Mrs. Margaret Whitmore felt a twinge in her heart and decided to call the doctor for a home visit. Not that she was truly unwellit was more that she had absolutely no one to talk to.
The doctor who arrived was new, someone Margaret had never seen beforea slender young woman with tear-streaked eyes and a cucumber sticking absurdly from her bag.
“Come in,” Margaret invited, ushering the doctor into her London flat. The young woman hesitated, left the bag with the cucumber in the hallway, kicked off her boots, and followed Margaret inside. Margaret had never known a doctor to remove shoes in a patient’s home before, and the gesture instantly warmed her to the girl.
“Your heart?” the doctor asked softly, perching on the edge of the bed where Margaret had settled.
“Thats the one,” Margaret confirmed. “The wretched thing wont stop hammering. First in my heels, then my knees, my earsoh, and places Id rather not mention.”
With delicate fingers, the doctor lifted her stethoscope, listening carefully to Margarets back and chest, frowning as she did so.
“My knees,” Margaret offered helpfully. “Theyre pounding something fiercemaybe give them a listen?”
The doctor shook her head firmly. No knee examinations today.
“Arrhythmia,” she declaredand then burst into tears so violently that Margaret flinched.
“Is it that bad?” Margaret gasped, suddenly aware of her heart thundering like a jackhammer.
“No, not youme!” the doctor sobbed. “Youll take some pills and be fine, but II”
And just like that, Margaret was delighted. A conversation had presented itself so clearly that her heart immediately settled.
“Husband trouble?” Margaret inquired briskly, tightening her dressing gown.
“I dont have a husband!” the doctor wailed. “Thats the whole problem!”
“Ah, boyfriend trouble then,” Margaret deduced.
“Ill write you a prescription,” the doctor sniffled, wiping her face with her sleeve and pulling out a crumpled prescription pad.
“Hold on with the pills,” Margaret cut in. “Lets have some tea first.”
“Im on duty,” the doctor protested, scribbling something illegible.
“So am I,” Margaret retorted and marched to the kitchen to brew some Earl Grey.
The doctor trudged in after her, morose and miserable, inexplicably wearing the stethoscope in her ears like headphones.
“Take that thing out!” Margaret scolded, setting out jars of marmalade, biscuits, and chocolate-covered marshmallows.
The doctor pulled the stethoscope freeand promptly started crying again.
Margaret took a proper look at her. Freckles on her nose, chapped hands, eyes full of despair. A proper lost lamb.
“Well, out with it,” Margaret commanded, settling at the table with satisfaction.
“I wrote you a prescription,” the girl in the white coat blubbered. “Good ones!”
“I dont need pillsI need to know why youre bawling your eyes out!”
“Allergies,” the girl lied unconvincingly, scalding her tongue on the tea.
Margaret checked the thermometer outside.
“Bit late for that, love. Its springten degrees out there!”
“Late?!” The girl burst into fresh tears. “Fineits nerves then!”
She shoved an entire marshmallow into her mouth.
While she was incapacitated, Margaret struck.
“Let me diagnose you. Youre crying because your bloke left you for someone else, am I right?”
“Mmm-hmm!” The doctor nodded furiously, marshmallow bulging in her cheeks, tears splashing into her tea.
“Aha!” Margaret crowed, triumphant. “And whos this other girl, then? A friend of yours?”
“My sister!” The doctor swallowed the marshmallow whole and, for some reason, plugged the stethoscope back into her ears.
“Your actual sister?!” Margaret clutched her chest, though her heart was now beating steadily in anticipation of the drama.
“Stepsister,” the doctor sniffed. “But close enough.” She listened to her own heartbeat, then yanked the stethoscope out. “I have arrhythmia too. Got any valerian?”
“Of course!”
Margaret sprang up and fetched a mysterious tincture from the cupboarda recipe known only to her, her grandmother, and a Cornish mystic. The stuff loosened tongues, lifted spirits, and made women want to marry immediately. She poured the doctor a shot.
The girl downed it without complaint, brightened considerably, and spilled her entire story.
“I loved Daniel, Daniel loved me, we loved each other for three whole years! He was going to finish his thesis, get a place in grad housing, and then wed marry. Have kids, buy furniture, lease a car. Daniel studies nuclear fusionno metal can withstand his experiments! Tungsten was his last hope, but even that failed If it had worked, hed have his PhD by now. We loved each other, went to the cinema, kissed in stairwells, sat in cafésproper romance. I treated patients; he hunted for metals that wouldnt melt. Thenout of nowheremy baby sister shows up. Gorgeous! Trained at a performing arts school. Daniel took one look at her and forgot all about fusion. Started babbling that he could sing like Ed Sheeran. I knew then. Love at first sightreckless, blind, shameless. Laura loved that Daniel was working on a PhD. Dropped out of school, moved here under his nuclear-fusion promise. I shouldve fought for him, for our futurebut between shifts and house calls”
She took a shaky breath. “Yesterday, Daniel proposed to her. She said yes. I nearly hanged myself. As physicists sayI almost cooked the vacuum pump with heavy plasma. Now Im the third wheel in their showbiz-nuclear circus.”
She jammed the stethoscope back into her ears and, with eerie calm, devoured an entire jar of raspberry jam.
Margaret rubbed her temples and fetched her laptop.
“Wow!” The doctor was so startled by her elderly patients tech-savviness that she yanked out the stethoscope. “Whats that for?”
“Were finding you a husband!” Margaret declared, tapping away with the speed of a hacker.
“No, please!” The doctor shot up. “I cantI dont believe in dating apps!”
“Doesnt matter how you find love,” Margaret muttered, squinting at the screen. “As long as you find it. Hereforty-two, divorced, no kids, works in finance, loves travel, pork pies, and dogs.”
“He can keep the dogs,” the doctor huffed without looking. “Im terrified of them. Cant bake, hate travelling. And forty-two?! Hes practically a pensioner!”
“Fine, next,” Margaret conceded. “Thirty-three, single, corporate manager. Likes brunettes, blondes, redheads. Hobby: sex. Tired of flings, wants one steady but varied relationship. Hmm, noprobably not him either.”
“Wait,” the doctor sputtered, “are you some kind ofmatchmaker?!”
“Professional matchmaker,” Margaret confirmed. “Been out of work for weeksthats why my hearts been acting up. Bloody recession. No one wants to marry anymore, too afraid of commitment. Even dumping mistresses to save money. And then you show upheartbroken, arrhythmic, allergic, and wearing a stethoscope like earphones! I was sent to you by divine providence!”
“I dont need”
“Whats your name?”
“Emily. Well, Emma.”
“Listen, Emma-Emily, you must make that idiotic physicist regret everything!” Margarets fingers flew over the keys. “Ah! Here we go. Favourite name: Emma. Must be tall, modelesque, blue-eyed, with dimples. Oh, forget himdimples? Ridiculous. Here! Twenty-five! Lives in Monte Carlo! Son of a millionaire! Owns a villa and a yacht! Gorgeous!” She rubbed her hands.
The doctor peeked over her shoulder.
“Ugh! He looks like a baboon!”
“But hes loaded!” Margaret protested. “Villa! Yacht! Gorgeous! Not some bloke playing with molten metal!”
“I dont want a millionaires son,” the doctor insisted. “His dad croaks tomorrow, and Im stuck with this ape! I dont speak Frenchhow am I supposed to work in Monte Carlo?!”
Margaret glared over her glasses.
“Ive never had such a picky client. Most women would claw each others eyes out for a millionaire!”
The doctor flushed, poured herself another shot of the Cornish tincture, and proposed:
“Can I pick my own candidate?”
“Thats not how it works,” Margaret huffed. “This is my job.”
“Oh, come off it,” the doctor chirped. “Your job is plying clients with tea and sweet talk. Let me choose.”
Margaret grudgingly slid the laptop over.
Never had she had such a difficult client. Never had a doctor sobbed into her tea like this.
Five minutes later, the doctor stabbed the screen.
“Him! This is the one!”
“Have you lost your mind, Emma-Emily?!” Margaret balked. “Thats a joke listing! Just for laughs!”
“No, this is perfect,” the doctor insisted. “Thirty, single, reindeer herder. And his names Michael.”
“Reindeer herder?!” Margaret yelped. “Hes a Sami! Lives in the Arctic!”
“Exactly,” the doctor said firmly. “Him or no one.”
Margaret sighed, threw on a shawl and slippers, and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Emma-Emily blinked.
“To fetch the reindeer herder.”
“The Arctic?!”
“No, next door. Hes my neighbour!”
“Whatthe millionaires son is your neighbour too?”
“No, hes my friends neighbour. She lives in Monaco.”
“Wait, I was joking!” The doctor scrambled for her cucumber-filled bag.
But Margaret, already out the door, locked her in.
“Help!” the doctor yelped.
“Help is coming,” Margaret assured her.
Ten minutes later, she returned with Michael, flowers, and champagne.
The doctor was sobbing by the window, listening to her own heartbeat through the stethoscope.
“Michael,” the man introduced himselfand handed her a Sami diamond.
“Emmawell, Emily. Whatever you prefer,” the doctor mumbled, inspecting the gem under the lamp.
“I prefer mouse,” Michael murmured. “I love white mice.”
“I cant accept this,” she said firmlywhile pocketing it.
“Take it,” he pleaded. “Ive got more.”
Margaret discreetly slipped out. She always knew when a couple needed privacy.
“Soreindeer herder or diamond miner?” the doctor asked.
“Reindeer herder. My brother mines the diamonds.”
“Brother” She groaned. “God, Im such an idiot. Can I check your thyroid?”
“Why?!” Michael panicked. “I dont have one!”
“Im impossible. When are you going back to the Arctic?”
“Whenever you say so.”
“Im insufferable. Forgive me.”
“Fancy some champagne?”
“Id rather jump out the window.”
“Champagne first, then we jump,” Michael offered.
Margaret tiptoed away. As she locked the door behind her, a champagne cork popped.
Outside, the bench was empty. She sat, listening to her own heartno longer aching, but buzzing with curiosity.
Would it work? Would they last?
No one to talk to about it.
Shed only listed Michael as a joke. He was an economics student, visiting from Lapland, and certainly not looking to marry. But he was the buildings handymanfixing leaks, hanging curtains, unclogging drains, listening to old ladies stories over endless cups of tea.
He repaired the unrepairable, healed the unhealable, and could chat for hours. Frankly, Margaret had never met a kinder soul. But he was Samiso in her mind, hed only ever suit a Sami girl. Shed listed him as a lark: Look, even reindeer herders are in my database!
And nowdiamonds, champagne, and suicidal pacts!
From her open window, laughter and clinking glasses spilled out.
Margaret wasnt surprised. Michael fixed everything.
She smiled, crossed herself, and spotted old Mrs. Thompson walking her corgi.
Finallysomeone to gossip with!
“Michaels not the bachelor we thought! And that doctorjilted by her physicist! Oh, the drama!”
Mrs. Thompson gasped, pulling out a bag of crisps.
A week later, the doctor called.
“How are you feeling, Margaret?” she asked sweetly.
“Fine, thanks,” Margaret said warily, wondering how to ask about Michael.
“My physicist had a massive row with my sister,” the doctor blurted.
Margarets blood pressure spiked. So thats why Michael had vanishedprobably fled back to Lapland, heartbroken.
“Daniel crawled back, begging. Said hed found the one metal that withstands fusionhimself! Turns out he never cared for my sisteronly me!”
Margaret gripped the armrest. Here it camethe crushing disappointment.
“But I told him to sod off,” the doctor giggled. “Michael and I are moving to Lapland next month. Were renting till then.”
“Lapland?!” Margaret yelped. “Its freezing!”
“Its scorching,” the doctor corrected knowingly. “Youve no idea how hot it gets!”
“I offered you Monaco,” Margaret laughed.
“Monacos for the dull and desperate.” A pause. “Sowhats your fee for a successful match?”
“A couple of little Sami grandchildren,” Margaret cackled. “Ill love them like my own!”
