An exhausted woman after six years of solitude.
Margaret feels truly drained. Shes been living alone for six years, ever since her husband left her. Just last year, her daughter got married and moved to Manchester.
At forty-two, Margaret is in her prime a new lease of life, really. Shes an excellent hostess, known across her social circle for her homemade tomato chutney, which everyone says is second to none. But who is there left to make it for? The jars are piling up unused on her balcony.
I refuse to wither away in my own loneliness, not when I look this lovely! Margaret often declares to her friends. They always reply: Come on, find yourself a husband! There are so many single men about.
One of them suggests a matchmaking service called The Proper Partner. Margaret finds the whole idea of agencies a bit absurd and somehow a little desperate. Still, shes forty-two, and the number makes her anxious. The old clock that belonged to her grandmother ticks away the hours in that metallic, unyielding way.
So, after some deliberation, Margaret walks into the agency. A friendly woman with purple-rimmed glasses greets her.
We truly have the finest bachelors. Lets browse together! Take a seat beside me.
Theyre all rather good-looking, Margaret says with a smile, but how will I know if ones meant for me?
Thats just what were here for, the woman replies. We let you try him out for a week. Thats enough time to decide whether hes the one for you or if youd rather keep looking.
Sorry, try out? Margaret asks, puzzled.
Yes! One of our gentlemen will stay at your place for a week. No need to be shy, were all adults here. And dont worry, we have no oddballs or lunatics in our books.
Suddenly, Margaret is excited by the idea. Together, with the woman in purple glasses, she selects five candidates. Margaret pays a modest fee in pounds and rushes home. Her first candidate is already set to arrive that very evening.
She slips on a green dress, the colour of hope, and puts on some diamond earrings she rarely ever takes from their old velvet box.
Ding-dong! the doorbell rings.
Margaret first checks through the spyhole and sees a bouquet of roses. She lets out a little squeal of delight before opening the door. The man is just as handsome as his photo implied.
They sit at the table Margaret has prepared a proper feast. She places the bouquet in the centre. As she quietly observes her charming guest, she thinks, Brilliant! No need for the rest, this one will do nicely.
They start on the salad. The would-be suitor pulls a face: Why on earth so much salt? Margaret, embarrassed, offers a sheepish smile and serves the roast duck next. He chews a bite: Bit tough, isnt it? He doesnt care for the rest either. In all her fluster, Margaret forgets the centrepiece the wine shed chosen so carefully. She pours it, saying, To our new acquaintance! The guest sniffs, sips, and declares: Dreadful wine. Then stands: Lets have a tour of your flat, shall we?
Margaret, holding the flowers, presses them to his chest: I dont even like roses. Goodbye.
That night, Margaret sheds a few tears; her pride is hurt. But there are still four more meetings ahead.
The next evening, the second candidate appears. He strides in confidently: Evening! He reeks of cheap gin. Margaret asks, Been out celebrating our meeting already? He snickers: Oh, now! Is there a telly in here? United are playing City. We can chat while we watch. Margaret replies rather crisply, You can watch the match at your place.
Alone again that night, she cries a little more.
Two days pass, and then comes candidate number three. Hes not much to look at shabby coat, unkempt nails, mud on his shoes. Margaret is already thinking of a polite way to send him on his way, but decides to at least offer supper. He eats heartily and showers Margaret with compliments, almost making her blush. She brings out her homemade preserves. Good heavens! the plain chap exclaims. Best Ive ever tasted in my life!
Just then, the old clock chimes. He cocks his head: Whats that rattling? He steps into the next room, climbs onto a stool, inspects the clock. Let me have a go at fixing this! Got a screwdriver about?
Moments later, the clocks chime rings out clear and lovely. Margaret is overjoyed to hear the sweet sound. She thinks it must be a sign. This plain gentleman should be her husband hes got so many useful skills, and his tatty nails and muddy shoes are easily remedied. Besides, hes the third, and threes a lucky number.
Theyre supposed to spend the night together. Margaret is ready shes visited the salon, put on her finest bed linen with great big roses (actual favourites). But when she comes out from the bathroom, her guest is already fast asleep, fully clothed. Margaret isnt fazed. She smiles at his sleeping form: Poor dear, you must be shattered. She slides in under the covers, next to him.
Then, disaster: the handyman starts to snore. Loudly. Monumentally. Margaret pulls the pillow over her ears, tries nudging him nothing works. She doesnt sleep at all. She suffers.
Come morning, the guest appears in the kitchen, where Margaret is glumly sitting: So, what do you think? Shall I bring my things over later?
Margaret shakes her head: No, sorry. Youre genuinely a nice bloke, butNo.
Suitor number four is bearded, reminding Margaret of an old adventure film hero. She even lets him smoke in the kitchen. Taking a drag, he sets things straight: Margaret, lets be clear from the get-go. Im an independent man. Love angling, going out with the lads, dont want you pestering me with Where are you? text messages. That all right?
Margaret observes him flicking ash into her prized orchids pot and asks, You like chasing women too, I imagine? The bearded fellow grins: Why not? Told you Im a free spirit. Its natural for a man.
After hes gone, Margaret airs out the kitchen for ages. Her head aches, and she feels utterly drained. She cant even bring herself to wash up.
The next morning, Margaret awakens to golden sunlight behind the curtains and the cheerful chirping of sparrows. Suddenly, she realises how blissfully peaceful she feels. Its Saturday. Nowhere to be, no one disturbing her, no grumbling, no snoring, no fuss. The dishes? Shell do them when she fancies. Pure, simple peace and freedom.
Just then, the phone rings: Hello, Margaret! This is The Proper Partner agency. Another gentleman has been lined up for you today, remember? This ones bound to be the right one!
Margaret nearly shouts into the phone: Please take me off your list! Delete my details! No more! The best partner is the one who doesnt exist!
Then, laughing, she throws open the curtains.
