‘Not pregnant,’ she replies. ‘The one problem child is enough, thank you.’
So I am in trouble.
‘Uh-oh, what have I done?’ I ask. Well, how much can I have done, stuck in this bloody chair?
‘You’re meddling, Lola,’ she explains. ‘You’re sticking your nose in, and, look, we appreciated your help with the renovation ideas, and it has helped business, but now we have lost our head chef.’
‘The thing is, you know what Vince is like,’ I start. ‘He’s hot-headed and he’s set in his ways, and Robbie really is a great chef.’
‘He is,’ she replies. ‘He cooked everything alone last night and his food was a big hit with the speed daters, and he’s happy to step into Vince’s role – we’ll just need to get him a new trainee to help out.’
‘So, all is well that ends well,’ I say with a smile, but my mum doesn’t smile back. ‘Or not?’
‘All was well this time,’ she points out. ‘But we can’t have you interfering in the business and causing trouble, just because … well, because you’re bored. I have more going on than you realise right now – it is extra stress that I don’t need.’
For a moment, I overlook my mum’s wild accusation that because I am bored, I am interfering with the B & B – I really am only trying to help. Instead, I pick up on the latter half of what she said.
‘What else is going on?’ I ask her. ‘Are you OK? Is Dad OK?’
A look of some kind appears on my mum’s face for split second before vanishing without a trace. It’s a show of something she doesn’t want me to see, like she’s hiding something, like maybe something really is going on …
‘We’re both fine, nothing to worry about,’ she insists. ‘We just worry about the business and can’t have you meddling. So, I’ve done something about it.’
I’m about to try and dig deeper, unconvinced by her backtrack that everything is fine, when I realise something.
‘Hang on, you’ve done something about it?’ I ask. ‘What have you done?’
My mum’s lips purse guiltily. She doesn’t say another word; she simply unlocks her mobile phone and slides it across the table to me.
‘Oh … my … God …’ are the only words I can get out as I take in exactly what my mum has done.
First, I realise I am looking at Facebook, then I realise I’m in the Marram Bay residents’ group. Finally, I realise I am looking at something my mum has posted, and it’s about me.
‘Mum, are you serious?’ I ask her.
‘Well, why not, hmm?’ she replies.
To summarise the lengthy post on the smashed iPhone screen in front of me, my mother has posted something on my behalf – a combination of her own words and the copy from my work website, offering my services to the people of Marram Bay. Everything from our bespoke matchmaking to our coaching sessions to our intensive packages where we take seemingly hopeless individuals and turn them into something someone can fall in love with, because, for whatever reason, it just isn’t happening for them. And my mum has offered all of this on Facebook, free of charge, for me to deal with.
‘Mum, I think these services are more of a fancy London thing,’ I explain, hopefully making her understand that your average Joe just doesn’t seek out a service like this. ‘It’s mostly for people like footballers who want a well-vetted girlfriend who isn’t with them for fame, or for young pop stars who want to raise their profile with the right person on their arm.’
‘Look at the advice you gave Auntie Val about her roofer,’ she reminds me. ‘That worked a treat. I haven’t heard from her in days!’
‘Are you not going to check on her?’ I ask through a bemused laugh.
‘Oh, no, she’ll be fine – you know what she’s like. She’ll be on top of the world.’
‘She might be on top of the roof,’ I shriek. ‘Anyway, don’t change the subject. You need to take this down, Mum, seriously. I can’t do this.’
‘Ah,’ she says simply, removing my soggy cereal from in front of me. ‘About that – let me make you something better than this – so, yes, about that … It might be too late.’
‘Why?’
‘You’ve got a group session, today at 2 p.m.’
‘I do?’
‘You do,’ she informs me. ‘There were lots of responses, so I organised a small class, just to keep you busy.’
Suddenly I have a headache to go with my leg pain and my aching back. ‘Mum …’
‘Lola, you can’t let them down,’ she insists. ‘And you are bored.’
I am bored, that is true. ‘OK, fine, just one session – I’ll give everyone a pep talk and then we’ll call it quits, OK?’
‘OK,’ she replies as the biggest grin consumes her face. ‘So proud of you.’
‘Don’t be proud,’ I say. ‘Be deleting that post from the Facebook group.’
‘I will,’ she says excitedly. ‘Now let me make you some eggs or something.’
As my mum fusses around me, making me a second breakfast out of pure guilt, I wonder what she’s got me into. I suppose it would be nice to help people but, to be honest, the only relationship on my mind is my own, with Will. Oh, and maybe my auntie, who may or may not have run away with a roofer.
Chapter 14
The good news is that there is no line dancing taking place in the B & B function room today.
The bad news is that I am about to have my first meeting with a handful of Marram Bay’s most desperate singletons, and I have absolutely no idea what to expect. I only describe them as desperate because surely you would have to be to gather here in this room, ready to take advice from someone only vouched for by their mum.
‘Such a good girl,’ my mum says to herself as she wheels me into the function room.
Sitting there, in the middle of the room forming a sort of circle, are just four people, and they are a real mixed bag.
My mum wheels me into the space they have left for my wheelchair, pulls on my brake, and leaves us to it. For a few seconds, we sit in silence, as I take stock of my students.
‘Erm, OK then,’ I start. ‘Why don’t we go around the room, say our names, a bit about ourselves and why we’re here?’
The first person on my left is Kim, local nurse and my best friend from school. I smile at her and she gives me a half wave. It’s nice to see a familiar face.
‘Hi, everyone, my name is Kim,’ she starts nervously. ‘Some of you might recognise me from the surgery. I’m thirty-two, recently had to move back in with my parents to help out and, as you can imagine, my love life has taken a bit of a back seat. So, I thought maybe coming here might be a good way to meet single people, learn a bit more about how to mingle, and get to spend time with my friend, of course.’
‘Aww, that’s lovely,’ I say. ‘Who have we got next?’
‘My name is Chantelle, but everyone calls me Channy,’ a young woman explains. Channy has a very bold look. Her skin is extremely white, but this might be because every bit of make-up apart from her foundation is so dark, and her hair is dyed jet black. She has a septum piercing and a large tattoo stretching right across her chest – a sort of collage of a whole mess of things. I imagine men are intimidated by Channy because not only does she look so confident, she sounds sure of herself too. Self-confidence is absolutely an attractive quality, but sometimes men can find it a little scary.
‘Some of you might know me because I work at the deli,’ she adds.
‘How old are you?’ I ask.
‘I’m twenty-two,’ Channy replies. ‘I’m not technically single … I’m seeing someone but he messes me around. I need to meet someone new and, well, it’s hard to meet people in a small town like this. Everyone my age, I grew up with. There are only maybe fifteen people on Tinder who aren’t tourists, and I’ve tried dating older men, but the one I’m seeing at the moment is older and he’s worse than any of the young F-boys around here. So here I am, at the end of my tether. You’re my last resort.’
‘Great,’ I
say with faux enthusiasm. No pressure there then.
I’m not sure how I feel about helping someone with a boyfriend meet someone else, but he does sound like a no-good boyfriend. I know all about those.
Next up we have our only male group member – and I recognise him.
‘I take it you didn’t meet anyone at the speed dating,’ I say to him to break the ice. He looks nervous, fidgeting in his seat, nibbling on one of his already quite short fingernails.
‘No, miss.’
‘Hey, remember what I said last night? I’m not your teach … Oh, I suppose I am your teacher now, kind of. Still, please call me Lola.’
‘Lola, OK, hello,’ he says, still a bag of nerves. ‘My name is Toby, I’m eighteen, I’ve been single for …’ He pauses, as though he’s counting. ‘Well, forever, really.’
I decide to put him out of his misery and move on to our final student, and the one I am the most excited to learn about.
‘Hello,’ I say to the seventy-something lady sitting to my right. ‘What brings you here?’
‘My name is Doris,’ she says. ‘Seventy-three years young, my husband is dead and I’m ready to find someone new.’
Everyone’s jaw drops – my own included.
‘Oh, not recently,’ she says. ‘My Alan, God rest his soul, left this earth six years ago. Now just feels like the right time to move on, but it’s hard, especially at my age.’
‘What have you tried?’ I ask curiously.
‘Well, Channy is right,’ she starts, pronouncing her name with a ‘ch’ rather than a ‘sh’. ‘Tinder is a wash.’
‘Oh, you use Tinder?’ I ask, trying to hide my disbelief.
‘Oh, yes,’ she replies. ‘Well, I try, but there’s nowt worth catching on there. I’m pretty good with the old iPhone.’
I watch as Doris removes a white iPhone in a lilac flip case from her handbag. She narrows her eyes as she looks at it.
‘That reminds me,’ she starts. ‘What’s this club called? I want to check in.’
I can’t help but smile. This is so surreal. I thought I’d left my hometown stuck in the late Nineties, well that’s where it was when I moved away – in the Noughties, I hasten to add.
‘We, erm, we don’t have a name,’ I say. Well, I didn’t even know we existed – or that we were, in fact, a club until about an hour ago.
‘I’d suggest the Undateables, but that name is taken,’ Kim jokes.
‘Plus, I can get dates,’ Channy says. ‘If I lower my standards enough. We’re more like …’
‘The Unlovables?’ Toby suggests.
‘Christ, you’re depressing,’ Channy blurts out. ‘I thought I was supposed to be the goth. No, more like …’
‘The Unmatchables?’ Doris says.
‘I like that,’ Kim says. ‘It sounds … less like our fault.’
‘Oh, none of you are the reason you are single,’ I insist.
‘Not even him?’ Channy asks, nodding towards Toby.
‘No one’s fault,’ I reiterate. ‘You just haven’t met the right person yet.’
‘The Unmatchables,’ Doris says to herself slowly as she taps it into her phone.
I did think to myself, in the hour I had to prepare, that I might be able to match up a few of my singles. No chance of that with this group – there’s only one man, for starters, and he’s a boy really. Way too young for Doris, too young for Kim – maybe not too young for Channy, but she would chew him up and spit him out.
‘I think maybe we should start with some confidence-building techniques,’ I suggest. ‘Get you in a position where you not only want to approach the people you meet when you’re out and about, but also give you the confidence to go up to them and talk to them. How does that sound?’
My group are all happy with my plan of attack. Well, the first step of it anyway … The first step is all I have right now – who knows what step will be next? I suppose I’ll have to make this up as I go along.
Chapter 15
After a long afternoon session with the Unmatchables, I am exhausted. Physically, from wheeling myself around the function room, but also mentally, from trying to work out how I’ll find love for this random bunch, in a town where I don’t really know anyone. I don’t really know the people anymore, the places – I don’t know where people go out for dinner, where teens go to drink cheap cider; I don’t know the best walks – I hardly remember the tidal island’s incredible history. Tales of ghosts, weird superstitions, notable residents and their scandalous private lives.
I have told the Unmatchables that we can meet again tomorrow lunchtime. Now that we’ve worked on our confidence together, we’re going to try a bit of role-play, run through a few scenarios and see how we get on.
The rich and famous are unusual creatures, with a longer list of requirements when it comes to finding them a partner. Sure, they worry about things that any of us could – like, can I trust this person? – but how many of us need to worry that the person we are with is only with us because we’re rich and we can help them get on the front page of Bacci magazine? Regular folk don’t need to worry about things like that. This is why, for my Unmatchables, I don’t think I need to be focusing on finding and vetting potential partners for them, I just need to help them work on the tools to get out there and find their own.
I close my laptop and carefully wiggle down into the sofa, making myself more comfortable – well, as much as I can with a broken leg. It’s funny, how the backdrop of my leg makes everything seem so much worse. Every now and then, I’ll think about Patrick and I will seethe. It’s not that I’m sad about us breaking up, the man was clearly straight trash and I’ve had a lucky escape, but it’s the deceit I can’t get over. I can’t stop myself wondering what he was getting up to, or how he really felt. He hasn’t even made an effort to contact me and smooth things over, so I was obviously just one of a few girls he was seeing.
This reminds me that I need to cancel the trip I booked to the Lakes, but as I reach for my laptop, my phone starts ringing. A tiny, stupid part of me entertains (only for the briefest of moments) the idea that it might be Patrick, but of course it isn’t. It’s a number I don’t recognise.
‘Hello,’ I answer cautiously. I’m always suspicious of numbers I don’t recognise or don’t have saved in my contacts, for no real reason whatsoever. I think I watch too many movies.
‘Hello, is that Mrs James?’ a woman asks.
‘Erm, yes,’ I reply. Still a miss, but now isn’t the time to get into that.
‘I hope so,’ she replies. ‘My name is Faye. I’m calling about your advert.’
My advert?
‘On Facebook. About the matchmaking,’ she prompts.
Ah, my mum’s post.
‘Oh, yes, that,’ I reply.
So, not only has my mother not removed the post, she’s doubled down. My phone number was absolutely not on there when I looked at the post.
‘Do I have the right number?’ she asks anxiously.
‘You do, yes, sorry,’ I babble.
‘Well, I clicked the link to your website and I was reading about the different services.’
That would be my work website. Nice to see my mother is offering the full range …
‘I was hoping to purchase the extensive package,’ she says.
‘Ah,’ is about all I can reply, as I think of the best way to tell her I can’t do this. ‘Well, here’s the thing, I’m not really offering anything … My mum thought it might be a good distraction for me, to keep doing my job while I’m visiting, but I’m not offering the packages online, and I’m definitely not taking any money off anyone.’
‘Oh,’ she replies softly.
‘But I am running a few workshops. I’ve got a fun little group together. We’re meeting up, working on the different skills you need for playing the dating game – you’re welcome to join us.’
‘It’s not for me,’ she explains. ‘It’s for my brother, Dean. He got divorced a few years ago and sin
ce then, he hasn’t had a proper relationship. He won’t let anyone in. We’re all worried sick about him.’
‘Oh, OK, well if you want to tell him to come to the workshop, the next one is at 1 p.m. tomorrow, at the Lighthouse B & B.’
‘Thanks,’ she says. ‘I just thought … with the extensive package, that guarantees a match at the end of it, or your money back – that’s what I need. He just, he got married, they were happy and then … they were over, and his life has stalled, and I can’t get him back on track.’
There is something in Faye’s voice – a panicked desperation … something I can’t say no to. Well, I have nothing better to do, do I? And she sounds genuinely scared for her brother.
‘OK, send him to the group,’ I suggest. ‘And, any extra advice or help he needs, I’ll offer it. I’ll do my best to find him someone.’
‘Oh, that would be wonderful,’ she says. ‘How much is it?’
‘You don’t have to pay me,’ I insist. ‘I’m happy to help.’
‘Oh, my gosh, thank you so much,’ she says, and I can tell she really, really means it. It makes me wish I’d had a sibling. Someone to look out for me and have my back – maybe an older brother who could put the frighteners on Patrick, make him see the error of his ways so he never messes with another girl again.
‘One thing though,’ Faye starts. ‘I’m going to tell my brother that I paid you for this, just so he feels like he has to give it his all. He can be a bit of a joker and I want him to take this seriously.’
‘OK, sure,’ I reply. ‘Have him come along to the workshop tomorrow. We’ll have him head over heels in no time.’
‘Promise?’
I was just trying to sound optimistic and reassuring, but it sounds like this really matters to her. I adopt a more serious tone. ‘Promise,’ I reply.
Well, depending on his age, I have three women from very different age groups in the workshop already, so perhaps I can match up a couple of my singles.
I’m no sooner off the phone and reaching for my laptop when my phone rings again. This time it’s Dr Will.
‘Hello,’ I answer brightly.
Make or Break at the Lighthouse B & B Page 9
