by Jessica Ames
“I was matched to two.”
“Oh? And?”
“And nothing.” I adjust the boat’s position as we start to drift a little off course.
Alex glares at me. “Come on, you’ve got to give me more than that.”
“There’s nothing to tell. We matched, we talked. They both bowed out after they found out I live on a frigging island in the middle of nowhere.”
And I think this is going to be the problem I’m going to have with everyone. No one has ever heard of the island of Kildirk and by the time they realise where it is all they see is logistical nightmares, and I can’t blame them for that. Who wants to date someone who is only accessible to them via a ferry that runs at set times throughout the day? But I would be willing to travel and I’d be willing to travel far for the right girl.
And then there’s the other issue. The giant elephant in the room—or in the relationship. I never realised how much having a deceased spouse could make you wholly undesirable to the opposite sex. One of the women seemed like she might be a little more accepting of the distance, but then we got on to previous relationships and I mentioned I was a widower. She ghosted me faster than you could say ‘Casper’.
I’m starting to suspect science is useless when it comes to determining relationships and Match Me Perfect can’t provide what it claims it can, which is disappointing. I have to admit, I thought it would be a little more… well, successful than this. I know it can take time to find the right person but the site claims instant results. It lies.
“Well, don’t give up,” Alex orders. “It might just take a little time to find Miss Right.”
I snort. “I don’t know. I’m starting to think maybe it was a mistake.” Clearly, I have too many points in the ‘cons’ column. “Looks like we’re about to hit the fish. Better get in position.”
Alex stares at me a beat, then points a finger in my direction. “This conversation isn’t done.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him. I don’t know why he thinks this is any of his business. My tragic love life—or lack, thereof—is no one’s business but mine.
I push my dating woes out of my brain as we come across where the radar suggests the fish are and I get to work.
Six hours later, we’re back on dry land with a stack of cash in our back pockets. We caught a big haul today, meaning it was a lucrative escapade. It’s days like today that make it worth the early mornings and the smell and the guts from the fish. But heading home alone is hard. I’m tired of doing it. I miss having someone at home to tell about my day, to hold as we go to sleep and to love. I want that. Finding it might prove a challenge though, if my latest experiences are anything to go by.
Science…
Bollocks. Science can no more match two people than a cow can do algebra.
I step into the darkness of the house and shut the door behind me. I don’t bother to lock it. It’s never locked. When you live on an island with a population of just over a hundred there’s not really any point.
Not bothering to switch the lights on, I head to the fridge and grab a beer. Then I sag onto the sofa and close my eyes, the bottle cold against my palm. Moving on was never going to be easy, but Jesus, I didn’t expect it to be this hard either. I take a long sip of beer, the malty taste settling on my tongue.
I don’t think I’m entirely undesirable, but online dating gives people the chance to vet a potential partner before even having a conversation with them. It’s so impersonal. How are you supposed to have anything meaningful with another person who treats dating like shopping for a new pair of shoes?
Letting my head drop back against the backrest of the sofa, I let out a long sigh. I know I’ve only had two rejections, but already I’m exhausted by the whole thing. Maybe it’s time to delete the profile and give online dating a rest.
10
Sadie
Despite knowing I need to move on, it still takes me a week before I pull up the email and click the link for the dating site. Match me Perfect is exactly what I would expect from one of these things. There is the obligatory loved up couple on the home page, looking adoringly into each other’s eyes and the promises of finding happily ever after, and a flashing banner proclaiming to use a unique blend of science and psychology to match users. How that works, I have no clue, but it has a number of testimonials down one side of the site, testifying its success. It sounds like pseudo-science to me, but what do I know? I picked London’s biggest arsehole and let him put a ring on my finger. Maybe science and psychology can match you perfectly. They can’t match me any worse.
What am I doing?
I have no clue why I’m even on this site. This is ridiculous; I don’t need to prove a point—especially not to Richard. He’s the one who wronged me, not the other way around. Really, I dodged a bullet with him. I should be glad he showed me his true colours before we were legally tied together. Breaking up was hard, but doing that while trying to dissolve our marriage would be a nightmare. It didn’t feel like it at the time, and truthfully it still doesn’t but it was better he did it before we exchanged vows. I would have preferred he hadn’t done it minutes before we were about to say our nuptials but it is what it is. I can’t keep dwelling on it. I want a fresh start and to get my life back on track.
Emily’s words come back to me: I deserve to be happy. And I do. What Richard did to me sucked and hurt more than I can probably ever explain but that doesn’t mean I need to cut myself off from all relationships. And what’s the harm in having letting go a little?
The best way to get over a man is to get under a new one…
Time to test Emily’s theory.
I login to my account using the credentials Emily sent me and take a moment to familiarise myself with the dating site’s dashboard. Before I can set up my profile, I have to complete a series of tests, all aimed at understanding my ‘dating needs’. I answer an unending circuit of questions about mundane crap like whether I’m a morning person or a night owl, what I see my role in a relationship as, and what my interests are. There are other questions that talk me through a scenario and I have to answer how I would react in that situation. I answer them and then hit the ‘Submit my Tests’ button.
Then I’m taken to the profile page and given the chance to fill in my details. I do this, and then I upload a photograph. I go with the one from my make-up trials for the wedding. I shouldn’t feel a sense of smugness doing that, but I do. And I hate that I do.
A screen flashes up and tells me my test results will be ready in the next seventy-two hours and that I should check back over the next few days.
My impatience has me itching to get started, to see who the experts will pair me with, but the level part of my brain rationalises that this is never going to happen anyway and that I’m just playing around. I have absolutely no intention of dating anyone, least of all someone I find on a dating site.
Don’t get me wrong, I know there are success stories. Plenty of people find ‘the one’, but that won’t be me. I’m not that lucky for a start. Not when you take into account my usual type is tall, dark and a complete wanker. I have yet to date a man who hasn’t ticked all three of those boxes. In fact, the last one—complete wanker—usually gets double ticked. To say my love life is bad would be like saying an EF5 tornado is just a little wind. I seem to find the most deranged man in any room and cling to him like lifesaving driftwood. Half the time I don’t realise he’s the one trying to pull me under the water until it’s too late.
Case in point: Richard.
An overgrown manchild with the emotional maturity of a courgette. An overgrown manchild who chooses less than ten minutes before we’re due to say ‘I do’ to tell me he was no longer keen on the idea of ‘for as long as you both shall live’.
Then again, he seems perfectly content with his new woman. And I’m not going to pretend that doesn’t sting a whole lot because it does, but that ship, that part of my life, has sailed, and it’s time to stop wallowing and m
ove on.
And this is my first step.
There is also an ulterior motive to it. I’m lonely. I would never admit this to my friends and family but it’s true all the same. I miss having someone to come home to, someone to share the little nuances of my day with, someone to wake up with. I miss it with a physical ache.
I had that for five years. Losing it is a bitter pill to swallow. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not as if I’m alone; I have good people around me, but it’s not the same as having a partner.
I sag back into the chair and let my sceptical head take over. Science can’t match two people and computer algorithms can’t work out compatibility. Attraction isn’t based on multiple choice questions. It’s based on chemistry and there is no way in hell to test chemistry through a series of pixels and a paragraph of text.
Match Me Perfect is a con. No way in hell can they find me a partner like this.
Emily was way off the mark here.
And I hate that she was because truthfully there was a small tingle of hope fluttering inside me that thought maybe, just maybe, I might find someone to connect with.
11
Callum
My niece shrieks again and runs at my nephew like she’s going to perform a takedown worthy of the MMA ring. She pulls back at the last moment and instead hits him at a lower velocity. Maisy is eight and she’s a big eight so I’m not surprised when Tyler goes down hard. He then starts wailing, which just adds to the furore of noise.
I close one eye as I try to block the thrumming feeling attacking the side of my head. Jesus Christ, how can a bunch of kids make this much fucking noise? Was I this noisy at their age? There are seventeen kids in total living on the island and they’re all crammed into Elin and Kyle’s living room, which is about the size of a postage stamp. Usually, I’d be in there too, horsing around with them, but I can’t face it today.
Elin and Haley suddenly come between their kids to calm the situation down, thank God, although Haley doesn’t seem to be having even a hint of luck getting her eldest to relax. Tyler is throwing the fit to rival all fits, clearly still pissed off as all hell at his cousin.
“You don’t have to stay.” Kyle’s voice in my ear scares the shit out of me. I jump about a foot, nearly spilling the lemonade I’m holding.
“Don’t do that!” I growl at him. For a change, he doesn’t have one of his kids hanging off his neck, although I’m pretty sure he has a little bit of baby puke on his shoulder. I choose to ignore that fact. “I nearly had a heart attack.”
Kyle smirks. “What’s got you so on edge?”
“I’m not on edge,” I deny through gritted teeth.
Okay, that is not helping my case but I’m struggling not to throw my own shit fit. Us Vanstone boys definitely have a temper on us, which Tyler is proving in epic fashion as he wails to my sister. I have no idea what he’s saying but Haley is nodding along as if she understands while trying to calm the little guy down.
“Cal, you’d usually be in there, throwing down with those animals.”
And I would. I love my nieces and nephews—even if they are little beasts. Haley’s two kids—Tyler and Dottie—are only slightly better behaved than Elin’s group of delinquents, but I love being around them. Today, for some reason, I’m not in the mood.
“Late night,” I mutter, taking a sip of my drink. I’m hoping like hell it’s sugar-free because the last thing these kids need is more sugar. They’re already wired.
“You look like you want to throw yourself into the bay.”
I snort. “I’m not sure I’m that dramatic.”
Haley’s husband, Mike, sidles up on the other side of me. “I sometimes wonder how I created such monsters. I’m blaming your sister.”
“She probably should get the blame. This is karma for all the shit she put Mum through when she was a teen.”
“I was a good boy,” Mike mutters. “Why am I also getting punished?”
I shrug. “Shitty luck?”
“Probably.” Mike leans in closer. “Alex said you’re dating.”
I glance around quickly to make sure no one is close enough to hear. We’re in a room full of the biggest gossips on the planet—and I’m not talking about the kids. Heather Davies and Samantha Ellis are both standing near the patio doors, thankfully, and are caught up in a conversation that seems to be involving a ton of gesticulating. The last thing I need is for this to get back to Mason or Loretta. Christ.
“Do you want to say that a bit louder? I don’t think they heard you on the mainland.”
Mike glances around and then looks sheepish. “So what if they hear?”
“Easy for you to say; you’re not going to have half the island wanting to kill you for desecrating Mara’s memory.”
“Well, that still leaves half that won’t want to kill you. And I’m included in that. I’m happy you’re putting yourself back out there, man.”
I glance at Kyle who hasn’t agreed or disagreed yet. “What about you? What’s your thoughts?”
“I think what Mike thinks. It’s time. No one expects you to be alone forever, pal. But if you’re looking for affirmation or approval from Mara’s family, I don’t think you’re going to get it.”
This is true. The pain for Loretta, for Mace—it’s still as pronounced now as it was when it first happened. I’m not sure they will ever get over her death; for a long time I wasn’t sure I would either, but eventually you have to let go of grief. You have to let it diminish in your heart otherwise you become consumed by it. That’s not to say I’ve let go of Mara; I haven’t. She’ll always have space in my heart and in my head but clinging to the past doesn’t allow you to move into the future. And I want a future.
“I know. And I know they’re both going to be pissed off, but they’re going to have to get over it.”
I was Mara’s husband, but that’s not all I am.
And that’s not all I want to be.
I stay at the party for another hour, then I make my excuses and head home. By this time my head is throbbing so as soon as I enter the house I head straight for the bathroom and the medicine cabinet. I take two painkillers and retreat to the sofa. I forgo the beer this time, simply closing my eyes and letting my mind drift into nothingness.
I don’t know how long I sit there before my phone beeps. I’m tempted to ignore it, but I find my fingers fumbling in my jeans pocket. I swipe across the screen and frown.
It’s an alert from Match Me Perfect.
Jesus.
With the party, I forgot to uninstall that thing. I open the app, intending to disable my profile, but a message flashes up: MATCH FOUND.
My fingers move before I can stop them, tapping the ‘Okay’ button, and I’m instantly hit with the image of a blonde woman. I shouldn’t click into it, but my fingers move before I can stop them.
She’s pretty, but naturally so and as I read through her profile, I find my interest is piqued. She seems interesting, funny even.
I read through the profile twice, then flick through the photographs she’s uploaded and then I close down the app. What’s the point? The moment she finds out where I live and that I have a dead wife she’ll just run for the hills like the others.
12
Sadie
“Come over for dinner. I miss you. Garrett misses you. Say you will.”
I glance up at my sister who is flopped in the chair in front of my desk looking rather like a languid cat. Our mother would have a shit fit if she could see her. Lectures about posture and being unladylike would be trotted out. That is something I really do need to give thanks to Mum for. I have a fabulous posture. Slouching was not allowed in the Greenwood household, which is why my sister sitting like that is amusing. It’s a rebellion of sorts.
“What day?”
“Whatever day you want. You know us, we’re easy.”
And they are. My sister is the very epitome of free spirit. She floats from one New Age hipster idea to another, never really settling on anyth
ing in particular. In the past twelve months she’s tried her hand at crystals, reiki healing and some kind of meditation. She also worked briefly as an administrator at Greenwood Holdings, but she was too much of a scatterbrain. She left before Henry had to ask her to, which I think he was grateful for. Sacking his own daughter would not have made him a happy camper, although he would have done it because Henry is aware he has the lives of all the people working under him in his hands. One wrong move could topple the company and make a lot of people redundant. So as much as he loves Lilliana, he would have sacked her without question.
“A week on Thursday?”
“Perfect!” She beams at me and straightens in the chair. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, tell me how you’ve been. Mum told me you saw Rotten Richard.”
News travels fast. My mother is a huge gossip, so this is not surprising, but I could have done without the pity party that is going to come from my younger sibling.
“He was having dinner.”
“With a woman,” she confirms, nodding her head.
Sweet Jesus, my mother.
“Yes, with a woman.”
“Some harpy bitch, Mum said.”
I stop shuffling the papers on my desk to snap my attention up to her. “Mum said that?”
Lilliana’s eyes practically roll out of her head. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but Mum kind of hates Richard. With an unhealthy passion. I think she’d smother him in his sleep if she thought she could get away with it.”
I snort. It’s probably true; Mum does hate Richard—I did too, in the beginning. Now, I feel a strange detached emptiness towards him. I don’t hate him, but I can’t ever forgive him either. My feelings towards him are strange, so strange I don’t know how to describe them. One thing I do know is I don’t want to give him any more of my time or my feelings. I’m done thinking about Richard; I’m done with him. The online dating site was supposed to herald that, it was supposed to show the world I’m moving on, even if it is just outwardly.