The Matchmaker
Martha Wilsons heart had been troubling her, so she called for the doctor to come round. It wasnt that she felt truly poorlyjust that she had no one to talk to.
The doctor was new, someone Martha had never seen beforeyoung, slender, with tear-stained eyes. Sticking out of her bag was a long cucumber.
«Do come in,» Martha invited her inside.
Flustered, the doctor left the bag with the cucumber in the hallway, took off her boots, and followed Martha into the parlour. Martha had never known a doctor to remove their shoes in a patients home, and she instantly took a liking to the young woman, sensing a kindred spirit.
«Your heart?» the doctor asked gently, perching on the edge of the bed where Martha had reclined.
«Thats the one,» Martha confirmed. «Keeps thumping away. In my heels one minute, my knees the next, then my earsand sometimes, well, places Id rather not mention.»
The doctor frowned, her plucked eyebrows knitting together as she pressed her stethoscope to Marthas back and chest, her upturned nose wrinkling in concentration.
«My knees,» Martha prompted. «Theyve been thumping something fiercemight as well listen there too.»
The doctor shook her head firmlyknees were clearly beyond her professional interest.
«Arrhythmia,» she declaredthen burst into such violent sobs that Martha clutched her chest in alarm.
«Is it that bad?» Martha gasped, her heart now hammering like a pneumatic drill.
«Not yoursmine!» the doctor wailed. «Youll take some pills and be right as rain, but meoh, me…»
And just like that, Martha brightened. Here was a conversation at last, and her heart settled back into its usual rhythm.
«Husband trouble?» Martha asked briskly, fastening her dress.
«I havent got one!» The doctor sobbed harder. «Thats the whole problem!»
«Ah, a boyfriend then. Hes left you?»
«Ill write you a prescription,» the doctor sniffed, wiping her face with her sleeve and fishing a crumpled prescription pad from her pocket.
«Oh, never mind the pills,» Martha waved her off. «Come to the kitchen. Lets have tea.»
«Im on duty,» the doctor hiccuped, scribbling something illegible.
«So am I,» Martha said firmly, marching off to brew some chamomile.
The doctor trailed after her, miserable as a wet weekend, stethoscope still dangling from her ears.
«Take that thing out!» Martha scolded, setting out jam, biscuits, and chocolate-covered marshmallows.
The doctor yanked the stethoscope freeand promptly dissolved into tears again.
Only now did Martha see how very young she was. Freckles dotted her nose, her hands were chapped, and her eyes held the weight of the world.
«Well, out with it,» Martha commanded, settling in with relish.
«Ive written you some tablets,» the girl in the white coat wailed. «Very good ones!»
«Dont need em. Tell me why youre crying instead.»
«Allergies,» the girl lied unconvincingly, blowing on her scalding tea.
Martha stood and checked the thermometer outside.
«Bit late for that, love. Its springten degrees out there!»
«Late?!» The girl burst into fresh tears. «Then it must be nerves!»
She stuffed an entire marshmallow into her mouth.
Seizing the moment, Martha pounced.
«My turn to diagnose. Youre crying because your chaps gone off with another girl, am I right?»
«Mmm-hmm!» The doctor nodded furiously, marshmallow squishing between her teeth.
«And this other girlshe wouldnt happen to be your friend?»
«Sister!» The doctor swallowed half the marshmallow and inexplicably plugged her ears again.
«Your own sister?!» Martha gasped, clutching her heart (which, to its credit, beat steadily in anticipation of the drama).
«Stepsister,» the doctor sniffed, sipping tear-streaked tea. «But close enough.» She listened to her own heart through the stethoscope, then pulled it out.
«Ive got arrhythmia too,» she announced mournfully. «Have you got any valerian?»
«I have!» Martha sprang up and fetched a tincture whose recipe was known only to her, her grandmother, and a particularly wise old herbalist. It loosened tongues, lifted spirits, and gave one a powerful urge to marry.
She poured the doctor a shot.
The girl downed it without complaint, her face clearing as she spilled her story unprompted.
«I loved Peter, Peter loved methree years we were devoted! He was finishing his thesis, meant to get a flat after, then wed marry. Have babies, buy furniture, take a car on finance. Peter studies nuclear fusionno metal can withstand his experiments! His last hope was tungsten, but even that failed… If it hadnt, hed have his doctorate by now. We were happycinema dates, kisses in doorways, coffee shops… I treated patients between shifts, he hunted for metals that could survive his fusion. Thenout of nowheremy baby sister turns up. A beauty! Trained at music college. Peter took one look and forgot all about fusion. Started babbling he could sing like Ed Sheeran. I knew then. Love at first sightreckless, blinding. My sister fancied him for his prospects, dropped out and moved in under his nuclear-fusion wing. I ought to have fought for him, for our futurebut I was always on call…»
She took a shuddering breath. «Yesterday, Peter proposed to her. She said yes. I nearly hanged myself. Or as physicists sayI nearly collapsed the vacuum chamber under heavy plasma. Now Im the spare wheel in this nuclear boy band.»
She jammed the stethoscope back in her ears and mechanically ate all the raspberry jam.
Martha rubbed her hands and fetched her laptop.
«Blimey!» The doctor gaped at the gadget. «Whats that for?»
«Finding you a husband!» Martha pulled on her glasses and clicked away like a seasoned hacker.
«Oh noplease!» The doctor shot up. «I dont need computer-set matches!»
«Doesnt matter how you find him, long as you do,» Martha muttered, squinting at the screen. «Hereforty-two, divorced, banker, likes travel, sausage rolls, and dogs.»
«Let him keep the dogs! Im terrified of them. Cant bake, hate travelling. And forty-two? Hes practically a pensioner!»
«Next then,» Martha agreed. «Thirty-three, single, corporate manager. Likes brunettes, blondes, redheads. Hobby: sex. Tired of flings, wants one steady partner. Not your type, I suppose.»
«Are you a matchmaker?» the doctor demanded. «Where dyou even get these men?»
«That I am,» Martha said proudly. «Professional. Been out of work two weeksthats why my hearts playing up. Global crisis. Folk wont marry, wont commit. Even dumping mistresses to save money! Then you turn upheartbroken, arrhythmic, allergic, stethoscope in earslike a gift from heaven!»
«Listen, I dont need»
«Whats your name?»
«Mary. Well, Marina.»
«Mary-Marina, you must teach that daft physicist a lesson!» Martha clicked faster. «Aha! Here we are. Favourite name: Marina. Must be tall, models figure, blue eyes, dimples. No, we dont want that prat. Heretwenty-five! Lives in London! Millionaires son! Own townhouse and yacht! Handsome!»
The doctor peeked at the screen.
«Ugh! He looks like a gorilla!»
«Hes rich!» Martha huffed. «Townhouse! Yacht! London! Beats mucking about with fusion!»
«I dont want a millionaires son,» the girl said stubbornly. «His dad croaks, then Im stuck with this ape! And I dont even know Londonhow would I work there?»
Martha peered over her glasses.
«Never had such a fussy client. Most claw at millionaires!»
The doctor pinkened, poured herself another shot of the tincture, and proposed:
«Can I pick my own?»
«Not how its done,» Martha frowned. «This is my job.»
«Go on,» the doctor grinned. «Your jobs tea and chatter. Let me choose.»
She took the laptop.
Never had Martha met such a wilful client. Never had a doctor wept so freely in her kitchen.
Five minutes later: «Him!» She stabbed the screen.
«Have you gone mad?» Martha gasped. «Thats a joke profile!»
«No, hes perfect!» the doctor insisted. «Thirty, single, reindeer herder. Names Michael.»
«Reindeer herder?! Hes Sami! Lives in Lapland!»
«Exactly,» the doctor said smugly. «Lapland or nothing.»
«Mary-Marina,» Martha sighed, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders and slipping on her slippers.
«Where are you going?»
«To fetch your reindeer herder.»
«Lapland?!»
«He lives next door.»
«The millionaires sonyour neighbour too?»
«No, my friends. She lives in London.»
«Wait! I was joking!» the doctor yelped, grabbing her cucumber bag.
But Martha was already out, locking her in.
«Help!»
«Helps coming,» Martha called back.
Ten minutes later, she returned with Michael, flowers, and champagne.
The doctor was weeping by the window, listening to her own heartbeat.
«Michael,» the herder introduced himselfand handed her a Sami diamond.
«Marinawell, Mary. Or mouse. Whichever,» the doctor said, blushing as she examined it.
«Mouse,» Michael mumbled. «I like white mice.»
«I cant accept this.»
«Dont argue,» Martha cut in. «Hes got more.»
She left discreetly. From the hall, she heard laughter, clinking glasses.
Outside, she found old Dorothy from upstairs walking her corgi.
At lastsomeone to gossip with!
«Michaels not the bachelor we thought! And the doctors fiancé jilted her! He gave her a diamond! Shes smitten!»
Dorothy gasped, fishing out roasted peanuts.
Martha regaled her with the nuclear fusion saga, the millionaires son, the doctors stubbornness.
Dorothy nodded, spitting shells into a newspaper cone.
«Now theyre drinking champagne.»
«Not anymore,» Dorothy said, nodding at Marthas window. «Theyre jumping out.»
«Oh! I locked them in!» Martha yelped.
«Stay put,» Dorothy chuckled. «Lookslipping through the window bars. Skinny things!»
The doctor wriggled free, cucumber bag in hand.
«Come on, Michael! Its not high!»
He slid down after her, collapsing atop her in a giggling heap.
«Off they go,» Dorothy sighed.
«How muchll you charge em?»
«After they wed,» Martha muttered.
The doctor, suddenly remembering, leapt up.
«My shift! An old mans ill next door!»
«Ill help,» Michael offered.
«You canthes got a hypertension crisis!»
«No such thing!»
«There is!»
«Not for reindeer herders. His troubles loneliness. Calls for tea, whisky, dominoes, and a good chat. Youll need me.»
Arm in arm, they left.
«Id best call old Tom,» Martha said. «He calls doctors when hes lonely too. Dont want him spoiling their fun.»
«Marry Tom yourself,» Dorothy teased. «Save the doctors some trouble.»
«Me? He hates dogs. And youre six months older!»
Tom answered on the first ring, laughing.
«Theyre already here! Mary-Marinas making tea, Michaels playing chess with me.»
«Chess?!»
«Sami men!» Tom said admiringly.
«I matched them,» Martha boasted.
«Bravo! How much will you charge?»
«After they marry.»
«Who marries these days?» Tom scoffed.
«These two will,» Martha said confidently. «Sami folk take weddings seriously.»
A distant laughthen Michaels voice: «Checkmate!»
Tom cursed and hung up.
Alone again, Martha felt no heartache, no need to talk. Just a quiet urge to knit and watch telly.
A week later, the doctor rang.
«How are you, Martha?»
«Fine,» Martha said cautiously.
«My physicists had a flaming row with my sister,» the girl announced cheerfully.
Marthas pulse spiked. So thats why Michael had vanishedback to Lapland, heartbroken…
«Peter came crawling back. Said hed found the one metal that withstands fusion: himself! Claims he never loved my sisteronly me!»
«I see,» Martha said faintly.
«But I told him where to stick his fusion!» the doctor giggled. «Michael and I are off to Lapland next month!»
«Lapland?! Its freezing!»
«Its warm,» the doctor said knowingly. «Youve no idea how warm, Martha.»
«I offered you London!»
«Dont be daft. Londons for the dull and dowdy. How much do we owe you?»
«Two little Sami babies,» Martha cackled. «Done,» the doctor whispered, and hung up.
Martha sat back, grinning at the ceiling.
Outside, the first snow of winter began to fall, soft as moth wings, covering the garden in quiet.
She picked up her knitting, hummed an old tune, and waited for the phone to ring again.
