Margaret Wilkins felt a twinge in her chest and decided to call for a doctor. Not that she was terribly unwell, but she desperately needed someone to talk to.
The doctor who arrived was newyoung, slender, with tear-streaked eyes. A long cucumber poked out of her bag.
«Come in,» Margaret invited, ushering her inside. The doctor hesitated, left the bag with the cucumber in the hallway, removed her boots, and stepped into the living room.
Margaret had never seen a doctor take off their shoes in a patients home before, and the gesture instantly warmed her to the young woman.
«Is it your heart?» the doctor asked softly, sitting beside the bed where Margaret had settled.
«Yes, the wretched thing,» Margaret confirmed. «Thumping awaysometimes in my heels, sometimes in my knees, even in my ears. And other places Id be embarrassed to mention.»
The doctor frowned, her thin fingers adjusting the stethoscope as she listened to Margarets chest and back.
«My knees,» Margaret hinted. «Theyre thumping something awfulmaybe have a listen there?»
The doctor shook her head firmly: knees were not part of the examination.
«Arrhythmia,» she announcedthen suddenly burst into violent sobs.
«Is it that bad?» Margaret gasped, her pulse now racing like a jackhammer.
«Not youme!» the doctor wailed. «Youll be fine with some pills, but II»
Margaret perked up immediately. A chance to chat was just what she neededher heart settled at once.
«Did your husband upset you?» Margaret asked briskly, tightening her dressing gown.
«I dont have a husband!» the doctor cried harder. «Thats the whole problem!»
«Ah, so your boyfriend left you,» Margaret deduced.
«Ill write you a prescription,» the doctor sniffed, wiping her face with her sleeve and pulling out a crumpled form.
«Never mind the pills,» Margaret cut in. «Come to the kitchen. Lets have tea.»
«Im on duty,» the doctor protested, scribbling something illegible.
«So am I,» Margaret retorted, marching off to brew some chamomile.
The doctor trailed into the kitchen, miserable, still clutching the stethoscopenow plugged into her ears.
«Take that silly thing out!» Margaret scolded, setting out jam, biscuits, and chocolate-covered marshmallows.
The doctor yanked the stethoscope free and burst into tears again.
Margaret finally took a proper look at herjust a girl, really. Freckled nose, chapped hands, eyes full of despair.
«Out with it,» Margaret commanded, sitting down with satisfaction.
«I wrote you a prescription,» the girl sobbed. «Very st-strong!»
«I dont need pills. I need to know why youre crying!»
«Allergies,» the girl lied unconvincingly, sipping the too-hot tea.
Margaret glanced at the thermometer outside. «Bit late for that, love. Its springten degrees out there!»
«Late?!» The doctor burst into fresh tears. «Finenerves, then!»
She shoved an entire marshmallow into her mouth.
Seizing her chance, Margaret blurted, «Youre crying because your bloke left you for someone else. Right?»
«Riiight!» the girl nodded, marshmallow squashing in her cheeks, tears plopping into her tea.
Margaret grinned at her own brilliance. «And this *someone else*was it your best friend?»
«My sistew!»
«Your *sister*?!» Margaret clutched her chestthough her heart beat steady, eager for the drama.
«Stepsister,» the girl sniffed, gulping tea salted with her own tears. «But close enough.» She pressed the stethoscope to her own chest, then yanked it out. «Ive got arrhythmia too. Got any valerian?»
«Of course!»
Margaret fetched her secret tinctureknown only to her, her grandmother, and a shaman from Yorkshire. It loosened tongues, lifted spirits, and made women *desperate* to marry.
She poured the doctor a shot.
The girl drank, brightened, and spilled everything:
«I loved Pete. Pete loved me. Three years of pure devotion! He was writing his thesis, waiting for a grad-school flatthen wed marry, have kids, buy furniture, lease a car. He studies nuclear fusion. No metal withstands his testsexcept tungsten. But even *that* failed. If it hadnt, hed have his degree by now!»
She gulped more tea. «We went to cinemas, kissed in stairwells, sat in cafésall normal. I treated patients; he hunted for fusion-proof metals. Thenbam!my stepsister shows up. *Beautiful*. Trained at a performing arts school. Pete took one look and forgot fusioneven tungsten! Started babbling about singing like Sam Smith.»
She wiped her nose. «Lena liked that he was writing a thesis. She dropped out, moved here, latched onto his nuclear future. I *shouldve* fought for him, for our flat, our sofa, our leased carbut I was always on call!»
She sniffed. «Yesterday, Pete proposed to her. She said yes. I nearly hanged myself. As physicists sayI almost suffered catastrophic plasma containment failure!»
Margaret rubbed her hands, fetched her laptop.
«Oh!» The doctor gasped. «Youre tech-savvy for your age!»
«Well find you a husband!» Margaret clicked away like a hacker.
«No, please!» The girl leapt up. «Online dating isnt for me!»
«Loves lovehowever you find it.» Margaret squinted. «Here: 42, divorced, no kids, works in a bank, loves travel, cheese pasties, and dogs.»
«Let him love dogs alone! I hate them! Cant bake, hate travelling, and 42? Hes practically retired!»
Margaret huffed. «Fine. Next: 33, single, corporate manager, loves brunettes, blondes, redheads. Hobby: sex. Tired of flings, wants one steady, *varied* partner.» She snorted. «No, skip him.»
«Are you a *matchmaker*?» the doctor gasped.
«Professional. Two weeks without clientsthats why my hearts acting up. Global crisis. People wont commit, even ditch mistresses to save money. Then *you* appearheartbroken, arrhythmic, allergic, stethoscope in ears! Heaven-sent!»
«My names Mary. Well, Marianne.»
«Mary-Marianne, you *must* wash that physicist from your hair!» Margaret typed furiously. «Aha! Here: favourite nameMarianne. Must be tall, modelesque, blue-eyed, dimpled. Ugh, nodimples? Ridiculous. Next! 25! Lives in London! Millionaires son! Villa, yacht! Handsome!»
The girl peeked. «Ugh! He looks like a gorilla!»
«But hes rich! Villa! Yacht! Handsome! Better than scraping metal in a lab!»
«I dont *want* a millionaires son! If daddy croaks, gorillall mooch off me! And I dont even know Londonhowll I work there?»
Margaret glared. «Never had such a picky client. Millionaires usually get snatched up!»
Flushing, the girl poured more tincture, gulped it, and declared:
«Let *me* choose.»
«Thats *my* job.»
«Please? Youre great at tea and chatterbut *Ill* pick my man.»
Grumbling, Margaret handed over the laptop.
Minutes later, the girl jabbed the screen. «Him! Perfect!»
«*Him?!*» Margaret gaped. «Thats a joke profile! For laughs!»
«Nohes ideal! 30, single, reindeer herder. Names Mike.»
«A *herder*?! Hes a *Sami*! Lives in the Arctic!»
«Exactly! Arctic or nothing.»
Margaret sighed, grabbed her shawl and slippers.
«Where are you going?» Mary-Marianne blinked.
«To fetch your herder.»
«The *Arctic*?!»
«Nonext door. Hes my neighbour!»
«Wait, I was joking!» The girl lunged for her cucumber-filled bag.
But Margaret locked her in and returned ten minutes later with Mike, champagne, and flowers.
The doctor was weeping by the window, stethoscope pressed to her chest.
«Mike,» he introduced himselfand handed her a Sami-cut diamond.
«Mary. Well, Mouse. Whatever,» she mumbled, inspecting the gem.
«Mouse,» he grinned. «I like white mice.»
«I cant accept this,» she saidpocketing it.
«Take it! Ive more.»
Margaret slipped out, sensing romance. Outside, she eavesdroppedlaughter, clinking glasses.
Of course. Mike fixed unfixable things, healed unhealable ills, and predicted economies. A heartbroken doctor? Easy.
She smiled, crossed herself at the merry window, and joined neighbour Agnes walking her corgi.
Finallysomeone to gossip with!
Days later, Mary-Marianne called.
«Hows your heart, Margaret?»
«Fine. And your herder?»
«Pete begged me back. Said he found the *one* metal that withstands fusion*himself*. Claims he never loved Lenaonly me!»
Margarets pulse spiked. So *thats* why Mike vanished!
«But I told Pete to shove his fusion. Mike and I move to Lapland next month!»
«*Lapland?!* Its freezing!»
«Its *hot*,» she giggled. «Youve no idea!»
«I offered you *London*.»
«Londons for the dull and grey. Whats your fee?»
«A few tiny Sami,» Margaret laughed. «A few tiny Sami,» Margaret laughed. «And a jar of that valerianyoull need it for the long winter nights.»
The line buzzed, then a whisper: «Were naming our first calf after you.»
Margaret pressed the phone to her chest, smiling as the wind chattered through the icy pines next door.
Inside, her kettle sang, and the shamans tincture glowed faintly on the shelfalready, a new client waited in the wings.
