It's Got to Be Perfect: the memoirs of a modern-day matchmaker (12 page)

The appearance of a pair of shoes coming down the staircase broke my trance. In other contexts, when meeting someone new, it was a face-on affair and the whole person came into focus at once. But, because the lounge bar was underground, I met most of my clients feet first, which, although a little strange, afforded me time to assess areas often otherwise neglected.

After the black leather brogues, came expensive-looking charcoal grey trousers. I took a sip of my wine. Nice thighs. Smart belt. Fitted blue shirt. Great chest. Lovely muscles. The room suddenly felt hot and stuffy. My face flushed and my breathing quickened. His face came into view.
Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit.
It was Nick.

Striding towards me with his gorgeous smile at full capacity, he held his hands up.

‘I’m Alistair,’ he confessed.

While emitting a machine-gun like laugh, I proceeded to spill half my glass of wine down my chin and dress.

‘It’s the only way I could get to see you,’ he explained, looking on sympathetically as I dabbed my chin with a napkin, ‘what with you being so busy and independent.’

I smiled inwardly and then moved my phone away from the puddle of wine on the table.

‘Can I sit down?’

‘Yes, sorry, sure,’ I said, glancing at the screen which had just lit up.

‘So how long have we got? How long would it take you to discover Alistair’s deep and dark inner soul?’

‘I’ve got another consultation in an hour,’ I said, noticing that Caro’s photo download was complete. I squinted my eyes at the image.

‘Great, that means I have your undivided attention until then,’ he said following my gaze. His eyes widened. ‘Is that a milkmaid?’

Lurching forward to reach the phone, I accidentally knocked it on the floor. Nick swooped down to grab it and then stared at the screen. He looked back at me, his mouth open.

‘I don’t think that message was meant for me.’

He smirked. ‘Isn’t that your friend from the party the other night? The one who was chasing those pilots around.’

‘I’m surprised you can recognise her from that angle.’

He looked back down at the screen and turned it sideways, then upside down. ‘She’s got distinctive eyes,’ he said, before handing it back to me.

Our giggles hushed when Steve approached the table. ‘Did I miss something?’ he asked.

‘No nothing, just a funny text, that’s all,’ I muttered.

Steve handed me a glass of wine. ‘Thought you might want another, seeing as you’re wearing the last one.’

I looked back down at my dress, which was now sporting an interesting across-the-boob wine stain.

‘And your boyfriend?’ He turned to Nick. ‘What can I get you, mate?’

‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ I said.

‘Not
yet
,’ said Nick. ‘A whiskey for me, please.’

Following what appeared to be some kind of fraternal nod of approval, Steve left and I looked across at Nick. His expression fell somewhere between delighted and constipated.

‘So then,
Alistair
.’ I picked up my pen and notepad. ‘Describe your perfect woman.’

He smirked. ‘A milkmaid with no knickers and inhuman flexibility.’

I rolled my eyes.

‘Or,’ he added, leaning forward. ‘If you don’t have one of those, how about a stunningly beautiful, independent yet busy blonde, wearing a navy dress with an ominous stain?’

I pretended to take notes, hoping my face didn’t look as hot as it felt.

‘I mean you. Just to be clear.’

He reached for my hand. Before he made contact, I pulled my hand away and picked up my glass. Following a long awkward sip of wine, my phone vibrated as another message appeared. It was a long-winded text from John, the barrister, describing his entire week’s work schedule and explaining that it wasn’t compatible with the photo shoot tomorrow.

‘He must be lying,’ Nick said after I’d shown him the text. ‘Men never offer that much detail unless they’re lying.’

I sat back in my chair and rapped my fingers on the table. ‘Doesn’t it take one to know one, though?’ I asked, eyebrows raised.

‘No.’

I leaned forward and looked into his eyes, ‘You could be lying. How can I trust you?’

‘Because, your Honour, as I clearly stated, men offer excessive detail when they’re lying and mine was a one word answer.’

‘Hmm, so I’ll have to let you off on a technicality,’ I said, leaning back again. ‘But I’m watching you.’

I pointed to my eyes and then back at him.

He took a glug of whiskey. ‘So what makes you so suspicious of men?’

I laughed. ‘I could ask the same of you. You’re the one who said John was lying. Anyway, back to the photo shoot, the day’s nearly over and I only have two bachelors.’

‘Do you realise that so far you’ve deflected every personal question I’ve asked?’

‘Have I?’ I asked, immediately aware that I had just proved him right.

‘Okay,’ he finished his whiskey and placed the glass on the table, ‘here’s the deal: I’ll do that bloody magazine shoot tomorrow if you’ll promise to answer one question.’

‘Deal,’ I said reaching across the table to shake his hand. As soon as we touched, I began to feel incredibly self-conscious and pulled my hand back. ‘So what’s the question?’

‘Is there someone?’ he asked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, is there someone?’

‘Is that some kind of cryptic philosophical question?’

‘Are you with someone?’

‘No.’

‘You’re single?’

‘That’s two questions.’

‘No, it’s not. It’s the same question.’

‘Yes. I’m single. And no, there isn’t anyone.’

‘Okay,’ he said, standing up. ‘That’s all I needed to know.’ His smile beamed down at me and when he touched my shoulder gently, the self-consciousness suddenly returned. ‘You’re off the hook. For now,’ he added before walking way.

When he reached the staircase, Marie was leaning against the banister, her legs and lips slightly parted, her pupils narrowed to slits.

‘
Au revoir
, Alistair,’ she purred, but he walked straight past her and then threw a glance back over his shoulder towards me.

When he was out of sight, Marie shook her black hair and strutted over.

‘Der ees a woman to see you. I sind er down,’ she said, before re-directing her attention to Steve who was loitering behind the bar.

While I waited, I wondered what exactly it was that Nick thought he liked about me. Had my GHD’d hair triggered neuronal connections linked to images of super-sexy models in marketing campaigns? Or maybe he’d received a string of subliminal messages from the media which programmed him to be especially responsive to navy blue. Or was it more instinctual? My waist to hip ratio? The distance between my eyes? The width of my smile? Maybe, it was Freudian and I reminded him of his mother. Or perhaps it was my smell, an unconscious indication that our immune systems were compatible.

It couldn’t really be my personality. He hadn’t felt the full force of that yet. So it had to be something else. There were plenty of other girls he could have chosen. And I hadn’t exactly been receptive. Maybe he just liked a challenge or had some masochistic urge to be punished. But, whatever the reason was, I decided it was unlikely to be more than a string of assumptions extrapolated from first impressions and resolved to regard it with caution.

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.