Diary Entry Matchmaking by the Clock
Wednesday, 12th June
It was one of those quiet afternoons in the officethe kind where the air feels a bit too still and the sunlight streams in sharp stripes across the paperwork that clutters your desk. I was halfway through a stubborn stack of invoices and receipts, methodically sorting them into folders and scribbling notes in the margin of my planner, when my phone jolted me out of my groove with an unexpected ring.
I glanced at the screenMum. She never calls in the middle of the day; shes a creature of habit, always phoning after work while she enjoys her tea. The clock read three. Something must be up.
I answered, trying to sound composed, hoping my voice didnt betray the knot of worry forming in my stomach. Mum? Is everything alright?
Her voice was shaky, more anxious than usual. Emily, love, can you come round as soon as possible? Its important.
And just like that, I tensed, feeling as though Id swallowed a stone. I instinctively straightened in my chair, shoving my papers aside. Whats happened? Are you unwell?
No, darling, its nothing like that, she hurried to reassure me. I just We need to talk. It cant wait.
Staring at the half-finished work splayed across my desk, I hesitated. The afternoon was still young, with plenty left to do. But there was something in her toneurgent, nervythat brooked no argument.
Alright, Ill be there in an hour, I said, casting a quick glance at the clock.
If you could hurry, thatd be best. We have people waiting, she added, voice dropping to a tense whisper.
People waiting? That sounded ominous and cryptic. My mind whirred through possibilitiesillness, a family drama, an urgent errand. But Mum had made herself clear. No time for debate.
I collected my things, zipped my papers into my bag, and slipped into my jacket. My boss, always the reasonable sort, waved me off after a speedy explanation. I ordered a taxi, double-checked with Mum if she needed me to bring anything (she insisted on just yourself), then made my way out, half-running, heart thumping with a nervous energy.
The drive across town felt like an eternity, though the meter only ticked up for forty minutes or so. My thoughts raced through an anxious reel of worst-case scenarios as the familiar sights of Islington rolled bythe terraces, the parade of charity shops, clusters of schoolchildren heading home. I welcomed none of it, my mind far too busy imagining tragedies and disasters.
When the taxi finally pulled to a stop outside our block, I paid the fare (“Keep the change,” I mumbled to the drivernever mind the extra quid or two, my mind elsewhere) and hurried up the steps. Id barely fished my key from my handbag when Mum whisked open the door, seizing my arm and ushering me in.
The hallway was warm and smelled unmistakably of fresh sconesa dead giveaway of significant news. Mum only bakes for birthdays, holidays, or other special occasions. Today felt hardly festive.
Warily, I slipped out of my shoes and followed my nose into the lounge.
Mum, whats going on? I asked, voice tight.
In the sitting room, seated at the dining table set rather grandly with a starched cloth, was Stuart. That Stuartthe son of Mums old school friend from Essex, the one Id privately dubbed the Wet Lettuce since we were children. Tongue-tied, awkward, the sort of man who still blushes when he asks for directions in Waitrose.
Next to him, beaming like it was her own wedding day, sat Aunty Brenda. Her excitement was so palpable that I felt my annoyance dissolve into confusion.
Hello, Emily, Stuart stammered, standing up and straightening his jumper.
Hi, Stuart, I replied, coolly folding my arms. Mum, is this what was so urgent?
Mum fidgeted, smoothing the tablecloth and rearranging a napkin. Darling, Brenda and I were thinking Youve known each other forever, both grown up and settled
And? I interrupted, sharply enough to betray my frustration. Whats this got to do with me? I left work in the middle of the day. Whats so pressing?
Aunty Brenda cut in with bright, unyielding optimism: Stuarts doing so well now! Good job, lovely flat. Responsible lad.
Mum gave me a sheepish glance. We simply wanted you to have a proper chat, maybe get to know each other better.
I clenched my fists beneath the table. Again with the matchmaking! As if Im incapable of sorting my own affairs. My voice trembled despite my efforts at calm: Mum, I know you mean well, but Ill decide myself who I want to spend time with.
Poor Stuart went beetroot red and fiddled with his collar. Emily, maybe dont be cross? We havent even had a proper conversation. We got on well as kids. Perhaps we could see if we connect now? Youre lovely, and Id like to
Theres nothing to discuss, Stuart, I retorted, staring him down. Ive never fancied you that way, and Im not about to start pretending otherwise. I just dont see us being more than acquaintances.
He dropped his gaze to his shoes, cheeks aflame. Maybe we could at least try Im serious, Emily. I want this to work.
Mum raised a placating hand, We just worry about you, darling
I know. But, Mum, feelings dont just appear because you and Brenda think its convenient. Im grateful you care, but Ill handle my love life myself.
Tension dissolved a little as I shouldered my bag. Best I just go. Sorry if that ruins your plans, Mum, but Id rather be honest.
Mum lunged after me, hand hovering at my sleeve. Please, love, lets just talk
No, Mum. Later, when youre ready to listen instead of staging surprises. Please dont do this againits not fair.
I closed the door softly behind me, breathing in the revitalising, rain-fresh air of the street. My mind was a swirl of indignation and relief. Why couldnt Mum let me be? Why this compulsion to fix my single status like its a leaky pipe?
I cut through the parkmy shortcut since I was tentrying to walk off my feelings. Kids darted in puddles, mums chatted by the swings, pensioners basked in the unseasonal sun. As I veered around a particularly deep puddle, my mobile buzzed again: Mum.
I wavered, then answered. Her voice, slightly hurt but not angry, crackled down the line: Why did you rush off like that? We were only trying to help.
Mum, Im not going to date Stuart just because you and Brenda have been mates for decades. Its not that simple.
Hes a good man, Emno bad habits, steady job, family values
Im sure he is, I granted. That doesnt mean wed be happy together.
So who would you be happy with, then? She sounded tired, weary of this refrain. Its been three years, love. You never bring anyone home, you rarely even go out. What do you want?
I dont want to settle for the first decent lad just because Im nearly thirty, I said, stopping by a bench. Im not ruling anyone out, but it has to be my choice, not yours.
And is holing up at home with your accounts and microwave pasta your idea of a life? Emily, I just want you to be happy.
I am happy, Mum. Maybe not in your way, but mine. Im good at my job, I have friends. Im not against the idea of meeting someoneit just has to happen honestly and naturally, not as a mothers day project.
There was a long pause, background sounds faint. Alright. Sorry for pushing. I just dont want you to end up lonely when were old, she offered, more softly.
I get it, Mum. It means a lot that you care. But please, no more of these setups. You dont know how much my heart raced when you called earlier, I teased.
She laughed, the tension gone. I promise. But if someone does turn your head, youll tell me first?
Of course. Now Ive got to get backworks piling up. Love you, Mum.
Love you too, flower. Take care.
I hung up, eyes drawn to the breaking clouds overhead. The sun fought its way through, scattering golden patches across the rooftops as a woman strolled by giggling with a friend and a ginger spaniel scampered gleefully along the pavement. Ordinary life spun on: children played, joggers puffed past, shoppers spilled from the bakery. I felt the worlds gentle acceptance, its calm assertion that things will happen in their own time.
I tried not to dwell on the awkward scene with Mum over the next few days. The agency was in a flurrydeadlines loomed, clients demanded updates, and evenings blurred into late nights hunched over spreadsheets with mugs of strong tea. When I finally crawled into bed, I was far too exhausted to fixate on anything besides sleep.
Still, in those precious quiet moments before I drifted off, the memory pushed its way inMums hopeful face, Stuarts embarrassment, Brendas tight-lipped smile. I felt no guilt, just a bittersweet annoyance that it took a blunt confrontation for my message to land.
Friday evening, exhausted but unable to sleep, I checked my emails. A message from Phil in finance: birthday drinks, tomorrow, Loads of nice people, promise good music. You could use some fun. My instinct was to politely declineso tempting just to veg on the sofa. And yet, lingering loneliness pricked at me.
I typed, Ill be there.
The next night, the party buzzed in a North London caféexposed brick, dim lighting, communal tables, pastries warm from the oven. The chatter rose and fell; someone played Coltrane in the background. Phil greeted me with a bear hug, beaming, Didnt think youd actually come!
I needed a break, I admitted, handing over a card. He introduced me to a knot of friends by the window, then dashed off to oversee the party.
I took a seat by the pane, glass of elderflower fizz in hand. The tables conversation soon drew me injokes, old stories, a general buzz of good humour. I began to unwind.
Suddenly, an easy smile appeared beside me. Youre Emily, arent you? Im AdamMarinas mate from analytics.
Thats me, I replied, returning his handshake.
I remember you from the team meeting last month. Youre heading up the GlobalTech project, right?
Hed noticed me? Most people didnt even bother with cross-department chat. Yes. And you?
Im the data guyI did the projections for your pitch deck. Hope my charts made sense.
Our conversation slipped easily from work into all sortsfavourite books, dodgy takeaways, the best hidden parks. Adam was smart, funny, and genuinely easy to talk to. He listened, asked thoughtful questions, and his self-deprecating humour left me grinning in spite of myself.
The café grew loud as the evening wore on. Adam gestured towards the cool night outside. Fancy getting some fresh air? Hard to hear in here now.
Lead the way, I said, grabbing my jacket.
Outside, the night was gentle, the city sounds muffled and distant. We strolled by the river, stopping at the railings to watch cars and cabs winding their way home.
Adam asked, What do you do with your free time?
Read, wander around the city, catch the odd film if somethings worth the ticket, I mused. You?
Travel! Last year I went to the Lakes, and before that Georgiaproper Georgia, with mountains, not Atlanta! he grinned. He animatedly described craggy hikes, amazing wine, and being welcomed by locals for homemade khachapuri. I couldnt help smilingit did sound magical.
And you, any favourite escapes? he asked.
The seaside. The sound of waves, that briny breezetotal peace. But I rarely make it out. Work wins, most of the time, I confessed.
Sounds like its overdue then. When youre ready for a road trip, let me knowI make a mean playlist, he said with a wink.
I had to laugh. Here was someone interested, open, unafraid to be himself. It was refreshing.
Alright, I said, picking at my sleeve nervously. No rush, though?
Of course not. We could start with coffee tomorrow? His offer was gentle, no pressure, just honest curiosity.
Alright, I agreed. Coffee sounds perfect.
Returning home, still smiling, Id barely sat down when my phone rangMum again. I hesitated only a moment before picking up.
Hi, Em. How was your evening? Mums voice waded carefully, as though testing the water before a swim.
Lovely! I went to a do with some work friends. Met someone interesting, I replied.
Really? There was genuine surprise there, and a hint of hope. Who is he? Tell me everything.
Hes clever, fun, and seems to have left his mother out of his dating life, I said, grinning.
She laughed, warmth returning to the conversation. Well, perhaps I neednt have worried so much.
Worry if you like, but ease off the secret introductions, will you? I promise Ill let you know if theres any news.
Dealand I love you, Em.
Love you too, Mum.
I gazed out the window at Londons gentle, golden night, the city pulsing quietly with possibility. No idea where things would go from here, but for once, I felt contentnot boxed in and prodded along by someone elses expectations, but open to whatever tomorrow would offer. And that, I thought, was its own kind of happy ending.
