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 since 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.
‘Hello, Lola, it’s Dr Will here,’ he says seriously. ‘I have your test results.’
It’s strange, hearing him call himself Dr Will, when I’ve been calling him that in my head. It’s even stranger that he has results for a test I didn’t know I’d had. My heart is in my mouth.
‘Oh?’
‘Yes, it turns out, you need to have dinner with me tonight,’ he says, in the same serious doctor tone.
My God, he’s smooth.
‘Oh do I now?’ I ask.
‘You do,’ he replies. ‘I have a very specific treatment plan for you. It’s going to take just the right prescription. So, if you’d like to come over to my house for dinner, I can pick you up, feed you, return you home safe …’
I hesitate for a moment.
‘Trust me, I’m a doctor,’ he adds playfully.
‘OK, sure,’ I reply. ‘That would be wonderful.’
Well, it will do me good to get out of the house, and hang out with an adult, and, come on, it’s Will. I can’t deny that I have a crush on him, a crush that is slowly but surely creeping in.
As soon as I’m off the phone I decide I can put off cancelling my trip until tomorrow, because now I need to get ready for tonight. I’ve got a hot date with a doctor, and I need to look my best.