Match Me If You Can

Instead of answering, Sissy brushed the fine blonde hair from her face so it didn’t interrupt her snack.

She wasn’t sly by nature, but if she got the tiniest inkling that Sarah might get upset she’d avoid her questions.

‘Same as me,’ she finally said.

At least he wasn’t some old perv, Sarah thought. Though he could still be a young one.

‘Do you and your boyfriend do fun things together?’

‘We paint and watch telly and hold hands.’

Sarah needed to talk to Kelly about this. A shared interest in EastEnders was one thing, as long as they weren’t shagging during the advert breaks.

It was probably the single biggest worry they had about Sissy. Her trusting nature was to be expected when she was little. Now that she was sixteen it could be dangerous.

As if sexual politics weren’t hard enough without Down’s syndrome.

‘Why don’t you have a boyfriend?’ Sissy asked, staring at her.

‘Do I need one?’

Evasion. It ran in the family.

‘It’s nice having one,’ she said. ‘You could bake him cupcakes.’

‘But I bake you cupcakes. Would you be happy sharing them with my boyfriend?’

Sissy thought about this for a minute. ‘You’d have to bake extra for him.’

Before Sarah left she sought out Kelly again to talk about her sister’s budding romance.

‘I know it’s hard, Sarah, but she’s growing up.’ The way Kelly said this made Sarah want to crawl into her lap for a cuddle. She had that kind of friendly authority. ‘Nature is making changes and it’s normal for her to want to explore these. She’s done really well so far when it’s come to her maturing body, right?’

Sarah nodded. She’d been the one who freaked out about Sissy’s first period. Her sister was fine with it.

‘We’re talking to her about sex and the feelings she’s starting to have,’ Kelly continued.

‘I understand that, but she’s got a mental age of nine. How can she understand what those changes mean, or how she’s supposed to handle them?’

Kelly squeezed her hand.

Just five minutes in her lap and Sarah was sure she’d feel better.

‘We help her understand things the same way we would a nine-year-old,’ she answered. ‘With a lot of clear explanation in an environment where she’s encouraged to ask questions and get honest answers. The boy she’s been spending time with is sixteen too. We keep a close eye on them and, as you know, we talk regularly to everyone here about expressing their feelings in an appropriate way.’

‘But you can’t stop hormones,’ Sarah pointed out, remembering her own teenage years. She may not have had sex till well into university but that hadn’t stopped her thinking about it a lot.

Kelly smiled. ‘I promise we’re keeping a close eye on them. And it’s good for her to have companionship. Everybody has intimacy needs. It can be unhealthy if they’re not expressed. See you on Thursday?’

‘Yep, Thursday.’

If her sixteen-year-old sister had a boyfriend, maybe she did need to think a bit more about RecycLove.

Chapter Four

Catherine

Catherine did a double take when she saw her next client. Was the universe just messing with her? After everything these past few weeks, it had to be having a laugh.

Struggling to keep her composure, she said, ‘Mr Larson? I’m Catherine. Please come through.’

But the universe didn’t answer. And when her client did, it was in a broad Australian accent.

‘Aw Catherine, don’t be so formal. You can call me Paul. Pleasure to meet ya.’

With just a glance she took in every detail, from his long legs to his shortish, nearly ginger hair and very ginger stubble, from his blue eyes to the quick smile he flashed as he sat in the wingback chair opposite her desk.

The man was the spitting image of Richard. Same aquiline nose, same strong jaw, same full lips and the kind of skin that burst into freckles at the sun’s first rays.

But he wasn’t Richard. He was definitely Paul. Australian Paul who just happened to look like her ex-husband and wanted her help finding the love of his life. She forced herself to stop staring and do her job.

‘So, Paul, I wanted us to meet so that I can get a good idea about you, your likes and dislikes and what you’re looking for in a partner. And I’d like you to feel free to ask me anything at all.’

He glanced around her office. ‘How’d you end up in this line of work?’

‘Oh, well.’ She hadn’t meant for him to ask personal questions. ‘It wasn’t a conscious plan at first. I worked for another introduction service when I first returned from the US. I simply answered her advert.’

‘Why were you in the US?’

Catherine felt her control of the interview slipping away. ‘I went with my husband when he took a job there. Now, if it’s all right, I’d like to talk a bit about you. Maybe you could start by telling me about your dating history?’

‘Straight in there, eh?’ he said.

Yeah, how’s that feel? Catherine thought. She waited for him to answer.

‘All of it?’

‘You can give me the highlights if you’d prefer.’

He scratched his stubble. ‘I wouldn’t call them highlights. I’ve gone out with a few women for a while. Mostly I just date.’

‘How long is a while?’

‘About twice as long as I should have, according to them.’

Her fingers flew over her keyboard, recording every word he said.

Issues? she typed after his last comment. Her eyes never left his. It was a skill she’d learned from her mentor when she first started in the business. Don’t break eye contact with the client. The longer you held their gaze the deeper they’d dig to offer up an honest appraisal of themselves, unearthing their habits and quirks in the process. Those golden nuggets of information were what made her so successful in finding love for them.

‘Have you ever been in love?’ she asked.

Jokey Paul disappeared. Aha, she thought, there’s the nugget. ‘Tell me about her.’

‘We went out in Oz,’ he said. ‘We were just kids, at school together. Anabelle. Her name was Anabelle.’

‘And it ended because …?’

He shrugged. ‘Nothing dramatic. She moved away, that’s all, to Cairns where her mum got a good job. She was a biotech chemist. Her mum, I mean.’

‘You didn’t keep in touch?’

‘For a while, but it was pointless. I couldn’t go there and she wasn’t coming back. So that was it. Does that mean I peaked romantically at sixteen?’

‘I don’t think so,’ she said, matching his smile. ‘There are a lot of women in London.’ Though competing with young Anabelle, perfectly preserved in Paul’s memory, wouldn’t be easy. Catherine ran across that problem quite a lot, actually. The One That Got Away Syndrome. She’d bet anything that Paul dated women younger than him, and got bored when the novelty wore off.

But aside from Anabelle he didn’t seem to have any serious hang-ups. She felt like she could work with him.

‘So you’re in banking,’ she said, consulting her initial telephone notes, ‘as head of Investment Operations. Is that interesting?’

‘S’pose it’s all right.’ He sounded like a grumpy teen.

‘Tell me about it.’

‘There’s not much to tell, really. It’s just a job.’

He wasn’t rude about it, or bitter. Just … meh. As they talked more about his likes and interests, she had a hard time finding anything to raise him above the thousands of other good-looking, solvent men in London. He’d have to be better than this if he wanted to measure up. Yet she felt he did have something.

‘Why are you thinking about using a relationship consultant now?’ she asked.

‘Is that a polite way of asking if I think I need to?’ He smiled. ‘Nah, it’s not that hard to meet women. Waving your Platinum Amex in the right bars is like chumming the water.’

Catherine felt herself bristle. ‘The women are the bait?’

‘No, the money’s the bait. The women are the sharks. That was fun when I first moved to London but it gets old after a while.’

So she was right about him. ‘What are you looking for now?’

He paused. ‘Quality, I s’pose. Someone who’s got everything I’m looking for and is really together, you know? She’s comfortable in her own skin and knows what she wants and doesn’t need to play games. But I don’t seem to attract that kind of woman.’

‘Why not, do you think?’ Catherine had to tread carefully here. She wasn’t in the business of making people feel bad, but she also didn’t want to over-promise.

He laughed. ‘I guess I’m too rough around the edges for them. They’re used to blokes who know their wines and which fork to use and all that bullshit. I’m just a hick from Queensland who wants to enjoy myself.’

‘Are those other things important, do you think?’

When he sighed, Catherine caught another glimpse of the man beneath the Amex card.

‘I’m starting to think they are,’ he said.

She wanted to disagree with him, but it was true. The women she looked after did expect a certain amount of finesse in their dates. Not that it was the most important thing. It was all just packaging, really.

One of the most important parts of her job was figuring out which of their services would give the client the best chance of finding love. RecycLove was for the people who liked the idea of choosing loads of dates to go out with. It sounded like Paul had had enough of that. The proper matchmaking service, Love Match, was best for would-be romancers who treated dates like they did dental appointments – an inconvenient necessity. She didn’t mind these clients who expected her to find a lover to match their requirements. But there was a third, rarer type of client who most interested her.

They were the diamonds in the rough.

The work she did with them didn’t have an official name. She didn’t advertise it and not even Richard knew much about the details.

People did come to her though, when they heard from former clients about how Catherine was able to mould people into the perfect romantic prospect.

She only had time to take on a few of these clients, so she was very picky. As she listened to Paul, her excitement started to fizz. He seemed to have all the important qualities women looked for. Already she could see that a few tweaks here and there would make a big difference to his chances of finding the woman he wanted. Maybe all he needed was a good polish.

Could she do it? Could she improve him?

She realised she’d gone quiet when she noticed him studying her. ‘Well, if you don’t feel that you’ve got some of the superficial attributes that your dates look for, I might be able to help you make a few changes.’

She always felt nervous when she pitched like this. She really wanted him to say yes.

‘Do I need more kerb appeal?’

She could tell he was teasing her. ‘Probably just small things, to help you stand out and meet more of our clients’ requirements.’

‘So this is a makeover, like one of those DIY programmes where they fill the house with purple velvet and candles?’

‘Of course not. Purple velvet clashes with your eyes.’ She smiled at her own joke. ‘But I could assess you and give you some guidance if you’d like.’

He stretched his legs out in front of him. ‘And this is all part of the package deal? Do you really think it’ll help?’

‘It can’t hurt,’ Catherine said.

‘Thanks for that blinding vote of confidence. I’ve got nothing to lose then. Where do I sign?’

As Catherine prepared the contracts, she had to wonder whether this was a good idea.

Yes, he did remind her of Richard … Richard in the early days before they both got so serious about life.

Of course, they hadn’t been serious back then. They’d been only kids, really, when they met. Richard had talked to her first, on the first day of class as they’d crowded into their second year economics lecture at uni. Well, he’d smiled first anyway. Knowing her, she’d done most of the talking. What had started with shared jokes in class soon expanded to shared notes and study dates around exam time. So far so platonic.

Then they ran into each other at a party that some of the third years were throwing. Pressed together by their dancing classmates, heat and alcohol threw their friendship into a sexy new light. At least they did for Catherine. It took Richard a few weeks to catch up, but once he did they spent as much time together out of their clothes as they did in them.

Catherine did start wondering after a while whether there was more to Richard-and-Catherine than shared class notes and drunken fumbling. There was something about him. It wasn’t his looks – pale gingers were an acquired taste. But he was comfortable in his own skin, when most of the other boys covered up their self-consciousness with twattishness.

But she wasn’t about to spook him with any declarations. She’d done that to a boy once before, in school. He’d never spoken to her again. This time she planned to make a tentative query about their future that she could totally backtrack on if she needed to.

When he arrived for dinner with a bottle of wine, she kissed him hello like she always did when they were alone (rarely in public though).

‘Did you get me over here on false pretences?’ he asked, nuzzling her neck.

Had he guessed what she was planning?

‘If so, I totally approve,’ he said. ‘But I’ll need to have a snack before we …’

She laughed with relief. ‘No, dinner is in the oven.’ She untangled herself from his arms. ‘Wine?’

If he was disappointed that there’d be no naked starter he didn’t show it. That was the thing about Richard. He took everything in his stride. Their evening was as relaxed as usual, until they finished their meal.

‘I was wondering about something,’ she said.

Richard’s expression turned serious. She nearly chickened out then and asked if he wanted to watch a film instead of what she really wanted to know.

‘Have you lured me into some kind of relationship?’ she asked. Yes, a joke. That was good. It didn’t sound so threatening.

Her heart hammered as she twirled her wine glass by the stem, trying to look like she didn’t care too much about the answer.

‘You may have lured me,’ he said. ‘But I think we are. Aren’t we?’

Relief flooded through her. ‘I think so too. I just wondered because we didn’t start out in the usual way.’

‘What’s the usual way?’

‘You know. Dates and romance and all that.’

He laughed. ‘That’s never really been my thing.’

‘Nor mine. Relaxed and casual is much better.’

It was the first little lie of many.

So, relaxed and casual was how their relationship progressed until graduation. Neither asked the other to join holidays or family visits. They just rubbed along together, with Richard in her life but not part of it. She told him that was fine. Usually she believed it herself.

Besides, she wasn’t anxious to have her heart handed to her in pieces again. She did love Richard and she thought he probably loved her. It was enough to be best friends with her boyfriend. It was fun, relaxed and, above all, safe.

But soon their diplomas would be in hand. Decisions had to be made. Coming from England’s commuter belt, Catherine grew up dreaming of a career in London. Richard preferred Manchester and started applying for jobs there.

They were about to be geographically unsuitable and she didn’t fancy a long-distance relationship. But she didn’t want to call quits on it either. So she quietly applied for positions in Manchester too. When she got an offer before Richard, it looked a bit like he was following her. She liked that.

But when he was offered the job in the US a few years later, there was no way for Catherine to move there and make it look like an accident.

Chapter Five

Rachel

Rachel inspected James’s office from the doorway. How did he get any work done in such a tip? It looked like an overfull recycling bag had exploded on the floor. Magazines, hardback books and plans were piled everywhere, weighed down with coffee-stained mugs. He didn’t even bother putting his files on the shelves the right way around – they were shoved in there on their sides.

Scientists could grow disease cultures on his desk.

She felt her lips pinching with disapproval. It was a signature move inherited from her mum. Ordered space, ordered mind; that was her motto. Rachel had inherited that too.

He was hunched over, sketching furiously. She could see the red pen in his hand. That meant he was working on interior walls. He was as obsessive about his colour-coded pens as they all were.

‘James? Want to try the new sushi place with me?’

Light and breezy, that’s what she was aiming for. No ulterior motives here.

He glanced up from his tracing paper. ‘Thanks, I would but I’m kind of busy right now.’

‘Come on. I’d rather eat in and you know I hate sitting by myself.’

He didn’t look up again. ‘Why don’t you ask Alison or Beth?’

Creeping across the litter-strewn floor, Rachel hovered over his shoulder. The sketch was good. ‘I’ll buy.’

He threw himself over the paper like she was trying to copy his exam answers. ‘Could you get me takeaway if you’re going? You know what I like.’

‘Come with me.’

His head snapped up. ‘What’s up, Rachel?’

Damn.

‘Nothing’s up. Can’t a friend buy another friend lunch?’

He sighed, putting the cap on his Sharpie. ‘How long have we known each other?’

‘Around five years, I think.’

Five years in January, actually, plus extra credit time for the year they went out.

‘And after that long don’t you think I can tell when you’re up to something?’

‘You’re no fun to try to manipulate, do you know that?’

She pushed the rolls of tracing paper off his extra chair so she could sit. She’d hoped to do this over maki rolls.

‘James.’

‘Yes, Rachel.’

She didn’t expect him to make it easy for her. ‘Do you feel like you’re getting everything you want, romantically, from your life? Because I don’t.’

She felt too wooden, rehearsed, but she had to push on.

‘I keep going out with these guys I meet, and they keep disappointing me. If they don’t just want sex then they’re too clingy. If they’re not too clingy they’re emotionally unavailable. If not that then they have a girlfriend already. I’m so sick of it all.’

He nodded. ‘Uh huh, I see. Just so I know, Rach, are you just telling me about your dates or is there a question in here somewhere?’

‘There’s a question.’

‘Then can we please …’ He made a winding-up motion with his finger. ‘Make this as painless as possible?’

‘You don’t want any background at all?’

‘Well, you’ve already told me about the bloke who wanted to wee on you.’ He pulled a face.

Rachel sighed. ‘Exactly my point. I can’t keep meeting random guys in pubs. I need a more structured approach if I’m going to meet anyone worthwhile. I’m joining Catherine’s website.’

‘Fine, good for you.’

‘You know, James, this is exactly why we broke up!’

‘Why, Rachel? What do you want me to say? That I’m thrilled you’re joining a website to meet guys? Maybe I don’t really want to listen to you talk about the shitty men in your life.’

‘No! Because you’re totally dismissive. Not to mention that you’re an absolute pig,’ she added, looking again around the office. ‘I’m asking for your help.’

‘Calling me a pig isn’t really making me warm to your request, you know.’

She shrugged. ‘I had other words in mind, so I was actually being kind.’

He smiled. ‘Tell me what you need, Rach.’

Her tummy churned at the way he said this. It was easier being his friend when he wasn’t being tender.

‘I can’t join unless I bring an ex with me. It’s really simple. We sign up and give each other feedback about what we were like in the relationship. You know, an assessment about what we did right and wrong.’

He rubbed his chin. ‘Do I really want to know what you think is wrong with me?’

‘But you’ll get to do it to me too. Just imagine, James. You can outline every single one of my flaws and I’ll have to sit there and take it. Besides, nobody else sees the assessment. Only us. Then I write an endorsement telling women why they should go out with you.’

‘Hmm, that’s interesting.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘Tell me more.’

‘That’s it, really. Once we’re on the website we can go out with whomever we want to.’

‘No, I mean tell me more about why women should go out with me. You’ll throw me this tiny bone, won’t you? It might be the only ego stroke I get this year. Come on, Rach, tell me, tell me. Is it my hair? It’s my hair, isn’t it?’ He flicked his head and pursed his lips.

She laughed. James was many things – cheapskate, workaholic, smart-arse – but he wasn’t conceited. He never minded making a fool of himself to make her laugh. ‘Yeah, I guess you have good hair.’ It was a thick dark mop, long and shaggy. He wore it side-combed over his forehead like they did in the boy bands. ‘And you’re not too short. That would be a plus for women who aren’t very tall.’

They were nearly the same height when she wore her high heels and, though he wasn’t classically handsome, his regular features were a decent backdrop for the most startling blue eyes she’d ever seen. His mouth was perhaps a bit too small, but it suited his narrow chin which, in turn, suited his slender frame. His personality would attract women as much as his looks.

Of course, he’d rather hear that he was devastatingly god-like handsome.

‘Will you do it?’ she asked. ‘Will you join with me? I have to bring someone with me.’

‘Are you saying you need me?’

‘Yes, James,’ she muttered. ‘I need you.’

Thank God that was no longer really true. A few years ago it would have been.

‘And all I have to do is fill in a few forms and you’ll let me go back to work? I can do that. Wait, this doesn’t mean the sushi offer is off, does it?’

‘I’ll still get your sushi, James.’

‘Cool. Extra wasabi please.’

Rachel beamed all the way to the restaurant. That wasn’t as hard as it could have been.

The house was empty after work when she unlocked both deadbolts and the door lock to let herself in. They weren’t paranoid, fortressing themselves in like this. When they’d first come to look at the house, the door had been patched at the bottom where someone had kicked through it. One of the first things they’d bought was a solid replacement. The little buggers would break bones now if they tried forcing their way in.

Even with the risk of burglary, Rachel loved their house. Back when it was built, Victorian families needed lots of rooms. Clapton wasn’t overrun by Poundlands and chicken shops then.

There were little traces of those more affluent days left – ornate cornicing and plaster roses on some of the ceilings, tall sash windows and wide-beam oak floors. But cheap dividing walls scarred the floors where they’d been put up in haste and disintegrated at leisure. Big holes and cracks pockmarked the plaster. Wires and pipes ran in the shortest distance between two points. Basically, they lived in a semi-derelict building site.

But that’s what they’d signed up for when they bought the house. None of them could afford their own flat in the area. It might be dirty and dangerous but property prices there were rising faster than Jude Law’s hairline. So they bought something together that could eventually be subdivided. One day, when the time came, they’d each have their own flat. Till then they added a working fridge and settled into the original shabby chic decor. Pictures hung on wires straight from the mouldings. Those covered up the damp-stained walls, and threadbare rugs were strewn over the scratched and splintery floors. They’d scavenged through the charity shops to find velvet sofas and reading chairs to fill the cavernous sitting room.