The Matchmaker

Carolyn opened the door to the sunroom to fill the space with fresh, invigorating winter air. She checked the position of the two matching armchairs which were set opposite one another on either side of a low glass-topped coffee table where she placed a tray holding a jug of water and two glasses, two slices of lemon, and two Nice biscuits. On the arm of her chair lay ‘The Folder’, a neatly filed collection of profiles of aspiring singles, all willing to invest in finding the perfect match. 

Looking around for signs of anything else that might be out of place, she straightened the carriage clock, a gift from her late aunt, and to complete the routine, touched the lower edge of the three floral prints which decorated the far wall, to ensure they were perfectly aligned.

At ten, the doorbell rang, announcing ‌Carolyn’s first client of the day, a desperate woman in her forties who thought she would never find a partner. She’d tried several dates ‘recommended’ by one of those apps where singles swipe to accept or reject. Carolyn hoped they were single.

‘You can never really be sure,’ she advised her more frantic clients who grasped at every last straw available to them, in the vain hope that Mr. or Ms. Right would magically appear from the screen.

‘Relationships simply aren’t a tap on an app. You have to work at them. See beyond your first impressions and delve in deep. People are like onions. The more you peel away the layers, the more you find.’ She wasn’t sure this was a very good analogy, but the training manual she’d received from the franchise owner of ‘Lonely No More - Cleveland’ insisted clients appreciate it if you ‘paint a picture.’ She thought that the smell of the vegetable, and ‌that they made you cry, would put people off, but she got enough nods to keep using the comparison. ‘Maybe I’ll try a rosebud next time,’ she thought.

At the second ring, Carolyn, who never liked to rush and, satisfied with the temperature in the room, closed the door and walked down the hallway.

‘Good morning, Martha. Come in.’ She stood back, allowing her client in. ‘Lovely morning.’

‘Hello, Carolyn. It’s freezing out here. I hope you’ve got the heating on.’

‘I hope you’re well. Do go through.’ She instructed, ignoring the comment about the heating. ‘You know where we are.’

The woman had been coming for relationship coaching for several weeks, and although Carolyn had run through her folder of appropriate matches, only two had been to Martha’s liking and today was the day when she would reveal how her first dates had gone. 

Carolyn poured two glasses of water, added lemon, opened her folder, and posed her opening question. 

‘How did you get on with Gerald?’ she asked, keeping the conversation on point.

‘Well, we were due to meet at seven on Wednesday at the French restaurant at the top of the High Street. I was early and was seated by a lovely waiter at a table next to the window where I had a good view of the door.’

As Carolyn took notes, she thought, ‘Oh, please get to the point. I don’t need a minute-by-minute account.’

‘Gerald was late. Some excuse about a meeting which had run over, but I didn’t believe him.’

‘Why was that?’ probed Carolyn.

‘His eyes were too close together, and he kept wiping his forehead with a hankie which I don’t think had seen the inside of a washing machine for several weeks.’ She sighed, brushed invisible bits from her tweed skirt and continued. ‘He ordered a prawn cocktail, followed by rump steak - well done. I mean, how uncouth. I kept it safe and chose the soup and a chicken salad.’

Carolyn glanced at the checklist her franchise provided, headed First Date Feedback and scanned the questions.

 ‘And how did the conversation flow? Did you manage to talk about the topics we’d prepared?’ One of Martha’s challenges was empathy, or rather a lack of it - a quality she’d received precious little of when they’d dealt out beneficial characteristics at birth.

‘We’ll come on to that.’ She gulped her water. ‘He talked about his ex-wife, his ex-girlfriend, his needy children, and his mother, who lives in Paignton and calls every evening. Apparently, he’s a loss adjuster, but, to be frank, even after his detailed explanation, I’m still none the wiser.’

Carolyn wrote ‘impatient’, ‘judgmental’ and ‘dismissive’ on her checklist.

‘I asked him about his hobbies, and he told me the plot of his favorite episode of Line of Duty, a show I said I’d never watched. To be honest, by the time I’d finished the last lettuce leaf, I was ready to leave.’

‘And did you part amicably?’ Carolyn knew she was flogging a dead horse with this match, but followed the script nonetheless.

‘Well. When it came to settling up, he asked if we should split the bill. I could barely hide my surprise as he’d not only eaten twice as much as I had, but had also demolished the best part of a very expensive bottle of wine and a brandy.’

‘This is going nowhere,’ thought Carolyn, glancing at the clock. ‘Why do I take these people on?’

Martha continued: ‘I kept my cool and agreed to pay for my portion of the bill, much to the amusement of the waiter. But, you’ll never guess. I couldn’t believe it when Gerald asked if I’d like to meet up again.’

Carolyn raised her eyebrows and waited.

‘I said I would have to think about it and that I would contact him later in the week. Which of course, I won’t.’ There was a nasty tone to her voice, which Carolyn noted down.

She drew a large X in the box at the bottom of her page and turned to Monty’s profile, Martha’s next match.

‘So, how did it go with Monty?’

‘Ah, Monty.’ Martha leaned back in her chair and stared wistfully out of the window. ‘To keep it simple, we arranged to meet at the same restaurant. I arrived at seven and he was already there, sitting at the table in the window. He was dressed in a pale blue shirt and navy trousers. Very smart.’

‘This sounds promising,’ thought Carolyn.

‘I ordered the soup and salad and Monty chose a mushroom vol-au-vent and a steak - medium rare. Very classy.’

‘And what did you talk about?’ Carolyn had her pencil poised.

‘I’d watched an episode of Line of Duty the night before and asked him if he enjoyed crime series. He said they weren’t his cup of tea and that he watched a bit of rugby from time to time. I then asked about his family and if he had any baggage.’

Carolyn sighed and wrote ‘inappropriate’ in her notes.

‘He said he hadn’t been married, if that’s what I meant. I thought I’d probably put my foot in it.’

‘You’re not kidding,’ thought Carolyn.

‘How did the evening end?’ she asked, noticing the hour was nearly up.

‘He bought the meal and asked if I had a lift home. Such a polite man.’ Her expression saddened, and she stared into her lap and paused.

‘I was very keen to go on a second date, but he didn’t ask. I insisted I was free all weekend, but the only thing he said was that he’d had a nice evening and he’d be in touch.’ Martha blew her nose on a pristine hankie and smoothed her skirt with her hands.

Carolyn added another X to the box on her paperwork. 

‘Well Martha, our time is up for today. Same time next week?’

‘I guess so. This dating game is like swings and roundabouts. It’s such a rollercoaster of emotions and I’m not sure I’m cut out for this.’

‘Well, I’m positive there’s someone out there just for you and I know we’ll find them soon,’ she encouraged as she led her client down the hall, opening the door to the crisp morning. 

Returning to the sunroom, the matchmaker picked up her folder, turned over Monty’s profile and read the next set of details from a twenty-something man called Zach, a tattoo artist and salsa dancer, seeking a conventional woman in her 40s.

‘Perfect!’ Carolyn straightened the armchairs and waited for her next client to arrive.

At the second ring of the doorbell, she opened the door to greet Monty, kissing him lightly on both cheeks.

'Morning,' he greeted her brightly. 'How are you, sis?'

'Fine, thanks. Coffee?'

'Please.' They walked through to the kitchen. 'Who's next on the list?'

'A lovely young divorcee looking for the perfect second-time-around. Let her down gently.'

'Of course. As I always do.'