The Matchmaker
Martha Wilkins felt her heart ache, and so she called a doctor to her home. It wasnt that she was truly unwell, but there was simply no one left to talk to.
The doctor who arrived was new, someone Martha had never seen beforea young, slender woman with tearful eyes. Sticking out of her bag was a long cucumber.
“Come in,” Martha invited the doctor inside.
The young woman awkwardly left the cucumber-laden bag in the hallway, slipped off her boots, and followed Martha into the sitting room. Martha had never in her life seen a doctor remove their shoes in a patients home, and this small act endeared the girl to her instantly.
“Your heart?” the doctor asked softly, sitting beside the bed where Martha had settled.
“Thats the one, the wretched thing,” Martha confirmed. “Hammering awayin my heels, my knees, my ears, even in places Id blush to mention.”
The doctor frowned, plucked eyebrows knitting as she pressed her stethoscope to Marthas back, then her chest.
“My knees,” Martha hinted. “Theyre pounding something awfulperhaps you ought to listen there too?”
The doctor shook her head firmly. No knees would be examined today.
“Arrhythmia,” she declaredand then, without warning, burst into such violent sobs that Martha was alarmed.
“Is it really that bad?” Martha gasped, her heart now pounding like a jackhammer.
“Not yoursmine!” the doctor wailed. “Youll take some pills and be fine, but meoh, I”
And just like that, Martha was delighted. Here, at last, was someone to talk to. Her heart settled at once.
“Has your husband upset you?” Martha asked briskly, fastening her dressing gown.
“I havent got a husband!” the girl cried harder. “Thats the whole trouble!”
“Ah. A boyfriend, then. Hes left you?”
“Ill write you a prescription,” the doctor sniffled, wiping her face with her sleeve and pulling a crumpled form from her pocket.
“Put that away,” Martha scolded. “Come, lets have tea instead.”
“Im on duty,” the girl protested, scribbling something illegible.
“So am I,” Martha said firmly, and marched to the kitchen to brew some chamomile.
The doctor trailed after her, glum and miserable, for some reason still wearing her stethoscope like a pair of headphones.
“Take that thing off your ears!” Martha barked, setting out jam, biscuits, and chocolate-covered marshmallows.
The doctor yanked the stethoscope free and started weeping again.
Only now did Martha see how very young she wasfreckles on her nose, chapped hands, and eyes full of despair.
“Well then, out with it,” Martha commanded, settling at the table with relish.
“I wrote you good pills,” the girl in the white coat blubbered. “Very good!”
“I dont need pills. I need to know why youre crying!”
“Allergies,” the girl lied unconvincingly, then burned her tongue on the tea.
Martha checked the thermometer outside.
“Bit late for allergies, dear. Its springten degrees out there!”
“Late?” The girl wailed. “Oh, then it must be nerves!”
She shoved an entire marshmallow into her mouth.
Seizing the moment, Martha pressed on.
“My turn to diagnose. Youre crying because your mans left you for another woman, yes?”
“Yeth!” The girl nodded, marshmallow bulging in her cheek. Fresh tears plopped into her tea.
“Aha!” Martha crowed. “And the other womanlet me guess, your friend?”
“My sithter!” The girl swallowed the marshmallow and, for no apparent reason, plugged her ears with the stethoscope again.
“Your own flesh and blood?!” Martha gasped, clutching her chestthough her heart was now beating merrily in anticipation of the drama.
“Stepsister,” the doctor sighed, sipping her tear-streaked tea. “But close enough.” She listened to her own heartbeat with the stethoscope, then pulled it free again.
“Ive got arrhythmia too,” she confessed mournfully. “Have you any valerian?”
“I have!”
Martha sprang up and fetched a tincture from the cupboarda recipe known only to her, her grandmother, and a Cornish wise woman. It loosened tongues, lifted spirits, and gave one a sudden urge to marry.
She poured the girl a glass.
The doctor downed it without complaint, her face clearing at once. Without further prompting, she spilled her tale.
“I loved Peter, Peter loved methree whole years! We thought, once he finished his thesis, got a room in the graduate dorm, wed marry. Have a baby, buy furniture, take a car on finance. Peter studies nuclear fusion. No metal can withstand his tests! Tungsten was his last hope, but even that failed If it hadnt, hed have his degree by now, his room, everything! We loved each other, went to films, kissed in doorways, sat in cafésall as you do. I treated patients in my spare time, Peter hunted for a metal that could survive his fusion. And thenout of nowheremy little sister shows up. A beauty! Studying to be a singer. The moment Peter saw her, he forgot all about fusion. Forgot tungsten entirely! Started babbling about singing like Ed Sheeran. I knew at once. Love at first sightwild, reckless, blind. Lily liked that Peter was writing a thesis. She dropped out of school and moved here, under the reliable wing of nuclear fusion. I ought to have fought for my love, my dorm room, my furniture, my financebut between shifts and call-outs, when could I?
Then yesterday, Peter proposed to her. She said yes, and I nearly hanged myself. As physicists say, I almost ‘suffered catastrophic plasma containment failure!’ Im the third wheel in this pop-star-nuclear ménage.”
The doctor jammed the stethoscope back into her ears and, with a detached smile, polished off all the raspberry jam.
Martha rubbed her hands together gleefully and fetched her laptop.
“Blimey!” The doctor was so startled by her elderly patients tech-savviness that she pulled the stethoscope free. “Whats that for?”
“Were finding you a husband!” Martha perched her spectacles on her nose, opened the laptop, and clicked away like a hacker.
“Oh no!” The doctor leaped up. “Please! I dont want love through a screen!”
“Loves love, however you find it,” Martha muttered, squinting at the monitor. “Ah! Heres one. Forty-two, divorced, no children, works in banking, loves travel, pork pies, and dogs.”
“He can keep the dogs! Im terrified of them. Cant bake, hate travelling. And forty-two? Hes practically a pensioner!”
“Fair enough. Nextthirty-three, single, manager at a big firm. Loves brunettes, blondes, and redheads. Hobby: sex. Tired of flings, wants one steady but varied partner. Hmm. No, he wont do either.”
“Wait,” the doctor sputtered. “Are you a matchmaker? Where do you get these so-called candidates?”
“Thats right,” Martha said proudly. “Professional matchmaker. Been out of work two weeksthats why my hearts been playing up. Global crisis, you see. People wont marry, wont commit. Even mistresses are being ditched to save money. And then you turn upheartbroken, arrhythmic, allergic, and wearing a stethoscope like earrings! Heaven sent you to me!”
“Listen, I dont need”
“Whats your name?”
“Mary. Well, Marianne.”
“Mary-Marianne, you must wash that physicist right out of your hair. You must!” Martha clicked faster. “Aha! Here we are. Favourite name: Marianne. Must be tall, models figure, blue eyes, dimples. Pah! Dimples, indeed. No, we shant have him. Ah! Here! Twenty-five! Lives in San Francisco! Son of a millionaire! Owns a villa and a yacht! Handsome as sin!” Martha rubbed her hands in triumph.
The doctor peered over her shoulder at the screen.
“Ugh!” she shrieked. “Hes hideous! Looks like an orangutan!”
“But hes a millionaires son!” Martha protested. “A villa! A yacht! Handsome! Better than scraping metal with fusion!”
“I dont want a millionaires son,” the girl said stubbornly. “His dad could drop dead tomorrow, and then Id have this ape hanging round my neck! And I dont speak Spanishhow would I work in San Francisco?”
Martha looked at her sternly over her spectacles.
“Ive never had such a fussy client,” she said. “Most women claw for millionaires!”
The doctor flushed, poured herself another glass of the Cornish tonic, knocked it back, and announced:
“Can I pick my own candidate?”
“Not how its done,” Martha frowned. “This is my job.”
“Oh, come off it,” the doctor said cheerfully. “Your jobs plying clients with tea and sweet talk. Ill find my own husband. Pass me that saucer with the blue rim!”
Martha grudgingly pushed the laptop over.
Never had she had such a wilful client. Never had such a tearful doctor darkened her door.
The girl fiddled briefly.
“There!” she cried five minutes later, jabbing the screen. “Thats the one!”
“Have you lost your mind, Mary-Marianne?” Martha exclaimed. “That ones a joke! Just for fun! See? La-di-da!” She waggled her hands.
“No, this is the one,” the girl insisted. “Thirty, single, reindeer herder. Names Mike.”
“Reindeer herder!” Martha yelped. “Hes a Laplander! Lives in the tundra!”
“Perfect,” the girl said firmly. “I want the tundra. Him or no one.”
“Well, Mary-Marianne,” Martha sighed, wrapped a shawl round her shoulders, slid on her slippers, and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” the doctor asked, startled.
“To fetch the reindeer herder.”
“To Lapland?!”
“No, next door. Hes my neighbour!”
“And the millionaires son from San Franciscois he your neighbour too?”
“No, hes my friends neighbour. She lives in America.”
“Wait! I was joking!” the doctor panicked.
She dashed into the hallway and grabbed her cucumber-filled bag.
But Martha, quicker, locked her in and hurried off.
Ten minutes later, she returned with Mike, a bouquet, and champagne.
The doctor was weeping by the window, listening to her own heart and lungs through the stethoscope.
“Mike,” the reindeer herder introduced himselfand handed her a Lappish diamond.
“Mariannewell, Mary. Or mouse. Whichever you like,” the doctor blushed, examining the diamond in the lamplight.
“I like mouse,” Mike mumbled. “Im fond of white mice.”
“I cant accept this,” she said firmly, pocketing it anyway.
“Please,” Mike begged. “Ive plenty more.”
Martha discreetly slipped out. She always knew when a couple needed privacy.
Outside, dusk had fallen. The bench by the house was empty.
Martha sat and listened to her heart. It didnt achebut curiosity gnawed at her.
Would Mike and Mary-Marianne make a match of it?
Would it last?
Once again, there was no one to talk to.
Shed only added Mike to her database as a lark. He studied economics, lived somewhere near the Arctic Circle, and had no intention of marrying. He stayed with his aunt between terms and was the darling of the buildingfull of elderly ladies who needed shelves hung, drains unblocked, blood pressure checked, or simply an ear for their stories.
Mike fixed the unfixable, healed the unhealable, made long-term economic forecasts, andbest of allknew how to talk. For hours, over endless cups of tea. Truth be told, Martha had never met a kinder soul, but Mike was a Laplander, and in her professional opinion, only a Lapp would suit him. Shed added him to her listings as a jokelook, even rugged reindeer herders seek love! Mike knew and didnt mind, certain no Lappish girls would turn up in Marthas clientele.
And nowa diamond! Champagne! Talk of jumping out windows together!
Martha crept to her window and listened.
Laughter, clinking glasses, lively chatter.
She wasnt surprised. Mike could fix anythingeven a heartbroken doctor.
With his merry slanted eyes, broad cheeks, a herders generous heart, and a touch of the shaman about him, what couldnt he mend?
Smiling, Martha crossed herself at the window where joy reigned and returned to the benchjust in time to spot Beatrice from the third floor walking her poodle.
Ah! Someone to talk to at last.
“Would you believe it? Mikenot such a confirmed bachelor after all! And that doctor of oursdumped by her physicist! But Mike gave her a diamond! Shes smitten! Wanted to jump out the window, and Mike said hed join her! Calls her ‘mouse’!” Martha gushed.
“Never! The new doctor? Good gracious!” Beatrice gasped, pulling roasted sunflower seeds from her pocket.
Martha happily recounted the details of her heart ailment, the nuclear fusion fiasco, the millionaires son, and the doctors bold self-matchmaking.
Beatrice nodded sympathetically, spitting husks into a newspaper cone.
“Theyre drinking champagne now,” Martha finished.
“Not anymore. Theyve moved on to jumping out windows,” Beatrice said wryly, nodding at Marthas flat.
“Oh! I locked them in!” Martha jumped up. “Hang on, lovebirds, Ill let you out!”
“Sit!” Beatrice yanked her back. “Theyve found their own way. Skinny thingsslipped right through the bars!”
Sure enough, the doctor was wriggling through the window grating, cucumber bag in hand. She dropped lightly to the ground and called up:
“Come on, Lapp-Mike! Its not high! Youll land fine!”
Mike eeled through the bars and tumbled onto her, sending them both rolling in the grass, laughing and thumping each other like children.
“Well, thats that,” Beatrice sighed. “All settled. Whats your fee, Martha?”
“Let them marry first,” Martha grumbled. “They might just be caught up in the momenthell bolt for his reindeer, shell crawl back to her physicist…”
“Oh!” the doctor suddenly yelped. “Ive a house call! An old man in the next buildings poorly!”
“Lets go together,” Mike offered. “I can fix anything.”
“Dont be silly! Hes got hypertension!”
“Theres no such thing as hypertension!”
“There is!”
“Not for reindeer herders! For your lot, maybebut your patients just lonely. Thats not an illness, its a state. Cured with tea, a tot of whisky, dominoes, and a good chat. Youll need helpIm coming!”
Arm in arm, they strolled off.
“Oh! Id better ring old Tom!” Martha panicked. “He calls the doctor when hes lonely toohell spoil their fun with his rambling!”
“Why dont you marry Tom yourself, save the doctors and Lapps the trouble?” Beatrice said dryly.
“Me? Never! He doesnt like dogs. And youre six months olderyou marry him!”
“Hah! Hes no Laplander,” Martha sniffed and hurried inside.
“Now everyone wants Lapps,” Beatrice sighed. “Where will we find enough to go round? One turns up, and hes snapped up at once.”
Tom answered on the first ring, as if hed been waiting for Marthas call.
“Theyre already here!” he laughed when she warned him not to spoil things for Mary-Marianne and Mike. “Mary-Mariannes brewing tea, Mikes playing cards with me.”
“Cards?!” Martha blinked. “Versatile, isnt he?”
“Reindeer herder!” Tom said admiringly.
“I matched them, you know,” Martha boasted.
“Did you now?” Tom marvelled. “Fine work! Whats your fee?”
“Dunno yet. Let them file the paperwork first.”
“Who bothers with paperwork these days? Everyone just shacks up.”
“Not these two,” Martha said confidently. “Lapps take marriage seriously.”
A distant laugh echoed down the line, then Mikes voice crowed: “Gin!”
“Gin?!” Tom roaredand hung up.
Alone again, Martha turned to her laptop.
Her heart no longer ached, and shed no urge to chatter. She fancied knitting a sock and watching telly.
A week later, the doctor rang.
“How are you feeling, Martha?” she asked sweetly.
“Fine, thank you,” Martha said cautiously, wondering how best to ask after Mike and his prospects.
“My physicists had a flaming row with my pop-star sister,” the girl announced abruptly.
Martha, sensing the onset of hypertension, sank into her chair and fanned herself with a newspaper.
So thats why Mike had vanished! Heartbroken, hed surely abandoned his studies and fled to the Arctic…
“The physicist came crawling back. Said hed found the one metal that can withstand nuclear fusionhimself! Turns out he never cared for my sisteronly me!” the doctor babbled, confirming Marthas worst fears. “Shes gone, and Peters trailing after me with flowers in his teeth.”
“I see,” Martha sighed, certain now that a crisis loomed. “I see…”
“But I told Peter his fusion could go hang,” the girl giggled. “Mike and I are off to Lapland in a month. Were renting till then.”
“What? Lapland? Its freezing there!”
“Its scorching,” the doctor said knowingly. “Youve no idea how hot it gets, Martha!”
“I offered you San Francisco,” Martha laughed. “But you”
“San Franciscos for the old and poor. Whats your fee for a successful match?”
“A pair of little Lapps,” Martha cackled, her hypertension forgotten. “Ill love them like my own!”
