
Mandi
xxx
PS I’m free tonight.
I shielded my phone from the low rays of the setting sun and opened the image. I could just about make out what looked to be a real life Disney character: white-blonde hair, Colgate smile and teeny-tiny pink Cupid outfit complete with bow and arrow. I smiled, lifting my face to the sun and let the warmth soak in, knowing it would soon be lost to the concrete horizon.
By the time I arrived at the club, the amber sky had turned inky blue and my phone sprung to life, Cassandra’s number flashing on the screen. The accompanying ring tone seemed louder than usual, as though it had adjusted its volume to reflect the caller. It
was the seventh time she’d called that day and I’d meant to return her call along with William’s four missed calls, as they had obviously been on a date and had something to tell me. But for some reason, I’d been putting it off.
I let Cassandra’s call go to voicemail, and called William first, suspecting his version of events would be kinder to my eardrums.
‘Hi, how are you?’
‘Hello Ellie. Sorry. Can you hold on a moment?’ His voice was hushed, and his words were followed by some rustling, and the sound of footsteps on a tiled floor. ‘Right, that’s better, ouch, ow.’
‘Are you okay?’
‘Not really. I’m in hospital.’
The phone nearly slipped from my grasp. ‘Oh God, what happened?’
‘It’s all a tad embarrassing really.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Nothing serious though. I broke something.’
‘Broke something?’
‘Yes. Something personal.’
‘Something personal?’ What, I thought, like his watch?
‘Something private.’
‘Something private?’
He sighed. ‘Please don’t make me say it.’
I heard more groans and then fortunately, for both of us, the penny finally dropped.
‘Oh God. Oh dear. Poor you. Will it be okay?’
‘The doctors say I need to rest it.’
I imagined a willy with a thermometer lying on a sofa.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ I asked. ‘Or Cassandra, perhaps she could help?’
‘Well she’s the one who got me into this fine mess in the first place.’ He laughed. ‘Ow, laughing is not a good idea.’
After William, evidently growing more at ease with the topic, had gone on to explain the entire treatment plan, which included a pioneering program of rehabilitative physiotherapy, I became desperate to steer the conversation away from the anatomical fragility of the male member.
‘So, apart from the, the incident, the date went well?’
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I suppose.’
‘You suppose?’
‘She was nice.’
Of all the words to describe Cassandra, nice was not one that immediately sprang to mind.
‘But,’ he went on, ‘she’s probably a bit too much for me.’
Ah, I thought, here comes the truth. I checked my watch. I only had a few minutes to spare. ‘Try to sum up your thoughts in one sentence.’
He took a deep breath. ‘She was lovely-looking: slim, elegant, well-dressed. Great skirt. It was pleated. And quite short, rather like a tennis–’
‘One sentence, William,’ I interrupted.
‘Oh yes, okay. Right.’
‘Did you like her personality?’
‘She was a little loud.’ He paused. ‘But she made me laugh and she was clever too.’ He paused again. ‘I think I’m going to need a few more sentences.’
I laughed. ‘Okay.’
‘And she drank a lot.’
‘That’s quite normal though.’
‘No I mean, she drank a lot. She’d drained her glass before I’d even picked mine up. Then she got this wild look in her eye.’
‘Wild?’
‘When we left the bar, she dragged me into a cab …’ He interrupted himself with a nervous laugh ‘… and then back at her flat it was as though she were … how do I put this?’
‘Just say it.’
He coughed. ‘Ouch.’ I heard some more rustling, and then he cleared his throat. ‘Okay, if you must know, it felt as though she were auditioning for a triple X-rated Cirque du Soleil.’
I took the phone away from my ear and looked at it for a moment, while my mind conjured imagery for contemporary clown porn. ‘Did you tell her to stop?’
He paused again. ‘I did, eventually.’
‘What do you mean eventually?’
‘I think it was at the point she launched herself at me from a sex swing while brandishing a riding crop. And then again, when she clamped my nipples. And once again when she inserted some kind of plugging device up my bottom.’
I giggled, though this time more from panic than amusement.
‘Any protest just seemed to encourage her. If I’m honest, hospital was a welcome relief.’
Concerned I might be liable for William’s future therapy sessions, I ended the call with a promise to note his preference for missionary twice a week and “a special treat” at the weekend. Then, I shook my head to try to lose the disturbing image of a naked Cassandra, flying through the air, to the soundtrack of “Alegria”.
A gale had begun to whip up outside, so I moved into the club, before dialling her number.
‘Oh. My. God. Ellie!’ she bellowed, as the wind funnelled down the stairs behind me. Struggling to turn the volume down, I accidently hit the loudspeaker button. ‘I didn’t even know that a penis could break. Did you? Have you ever broken one?’
Her voice boomed across reception like a misjudged sound check. A group of men waiting to be seated stopped talking and looked over.
‘No. But I’m sure it happens all the time,’ I replied, pressing buttons until I was confident the loudspeaker function had been disabled. The men nodded, while Marie smiled with what looked to be a kind of satisfied recollection. Maybe it did happen all the time? I thought. Perhaps I should add it to my list of things to do before I’m thirty.
‘I didn’t do anything, it just sort of slipped out, you know. When I landed back down on his lap he started screaming.’
‘Landed?’
‘He was writhing all over the place like I’d torn it off or something. A real drama queen. So, I called a taxi to take him to hospital.’
‘You didn’t go with him?’
‘No. Is he okay?’
‘Yes, he’s fine. He just needs to rest it.’
She laughed. ‘Rest it? Does it get its own hospital bed and gown?’
‘Cassandra.’
‘Sorry, but it is funny.’
When her extended belly laugh had concluded, she explained that, although William was a lovely guy, she’d prefer a man more “up for the job” next time.
Then was, I realised, the time when a professional matchmaker was supposed to offer insightful feedback. I moved to the corner of reception to talk more privately, although I was aware that ship had already sailed.
‘Could I offer you some advice?’
‘Go on then,’ she replied.
‘Maybe tone it down a bit next time.’
‘Tone what down?’
The men were still loitering around the reception desk clearly in no hurry to be seated.
‘Perhaps save the sex toys for your second date,’ I said in a hushed voice.
‘What? I can’t hear you. Speak up!’
I expanded my point slowly and clearly. The words “anal” and “plug” bounced back at me from the acoustics of the reception walls. The men’s concealed sniggers were quickly drowned out by Cassandra’s laughter cackling down the phone.
‘Don’t be such a prude. You English, seriously. That was only my starter pack. I’ve got the proper stuff in the dungeon.’
‘What?’
‘I’m joking.’
I sighed. ‘Listen, whipping out a butt plug on the first night will put most men off. And the men who are into it probably wouldn’t stick around for a relationship.’
‘C’est la vie. They obviously aren’t the right men for me then. I’ll wait for one who loves me for who I am. Next!’
When I’d ended the call, with a promise to add “open-minded” to Cassandra’s list of wants in a man, I made my way down the second staircase and towards the bar. Through the crowd, I noticed a pretty blonde on a stool at the bar. She waved at me and I walked over.
‘Claire?’
She nodded.
‘Sorry I’m late, having one of those days,’ I explained, pulling up a stool next to her.
‘I heard,’ she replied in a Californian accent. ‘I walked past you at reception. Did s
he really plug his ass?’
I nodded and she laughed.
After Steve had poured us each a glass of wine, she explained why Nate had suggested I meet her.
‘He’s my twin brother,’ she began, flashing teeth identical to his. ‘I know him better than he knows himself. But …’ She took a sip of wine ‘… this whole process is pointless. He’s wasting your time. No one will measure up.’
‘To what?’
‘To whom, you mean. To Rebecca, his first love.’
When she explained that Nate and Rebecca had been inseparable since high school, she dragged her nails along the brass edge of the bar.
‘She was like a sister to me,’ she said, just as one of them snapped off. ‘But then Nate fucked it all up.’
I frowned. ‘How?’
She examined the nail tip and then threw it on the floor. ‘Sleeping around.’
She went on to explain that when Nate’s acting career took off, fans started throwing themselves at him and that he was too weak to resist.
‘And, of course after a few years, when the bright lights had faded and the groupies had lost their appeal, he realised that a quiet family life was exactly what he wanted. And Rebecca was the one he wanted it with.’
‘And now she’s with someone else?’
‘Yes, married, baby on the way.’ She looked down. ‘But …’
‘But what?’
‘She still loves him.’
‘Oh.’
‘But, she’d never take him back. She’d sooner stay in a loveless marriage than forgive him for what he did.’
‘How do you know it’s loveless?’ I asked, thinking of the baby about to be born into this.
‘She loves Nate. She always has. But she knows he’s no good.’
‘He’s your brother.’
‘Once a cheater, always a cheater.’
‘You really believe that?’
She nodded. ‘Anyway, despite all this, it seems he’s determined for you to match him, so you may as well go through the motions. But I’m telling you, no one will be good enough, so best of luck.’
As she marched up the stairs and out of the bar, I wondered how a pretty girl, with the 555th most popular name in America, had lost her faith in men.
