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‘Nope.’
‘Is he handsome?’
‘Yeah, and a bit fat,’ she said, nibbling her toast in perfectly even bites along each edge until she got to the last buttery golden mouthful in the middle.
‘Oh, well, that’s all right, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t mind.’
‘How old is your boyfriend?’ Sarah asked, holding her breath.
Instead of answering, Sissy brushed the fine blonde hair from her face so it didn’t interrupt her snack.
She wasn’t sly by nature, but if she got the tiniest inkling that Sarah might get upset she’d avoid her questions.
‘Same as me,’ she finally said.
At least he wasn’t some old perv, Sarah thought. Though he could still be a young one.
‘Do you and your boyfriend do fun things together?’
‘We paint and watch telly and hold hands.’
Sarah needed to talk to Kelly about this. A shared interest in EastEnders was one thing, as long as they weren’t shagging during the advert breaks.
It was probably the single biggest worry they had about Sissy. Her trusting nature was to be expected when she was little. Now that she was sixteen it could be dangerous.
As if sexual politics weren’t hard enough without Down’s syndrome.
‘Why don’t you have a boyfriend?’ Sissy asked, staring at her.
‘Do I need one?’
Evasion. It ran in the family.
‘It’s nice having one,’ she said. ‘You could bake him cupcakes.’
‘But I bake you cupcakes. Would you be happy sharing them with my boyfriend?’
Sissy thought about this for a minute. ‘You’d have to bake extra for him.’
Before Sarah left she sought out Kelly again to talk about her sister’s budding romance.
‘I know it’s hard, Sarah, but she’s growing up.’ The way Kelly said this made Sarah want to crawl into her lap for a cuddle. She had that kind of friendly authority. ‘Nature is making changes and it’s normal for her to want to explore these. She’s done really well so far when it’s come to her maturing body, right?’
Sarah nodded. She’d been the one who freaked out about Sissy’s first period. Her sister was fine with it.
‘We’re talking to her about sex and the feelings she’s starting to have,’ Kelly continued.
‘I understand that, but she’s got a mental age of nine. How can she understand what those changes mean, or how she’s supposed to handle them?’
Kelly squeezed her hand.
Just five minutes in her lap and Sarah was sure she’d feel better.
‘We help her understand things the same way we would a nine-year-old,’ she answered. ‘With a lot of clear explanation in an environment where she’s encouraged to ask questions and get honest answers. The boy she’s been spending time with is sixteen too. We keep a close eye on them and, as you know, we talk regularly to everyone here about expressing their feelings in an appropriate way.’
‘But you can’t stop hormones,’ Sarah pointed out, remembering her own teenage years. She may not have had sex till well into university but that hadn’t stopped her thinking about it a lot.
Kelly smiled. ‘I promise we’re keeping a close eye on them. And it’s good for her to have companionship. Everybody has intimacy needs. It can be unhealthy if they’re not expressed. See you on Thursday?’
‘Yep, Thursday.’
If her sixteen-year-old sister had a boyfriend, maybe she did need to think a bit more about RecycLove.
Chapter Four (#ulink_b3d7a52d-b634-5adb-83f4-cc4c23990b3c)
Catherine (#ulink_b3d7a52d-b634-5adb-83f4-cc4c23990b3c)
Catherine did a double take when she saw her next client. Was the universe just messing with her? After everything these past few weeks, it had to be having a laugh.
Struggling to keep her composure, she said, ‘Mr Larson? I’m Catherine. Please come through.’
But the universe didn’t answer. And when her client did, it was in a broad Australian accent.
‘Aw Catherine, don’t be so formal. You can call me Paul. Pleasure to meet ya.’
With just a glance she took in every detail, from his long legs to his shortish, nearly ginger hair and very ginger stubble, from his blue eyes to the quick smile he flashed as he sat in the wingback chair opposite her desk.
The man was the spitting image of Richard. Same aquiline nose, same strong jaw, same full lips and the kind of skin that burst into freckles at the sun’s first rays.
But he wasn’t Richard. He was definitely Paul. Australian Paul who just happened to look like her ex-husband and wanted her help finding the love of his life. She forced herself to stop staring and do her job.
‘So, Paul, I wanted us to meet so that I can get a good idea about you, your likes and dislikes and what you’re looking for in a partner. And I’d like you to feel free to ask me anything at all.’
He glanced around her office. ‘How’d you end up in this line of work?’
‘Oh, well.’ She hadn’t meant for him to ask personal questions. ‘It wasn’t a conscious plan at first. I worked for another introduction service when I first returned from the US. I simply answered her advert.’
‘Why were you in the US?’
Catherine felt her control of the interview slipping away. ‘I went with my husband when he took a job there. Now, if it’s all right, I’d like to talk a bit about you. Maybe you could start by telling me about your dating history?’
‘Straight in there, eh?’ he said.
Yeah, how’s that feel? Catherine thought. She waited for him to answer.
‘All of it?’
‘You can give me the highlights if you’d prefer.’
He scratched his stubble. ‘I wouldn’t call them highlights. I’ve gone out with a few women for a while. Mostly I just date.’
‘How long is a while?’
‘About twice as long as I should have, according to them.’
Her fingers flew over her keyboard, recording every word he said.
Issues? she typed after his last comment. Her eyes never left his. It was a skill she’d learned from her mentor when she first started in the business. Don’t break eye contact with the client. The longer you held their gaze the deeper they’d dig to offer up an honest appraisal of themselves, unearthing their habits and quirks in the process. Those golden nuggets of information were what made her so successful in finding love for them.
‘Have you ever been in love?’ she asked.
Jokey Paul disappeared. Aha, she thought, there’s the nugget. ‘Tell me about her.’
‘We went out in Oz,’ he said. ‘We were just kids, at school together. Anabelle. Her name was Anabelle.’
‘And it ended because …?’
He shrugged. ‘Nothing dramatic. She moved away, that’s all, to Cairns where her mum got a good job. She was a biotech chemist. Her mum, I mean.’
‘You didn’t keep in touch?’
‘For a while, but it was pointless. I couldn’t go there and she wasn’t coming back. So that was it. Does that mean I peaked romantically at sixteen?’
‘I don’t think so,’ she said, matching his smile. ‘There are a lot of women in London.’ Though competing with young Anabelle, perfectly preserved in Paul’s memory, wouldn’t be easy. Catherine ran across that problem quite a lot, actually. The One That Got Away Syndrome. She’d bet anything that Paul dated women younger than him, and got bored when the novelty wore off.
But aside from Anabelle he didn’t seem to have any serious hang-ups. She felt like she could work with him.
‘So you’re in banking,’ she said, consulting her initial telephone notes, ‘as head of Investment Operations. Is that interesting?’
‘S’pose it’s all right.’ He sounded like a grumpy teen.
‘Tell me about it.’
‘There’s not much to tell, really. It’s just a job.’
He wasn’t rude about it, or bitter. Just … meh. As they talked more about his likes and interests, she had a hard time finding anything to raise him above the thousands of other good-looking, solvent men in London. He’d have to be better than this if he wanted to measure up. Yet she felt he did have something.
‘Why are you thinking about using a relationship consultant now?’ she asked.
‘Is that a polite way of asking if I think I need to?’ He smiled. ‘Nah, it’s not that hard to meet women. Waving your Platinum Amex in the right bars is like chumming the water.’
Catherine felt herself bristle. ‘The women are the bait?’
‘No, the money’s the bait. The women are the sharks. That was fun when I first moved to London but it gets old after a while.’
So she was right about him. ‘What are you looking for now?’
He paused. ‘Quality, I s’pose. Someone who’s got everything I’m looking for and is really together, you know? She’s comfortable in her own skin and knows what she wants and doesn’t need to play games. But I don’t seem to attract that kind of woman.’
‘Why not, do you think?’ Catherine had to tread carefully here. She wasn’t in the business of making people feel bad, but she also didn’t want to over-promise.
He laughed. ‘I guess I’m too rough around the edges for them. They’re used to blokes who know their wines and which fork to use and all that bullshit. I’m just a hick from Queensland who wants to enjoy myself.’
‘Are those other things important, do you think?’
When he sighed, Catherine caught another glimpse of the man beneath the Amex card.
‘I’m starting to think they are,’ he said.
She wanted to disagree with him, but it was true. The women she looked after did expect a certain amount of finesse in their dates. Not that it was the most important thing. It was all just packaging, really.
One of the most important parts of her job was figuring out which of their services would give the client the best chance of finding love. RecycLove was for the people who liked the idea of choosing loads of dates to go out with. It sounded like Paul had had enough of that. The proper matchmaking service, Love Match, was best for would-be romancers who treated dates like they did dental appointments – an inconvenient necessity. She didn’t mind these clients who expected her to find a lover to match their requirements. But there was a third, rarer type of client who most interested her.
They were the diamonds in the rough.
The work she did with them didn’t have an official name. She didn’t advertise it and not even Richard knew much about the details.
People did come to her though, when they heard from former clients about how Catherine was able to mould people into the perfect romantic prospect.
She only had time to take on a few of these clients, so she was very picky. As she listened to Paul, her excitement started to fizz. He seemed to have all the important qualities women looked for. Already she could see that a few tweaks here and there would make a big difference to his chances of finding the woman he wanted. Maybe all he needed was a good polish.
Could she do it? Could she improve him?
She realised she’d gone quiet when she noticed him studying her. ‘Well, if you don’t feel that you’ve got some of the superficial attributes that your dates look for, I might be able to help you make a few changes.’
She always felt nervous when she pitched like this. She really wanted him to say yes.
‘Do I need more kerb appeal?’
She could tell he was teasing her. ‘Probably just small things, to help you stand out and meet more of our clients’ requirements.’
‘So this is a makeover, like one of those DIY programmes where they fill the house with purple velvet and candles?’
‘Of course not. Purple velvet clashes with your eyes.’ She smiled at her own joke. ‘But I could assess you and give you some guidance if you’d like.’
He stretched his legs out in front of him. ‘And this is all part of the package deal? Do you really think it’ll help?’
‘It can’t hurt,’ Catherine said.
‘Thanks for that blinding vote of confidence. I’ve got nothing to lose then. Where do I sign?’
As Catherine prepared the contracts, she had to wonder whether this was a good idea.
Yes, he did remind her of Richard … Richard in the early days before they both got so serious about life.
Of course, they hadn’t been serious back then. They’d been only kids, really, when they met. Richard had talked to her first, on the first day of class as they’d crowded into their second year economics lecture at uni. Well, he’d smiled first anyway. Knowing her, she’d done most of the talking. What had started with shared jokes in class soon expanded to shared notes and study dates around exam time. So far so platonic.
