Match Me If You Can

by Michele Gorman

  ‘It’s not the same as a proper holiday, Robin, and you know it. It’s been over a year since she’s been away.’

  ‘Look how well that turned out,’ he said.

  Sarah grimaced at the memory.

  Majorca had seemed like a good idea. Sissy would live on a sun lounger if she could get someone to deliver her toast to her, and though Sarah wasn’t much for the sun, she did love the warm weather. Robin had their mum’s paper-white skin but wanted to eat his way across the island.

  They had walked out to the beach after lunch on their first day, laden with towels and sun cream and snorkelling gear. There hadn’t been many other people there but all the sun loungers were taken.

  ‘We’ll have to sit on the sand,’ Sarah said.

  ‘I don’t like the sand,’ said Sissy.

  ‘Neither do I but there aren’t any free chairs. It won’t matter too much. You’ll be in the water anyway.’

  ‘C’mon, Sissy, let’s swim,’ Robin said. ‘Race you in!’

  Sissy ran into the sea, whooping as she went. As Sarah watched them she thought there was no doubt that they were all related. Robin had the same runner’s build and thick dark blond hair as Sarah, with Sissy’s round face and vivid green eyes. Their mum was never really far away.

  She spread their towels on a patch of sand near some steep rocks. The hotel sat directly on the cove, which was just a few hundred metres across. The hot sun was tempered by a breeze off the water that blew snippets of laughter and conversation from the swimmers. Sarah threw herself onto her tummy with one of the Artists & Illustrators back issues she’d brought with her. A week of doing nothing but this! Bliss. She looked forward to these holidays as much as Sissy did.

  She read the same paragraph again and again till the David Hockney article blurred. The next thing she knew she was being levered over onto her back.

  ‘Sissy, you’re soaking wet! And your hands are freezing.’

  Laughing, she dripped seawater on Sarah’s face. ‘Come swim with me.’

  ‘Your lips are blue. Warm up in the sun first and then I’ll go in with you.’

  She sat up. The sun had shifted position. ‘How long have you been in the water? I was dead tired.’

  ‘It’s nearly five now,’ said Robin, checking the watch in his bag. ‘Have you been asleep all this time? You should cover up. You look burned.’

  She pulled the towel around her shoulders. They were already going stingy.

  ‘There are loads of restaurants along the beach,’ said Robin. ‘We should check one out for tea later.’

  That was fine with Sarah. A few glasses of wine would take the sting out of her sunburn.

  But they couldn’t agree on a restaurant. Sissy was happy with any place that served prawns. Sarah didn’t want to spend a fortune on their first night and Robin had his heart set on a restaurant directly on the water. Nothing made them all happy.

  ‘But we’re paying for the view,’ Sarah complained as Robin loitered in front of one beachfront bistro. ‘The food probably isn’t even good.’

  ‘There wouldn’t be anyone inside if the food wasn’t good.’

  ‘Maybe they’re all suckers like you, here for the sunset.’

  ‘And the prawns.’ He pointed to the menu. ‘Look, Sissy, they’ve got prawns.’

  ‘I want to go here,’ Sissy said. Robin smiled.

  Sarah shot him a look over their sister’s head. Dirty tricks.

  She was wrong about the wine. It just made her tipsy and aching. But she was right about the food. It was expensive, with Robin gorging on the ceviche like he was the king of Atlantis.

  They went to bed with full tummies and empty wallets.

  ‘Are you awake?’ Sissy whispered into Sarah’s ear the next morning.

  She could see daylight through her eyelids but she knew better than to open them. Her only chance of any kind of lie-in at all was to play dead.

  Tap tap tap. ‘Sarah, are you awake?’ She didn’t bother whispering this time.

  Sarah kept her eyes screwed shut. ‘No. I’m sleeping. What time is it?’

  ‘The sun’s up. You’re not sleeping. You’re talking.’

  ‘Thanks to you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  They were on the beach before most of the other guests had finished breakfast.

  Unfortunately most of the other guests were German.

  ‘Here,’ said Sissy, choosing three of the sun loungers with umbrellas. ‘For your burn.’

  ‘That’s very thoughtful, Sissy, but we can’t sit there. People have already put their towels down.’

  ‘But they’re not here.’

  ‘I know, but they’ve reserved the seats.’

  Sarah knew how stupid that sounded. How was she supposed to explain about this early morning Continental reservation system? Sissy was a linear thinker and didn’t usually break the rules. And since there was no actual rule about reserving sun loungers …

  Sissy moved the resident towel to the sand, laid out her own and settled down with a contented sigh. Sarah knew her sister. It would take an Act of Parliament to move her. So she painfully lowered herself into the next lounger over.

  ‘What are you going to say to the people who come out to sit in their chairs?’ Robin asked.

  ‘I’ll say that my sister rightly said that beach chairs can’t be reserved. They’re for people to sit in. Are you joining us?’

  ‘I’ll have a swim first.’

  In other words, he was leaving Sarah to face the angry tourists. ‘Coward.’

  He jogged to the water and threw himself in.

  ‘Can I swim too?’ Sissy asked.

  ‘Twenty more minutes, I think. Just till your breakfast digests. Robin stopped eating before you did.’

  Sissy took Robin’s watch from his bag to count down the minutes.

  Sarah was shrouded from head to toe from the sun but still enjoying the already warm morning. She watched a couple of eager swimmers who, like Robin, were having a post-breakfast dip.

  Suddenly their brother stopped swimming. He must have got a cramp. It was shallow enough for him to stand up, but he looked scared.

  Sarah sat straighter in her chair. What was he afraid of?

  He started swinging his arms, rushing for the shore.

  Were there sharks?

  Jellyfish?

  ‘Robin, what is it?!’

  Instead of answering he darted towards the rocks to the left. Then he wheeled around and started running towards them.

  But he didn’t make it.

  As he neared, he slowed.

  Then he crouched, still walking, with a look of horror on his face.

  ‘I’m going to …’

  He squatted.

  His face contorted with a mix of mortification and relief.

  Right there on the beach in the glare of the sun, in front of the German tourists who were just emerging from breakfast, Sarah’s brother shat his swim trunks.

  ‘Don’t just sit there!’ he shouted. ‘Give me a towel.’

  And a spade to cover his … tracks.

  Half an hour later Sarah was paralysed with cramp too, but at least she made it to the room. Just.

  That restaurant was emptying more than their wallets.

  Luckily Sissy wasn’t sick. Her squeamishness about raw fish saved her from the fate of her shitting siblings. But they couldn’t leave her to fend for herself on the beach while they dealt with the aftermath of bad seafood. It would have been cruel to make her stay in the room with them on her only proper holiday, so they had no choice but to take turns on the beach, ready to dash to the loo at the next eruption.

  Sissy chose a different sun lounger each morning, tipping the towels onto the sand. Unfortunately she seemed to have a sixth sense about the towel’s owner. It was always the same German man. By mid-week, when Robin and Sarah were feeling nearly normal again, he no longer bothered to remonstrate with their stubborn sister, but silently collected his towel and moved along
the beach.

  They wouldn’t be going back to that hotel.

  ‘I know it’s not ideal,’ said Robin. ‘But having a day away, or maybe a weekend, is the best I can do right now. I’ll sort out a week in the new year, I promise. I can take Sissy myself if I need to. I know how important it is to her.’

  ‘You are still planning to come over for Christmas, aren’t you?’

  ‘Of course, I’ll be here.’

  It was a new-ish tradition since their mum died. Rachel and Catherine both went home to their families. They always invited her but she wanted to be with Sissy and Robin. So they came to stay for Christmas Eve through Boxing Day and she cooked a feast. They fought over board games and ate their weight in Celebrations. ‘All three nights?’ She knew she was pushing her luck.

  ‘Definitely,’ said Robin. ‘Though Lucy will just come on Christmas night and stay for Boxing Day if that’s all right.’

  It was more than all right. She made a face that she hoped passed for regret. ‘Too bad she can’t come the whole time, but I understand.’

  Robin laughed. ‘I bet you’re really broken up about it.’

  As she stirred the home-made pesto into the hot pasta, she thought, at least he’s coming for Christmas. I’m prepared to let Sissy’s holiday go. For now.

  ‘Wow, this is good,’ she said, when she slurped in the first long strands.

  ‘You’re not supposed to compliment your own cooking, you know. But yeah, you’ll make someone a nice little wifey one day. If you ever leave the flat.’

  ‘I’ll have you know that I’m joining Catherine’s website with Rachel.’

  ‘You’re kidding!’

  If only, but Rachel wouldn’t let her get out of it. ‘Thanks for that vote of confidence.’

  ‘You’ll be a star, I’m sure. I’m just surprised, that’s all. I never pegged you for an internet dater.’

  ‘Rachel’s making me. Speaking of which, someone has to join with me. A man.’

  ‘Don’t look at me. I’m taken.’

  ‘I mean someone I’ve dated. I was thinking about Sebastian. Do you think he’d do it? Is he even still single?’

  Robin laughed. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Of course he is,’ they said together.

  He took out his phone. ‘Here’s his number. Definitely get in touch. I think it’s a great idea, you online dating. You’ve barely been out since Mum died. You should stop punishing yourself.’

  ‘I’m not punishing myself. I’ve just been busy.’

  ‘Having a relationship with your oven isn’t the same as having one with a person, Sarah.’

  Like she sat around all day icing cupcakes. He never seemed to realise how busy she actually was. She wanted to see Sissy a lot, but that meant less time for everything else. Add holding down a job and, soon, renovating a house and then see how much time was left for a relationship.

  ‘Shut up and eat your pasta,’ she told him instead.

  Chapter Ten

  Catherine

  Catherine hurried to the bar, wishing she’d changed into her ballerina flats for the walk. But after feeling frumpy in her jumper the last time she met Richard, she was back in uniform. The gunmetal grey suede heels perfectly matched her wrap dress. They were worth the bunion-bashing.

  Richard hadn’t asked her for drinks in months before his wedding announcement. Then dinner with Magda and now this. It could only mean one thing. He had news, and she just bet it wasn’t good. She still felt strangely unsettled after meeting him and Magda. Nothing concrete had put her off, just a sixth sense. It was the same sense making her suspicious now.

  At least Magda wasn’t joining them.

  Her anger flickered when she saw that he hadn’t yet turned up. What was so important in his life that he got to be late?

  At first she’d genuinely believed that his other work commitments were the sole reason for his dwindling commitment to RecycLove. But there’d been too many flimsy excuses. He’d definitely become more selfish since meeting Magda.

  She felt like telling him that. They were business partners first and foremost. She’d have no trouble speaking to one of her staff who wasn’t pulling their weight.

  Ten minutes passed with no sign of him.

  Richard, you’re so rude, she texted. I’m leaving in two minutes if you’re not here.

  She heard a phone ping behind her.

  ‘I got our wine,’ he said, setting the ice bucket on the table and kissing her cheek. He smelled of an unfamiliar cologne that made her think of car fresheners.

  ‘You’re late.’

  ‘Nice to see you too. And I’m not late. I was in the building, at the bar getting our drinks.’

  ‘I didn’t see you there.’

  ‘That’s because you’re too vain to wear your glasses.’ He poured the wine.

  ‘You know I hate it when you order for me.’

  It was a habit he’d carried over from their marriage.

  ‘You always drink white. What’s got you in such a strop tonight?’

  ‘I don’t have a lot of time,’ she snapped. ‘I have to meet Rachel in an hour. And you are late.’

  ‘I feel sorry for Rachel then. You’re in a mood. Cheers. So how was your day, dear?’

  It was no use. Richard never rose to argumentative bait. He was the worst person imaginable to pick a fight with. ‘It was busy, as usual,’ she said, reaching for her wine. He was right. It was exactly what she wanted.

  ‘Because of the new clients?’

  ‘Partly.’

  ‘And the makeover service, I guess. I’ve been thinking. We should roll it out to everyone.’

  ‘Everyone?! Richard, do you realise how much more work that would mean?’ She could barely get through her day as it was.

  ‘You could charge for it, of course. Then you could hire more consultants. And you said yourself that it wasn’t taking too much time.’

  ‘Yes, for two clients. It would be too much for the whole business.’

  That was so typically Richard. He’d always underestimated the details.

  Her mind flicked back to their move to America. Case in point.

  Richard had made everything sound so simple when he got the offer to work in Washington DC. It was an adventure and she was welcome to come along.

  ‘Come along?’ she’d asked. ‘Come along?! What is that supposed to mean? Come along as what, exactly?’

  ‘Well, as my girlfriend, at least for now,’ he’d said, looking perplexed. ‘We don’t really have time to get married before we go. We’ll have to do it there. Or fly back to the UK after I start work if you want.’

  ‘You’re asking me to marry you?’ she’d whispered.

  ‘Well I assumed we would. Didn’t you?’

  So that was her marriage proposal. Well I assumed we would. Not exactly the rooftop declaration of love on bended knee that Magda got.

  ‘We do love each other, right?’ she’d asked.

  He’d pulled her into his arms. ‘Yeah. You’re my best friend.’

  ‘You’re mine too,’ she’d murmured. She was going to marry her best friend.

  Richard had loads of ideas about the wedding. She’d bragged about that to her mum during their daily transatlantic phone calls. Not many fiancés would get so involved. Big bands, English sparkling wine, square tables at the reception in her parents’ garden, all-white flowers, gingerbread cake, individually tailored party favours and a kebab truck for peckish partygoers near the end of the night. He had new suggestions every day.

  But when she realised that all he planned to contribute were suggestions, she had stopped bragging. She was doing all the hard work, while living in a new country five time zones away from the wedding venue. Meanwhile he threw himself into his new job. Aside from the few minutes when his alarm dragged them from sleep, she’d barely seen him in the run-up to the wedding.

  By the time the day had arrived she’d just wanted to crawl into bed for a week. She had Platinum frequent flyer
status on British Airways and never wanted to stow a tray table or place her seat back in the upright position again. And she’d die happy never to see another fairy light or taste a piece of gingerbread cake.

  Richard had turned up on the wedding day as if the whole thing had been put together by magic pixies rather than his bride, who’d had to use extra-strength concealer to hide the dark rings from the photographer’s lens.

  No wonder she wasn’t falling for Richard’s enthusiasm now about the makeover expansion. Even aside from the extra strain on the staff, Catherine didn’t want to grow too fast. They’d built their business by being sensible. She’d always been the brakes on his racing car.

  ‘We haven’t got the bandwidth to expand right now, Richard, especially when it’s essentially just me running things.’

  She gave him a pointed look. It was the wedding planning all over again. ‘I really can’t keep doing it all myself, you know.’

  ‘I know you can’t, Kate. I’ve been completely tied up with the other businesses, as you know, and you’ve been great with RecycLove. I wish I could spend more time there, but …’ He shrugged. ‘I’ve had a lot on my plate lately. And now with the wedding.’

  ‘I’m sure Magda will have that all in hand.’

  He completely misinterpreted her snipe. ‘She will. She’s amazing like that. And actually, since we’re talking about it … I think it’s time for me to do what’s right by the business.’

  Finally. ‘It really is, Richard. I haven’t said anything because I know how much strain you’ve been under, and I’ve been managing okay with the team. But it’s not really fair to us.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry. So I’ll make it right. You need someone who can be there more. The business deserves it. You deserve it.’

  ‘I’m glad you understand,’ she said.

  ‘Magda will need a few weeks to get her feet under the desk but she really is amazing. Well, you’ve met her, so you know.’

  ‘Magda?’

  He fidgeted with his wine glass. ‘I’ve decided to sell my share to her.’

  ‘What?! You can’t do that, Richard. You cannot do that!’

  She put her hand on her chest where her heart was thudding so loudly that he must have heard it. He couldn’t sell her business to his girlfriend. Love Match was hers. Hers.