The Soulmate Agency

by Ivan B

  She simmered, “So you’d put all your money into a joint account?”

  He began to get edgy. A kissing Gwen was fine, a rampant Welsh Gwen on the warpath was a different kettle of fish, actually more a kind of Welsh Dragon. He nodded, “Have to keep some back, I pay my tax on a yearly basis and have to hold money back so that it’s available when the dreaded tax inspector calls.”

  “Wouldn’t trust me to know I couldn’t spend it eh?” There was ire, irony, anger and hurt in the statement, plus some underlying agenda Derek wasn’t aware of.

  Derek strove for calmer waters, “Of course I’d trust you, that is if we were married.”

  Gwen half shouted, “So you wouldn’t trust me now?” Before she saw the bewilderment on Derek’s face. She pounded the ground with her fist, “Damn! Damn! Damn!” She screamed.

  Derek was appalled, “what had he done? “I,” he started.

  She yelled, “Oh shut up you stupid man, it’s not you it’s me!”

  Stung, Derek did just that while wondering what this volatile creature in front of him had to do with what he had begun to consider as his gentle Gwen. She sat with her eyes closed for a full five minutes taking deep regular breaths and with her little podgy fists clenched so tight he could see the knuckles whitening. “I’m sorry,” she said when she opened her eyes, “Your not stupid, it’s me that’s stupid.”

  Derek interrupted, “Oh I wouldn’t say…”

  He stopped when he got a warning stare. She continued. “It’s me that’s stupid. I’ve got three credit cards see, and I juggle my balance between them so that I never pay any interest, least that’s the theory. Except I had a couple of unexpected bills on the car and one of my cards reduced their credit limit so that I had no leeway and I couldn’t juggle. Then the interest started to build up as my rent went up and I couldn’t keep abreast of the interest so that all the cards started building up interest.”

  She gazed at him with a woeful expression. “Mum gave me £2000, goodness knows how she saved it. She had it in cash in a plastic bag at the bottom of the linen basket, last place dad would ever look. I blew that coming here, and I’m glad I did or I wouldn’t have met you, but I should have used it to square some of my debts.”

  Derek frowned, “How much?”

  She bit her bottom lip and wrung her hands together, “£12,434 and rising rather fast.”

  Derek relaxed, “Oh,” he said.

  Gwen could see her vision of actually having a partner out of love rapidly disappearing. “Yes,” she replied miserably, “Oh.”

  He lay back and stretched out. “Nothing to worry about then.”

  She was amazed. “Nothing to worry about!” Her voice rose in fury. “Nothing to worry about!”

  He sat bolt upright, “Not really, I’m supposed to owe £18,000 to the Inland Revenue, but I don’t worry about it.”

  She sat as if struck by bolt of unexpected lightening, “You owe £18,000 and it doesn’t worry you?”

  He shrugged, “I said ‘I’m supposed to owe;’ they’ve got their sums wrong.”

  She still sat as if pole-axed. He went for an explanation, “I earned $45,000 for a voice over for a series on the Outback, Australian dollars that is. My tax office didn’t notice the dollar sign and took that I should pay them £18,000.” He stretched, “I’ve already given them £700 for that job so I really don’t owe them anything, it’s a paper mix up.”

  Gwen rapidly calculated the he was in the 40% tax bracket. She stabbed a stubby finger at him, “Such sums may not be important to you, but to me it’s a giant mill-stone. I’ve got the papers for a bank loan so that I can do the sensible thing and pay it off, do you know how long it will take me? Have you any idea!” The last three words were delivered at just below the threshold of hysteria. Before he could reply she jumped to her feet and stamped around, half yelling at him and half at herself. “Oh I know it’s all my fault and I should never have started to play with the credit cards in the first place, but that’s easy to say now. I made a mistake, all right? I bought a share in a council flat that was beyond my means. How was I to know that house prices would fall? How was I to know that the ruddy council had miscalculated their rent by 35%? I can’t afford to sell it and I can’t afford to live in it and I’m not allowed to sub-let it; so I’m stuffed, I’m truly stuffed.”

  Eventually she ceased stamping around like a two-year old in a tantrum and her energy seemed to seep away leaving her standing like a forlorn child. Derek seized his moment. He rolled onto his knees and then grabbed Gwen’s hands, in this position there was almost no height disparity, but it played hell with his kneecaps as they instantly screamed for mercy. “So you’re in debt and you’re stressed about it. Frankly it doesn’t change my view, as I said, and I meant, money is for sharing.”

  He gently massaged her fingers, “But it does concern me that your stressed and worried about you debt.” He noted her wary look and tried again, “Look, your debt doesn’t worry me, but I’m worried about you.”

  He noted that she didn’t try to pull her hands away and that he probably had about another two minutes before he could no longer stand the increasing protest from his knobbly kneecaps. She gazed at him, “Why should you worry about me?”

  “Because you’re becoming important to me.”

  She frowned, “What’s wrong, you’re turning white?”

  “It’s my knees, if I wait for you to kiss me much longer I might never walk again.”

  “Stupid man,” she said as she moved forward and kissed him. “Now sit down on the grass,” she commanded.

  The relief was palpable and obvious in his rapid return to a normal colour. She knelt next to him and kissed him on the cheek and then on the lips as he turned his head to respond. He smiled, now this position easily sorted out the height disparity, and without any pain, only pleasure.

  Ben and Roberta had chosen to sit on a small wooden bench that overlooked the stream. It should have been an ideal idyllic romantic spot, except that some over-energetic gardener was driving a sit-on-lawnmower up and down in the field behind them causing sudden crescendo’s of noise and the waft of mown grass. Roberta handed the felt bag to Ben “Your turn.”

  He put in his hand, fished around and pulled out a tile. He peered at it. “Sharing.” He read, “Do you believe that the jobs about the home should be shared out, if so how?”

  Roberta, who was wearing a brown skirt of dubious vintage with two large front pockets, shoved her hands in said pockets as if expecting battle. Ben leapt in. “Nothing wrong in the men doing their bit, I mean I can wield a vacuum cleaner as good as the next man.”

  She gazed at him, glanced away and gazed back. “So you wouldn’t mind the odd bit of cleaning?”

  “Of course not.”

  She grinned, “Well I would mind, mind you doing it that is. It wouldn’t be right.”

  Ben was amazed at the reply, “Wouldn’t be right?” He echoed.

  She shook her head and her gorgeous red hair swung back and forth. “The finishing school I was sent to by my parents was rather old-fashioned. They drummed it into us that a woman’s calling is as a wife and as support for her husband. I think they went a bit over the top, but…” She paused and frowned as if to assemble the right words. “But in some ways they were right. I know I can’t help you hone your theology or write a sermon, but I can keep house.” She frowned again, “No, I’d want to keep house. I’d want to decorate the house – don’t worry we did interior design – and to make it a home fit for a king. I’d want to make it clean, in any case men never see the dirt anyway, not the real dirt behind the furniture and under the doormat.”

  She swallowed and looked away, “I’d want to do something I know I can be good at.”

  She looked back, “I know it probably seems menial and unrewarding to you, but I know that I’d love it.”

  Of all the replies Ben had expected, this was not one of them. Without thinking he put his arm round her shoulders. “And I’m sure you’d
be very good at it.”

  He felt tension in her shoulders, “But?” She replied.

  “But?”

  “You were going to say ‘but’ at the end of your sentence.”

  He laughed and gave her a squeeze, “I was going to say, ‘but what happens if you get fed up with just doing that’”

  She sighed and looked across the stream. He felt her body slump slightly, “You don’t understand do you? I’m not brainy, I know I’m not brainy. Enough teachers have told me so. You know what one school report said? ‘This young woman does not posses even a hint of a sparkling intellect and either she must be willing to use her natural good looks to her best advantage or face life as a packer in a chicken factory.’”

  She became petulant, “I asked the teacher what was wrong in being a packer in a chicken factory if you were happy and he told me to ask the chicken!”

  She turned her eyes on him, “I know it’s something I could do well.”

  She shoved her hands further into her pockets, “That’s if I ever get the chance, couldn’t do it for some berk who just wants me as breeding stock and as an ornament on his mantelpiece.”

  Ben realised that he had his arm around her shoulders and wondered when that had happened. He decided to keep it there, after all it was doing no harm.

  Treasa eventually rolled away from George, they’d had a kiss and a cuddle and he’d kept his eyes tight shut through the whole affair. She said softly. “What you thinking?”

  He opened his eyes, “I’m thinking I ought to try that with my eyes open.”

  Henry and Willow found their way to ‘Zygocactus,’ which was listed in the information brochure as being the hall’s equivalent of a Register Office. The door was open, so they entered. A young freckle-faced blonde woman in a tight fitting pink top, and a wheelchair, spun round as they entered. Her thin legs, turned in feet and manoeuvring expertise marked her out as a permanent wheelchair user. She flashed then a welcoming smile, “Hello, I’m Sylvia can I help?”

  “We’d like to get married,” replied Henry brightly.

  “Now?”

  “Now.”

  She wheeled herself up to her desk. Willow pointed at a picture of the beloved Angela and a tall dark man standing at the Hall entrance. “That’s Tom Clarke.”

  She turned to Henry, “You know, ‘The man of a thousand cheeses.’”

  Sylvia laughed, “My step-father, they got married last year.”

  Willow looked at Sylvia, as if for the first time. “You’re Angela’s daughter?”

  Sylvia grinned and waved her arms, I know, I know I look nothing like her, still she’s had enough plastic surgery to melt in the Sun and enough Botox to float a ship.”

  She reached over and turned a small computer on, “Not that I begrudge her one ounce of it, looking after me rather cramped her style for a couple of decades. Children with Spinabifida take a lot of looking after.”

  She typed in a password. “That’s why we started the Soulmate agency. Once I’d got married she needed to find a husband.”

  She tapped the picture, “He came on session fourteen, went home and then came back on session fifteen, threw the chef out of the kitchen – literally – and has been here ever since. They were actually my first marriage.”

  Willow nodded and said to herself, “So that’s why he dropped out of the entertainment industry.”

  She turned to Henry. “Two books, one very successful TV series and then the bloke disappeared.”

  Sylvia held out her left hand. “Can I have your ID cards please?”

  She swiped Henry’s card, peered at the screen and then frowned. “Says here that you’re a widower and that your wife’s death was registered in India and ratified as an accident in Portugal?”

  Henry nodded, “Aeroplane accident, she died in-flight. India was the nearest place to land with decent medical facilities and the airline was Portuguese, so her death was formally noted at an enquiry in that country.”

  He turned to Willow, “Enquiry said that the plane’s descent was due to freak weather and therefore her death was an accident. They mainly wanted me to realise that I couldn’t sue the airline, not that I would have as their pilot saved the rest of us.”

  Sylvia swiped Willow’s card. If Henry’s had caused a twitch of the eyebrows, Willows caused a rapid ascent. “Let me see.” She moved then mouse around, “Married in Scotland and divorced in England. Married in Italy, but marriage annulled through bigamy, his not yours, and married in America and with an American divorce from the same state via a petition from Marseilles, France.”

  She looked at Henry and then Willow. “No chance,” she said firmly. “At least no chance of a Swiftie. Swifties were intended for first time couples, I don’t think you could qualify as that, either of you.”

  Willow went to speak, but Sylvia waved her down. “However, if you can get your solicitors to fax me the relevant paperwork about deaths, divorces and annulments, and I’m happy with what I see, I could marry you in two days time.” She glanced at the calendar, “That would be Friday.”

  Willow turned to Henry, “I’m so sorry Henry, this is all my fault.”

  “Actually,” interrupted Sylvia, “Some of it is his. He should have got the death ratified in England if he intended to marry again using an ID card, but few people ever do.”

  Henry tried to salvage something, “What about Civil Partnership?”

  She shook her head, “What’s the point if you are going to get married, in any case the same caveats apply and I couldn’t do it until Friday.”

  She rubbed her chin, “Best I can do is a Partnership Registration, not quite the same as it carries no legal clout as far a death duties, pension rights and so on. It’s just a statement that you’d like to be considered as partners; it’s only real use is that it does register you as next of kin for the medical profession.”

  She looked at Willow, “You could change your name to Mrs Carlotta Aspen as there’s an automatic deed poll option you could opt for.”

  Willow smiled, “But if we did register we would be telling the world that we are now together?”

  Sylvia nodded, still looking at the screen as if she couldn’t believe what she was reading. “That’s what it’s for, but also let me tell you that either party can dissolve the partnership without the agreement of the other and when dissolved it can only be reinstated once.”

  Henry rubbed his hands, “So we could register the partnership now and get formally married on Friday?”

  Sylvia nodded, “Though if you intend to do that I wouldn’t go for a name change now as it would make the marriage certificate look decidedly odd.”

  Willow leant back and looked at Henry, “I’d rather like partnership and name change now and marriage on Friday. Am I being greedy?”

  “Not the least.”

  Willow looked at Sylvia, “And I’d rather be Mrs Willow Aspen, Carlotta makes me sound like an Italian ice-cream.”

  Sylvia nodded and looked at Henry. “I must formally ask you: Do you wish to enter into a registered partnership with Mrs Carlotta Constance Maryanne Valerie Montenetano?”

  “Yes, most definitely.”

  Sylvia looked at Willow, “Do you wish to enter into a registered partnership with Mr Henry Aspen?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you also wish to change your name to Mrs Willow Aspen?”

  “Mrs Willow Maryanne Aspen.”

  She looked at Henry, “Maryanne was my mother’s name.”

  Sylvia tapped a few keys, “Very well: Do you wish to change your name to Mrs Willow Maryanne Aspen?”

  “Yes.”

  Sylvia swiped both the cards and handed them back. “Congratulations, you are now registered as partners. That will be £207.63p please.”

  Willow pulled a bank debit card from out of her handbag and handed it over, she smiled at Henry, “You can pay for the marriage.”

  Sylvia took the card, “And the rings, I hope, you’ll need rings.”

/>   Willow leant back, “And a bouquet, and a new dress, and…”

  Henry held up his hands, “I get the idea.”

  Sylvia swiped the card. “I should have said that you could go for a joint bank account if your registered partners. It’s the only financial benefit and relies on European law, but the account must be with European National Girobank, nothing else counts. Funds in it up to twenty-five thousand Euros are not counted as part of an estate should one of you die.”

  She handed the card back to Willow with a small thin leaflet, “That option is really designed to stop disgruntled families claiming that money as under the European law it passes to the registered partner first even if there is a will stating the opposite.”

  Willow stood up, leant over the desk and shook Sylvia’s hand. “Thank you and as they say in all the best movies, ‘We’ll be back.’”

  Chapter 25

  Building Bridges

  Angela breezed in halfway through lunch, which today was thick soup and crusty bread or a salad and rice selection. She gazed around before announcing, “I believe we have more good news: Henry and Willow have decided to register a mutual partnership.”

  Henry and Willow stood up and took a bow. Henry smiled at Ben, “Don’t worry Ben, I’m due to make an honest woman of her on Friday morning. You are all most welcome to come.”

  Willow sat down and crossed her long legs, not a male eye in the room failed to watch. She also smiled at Ben, as if he was giving her a conscience. “Has to be a registry office, been married too many times for a church wedding.”

  Ben nodded, “You could opt for a service of blessing afterwards.”

  Willow seemed momentarily startled before turning to Henry, “Would you like that?”

  He nodded eagerly. She smiled at Ben again, “Thanks for the idea, vicars do have their uses after all.”

  For some reason Roberta made a sort of huffing noise, Angela waved her hands to regain some control. “That means another cake.”

  “Almond and coconut,” interjected Willow.