A woman exhausted after six years alone.
Sarah was completely worn out. Shed been on her own for six years, ever since her husband walked out. Last year, her daughter got married and moved to another city.
At forty-two, Sarah was in the prime of her lifea second youth, really. She was a brilliant homemaker, famous for her tomato chutney that everyone called a masterpiece. But who was there to make it for now? Jars were already piling up on her balcony, untouched.
“I wont let myself wilt away in this loneliness, not while Ive still got my looks!” Sarah told her friends. Theyd say, “Of course not! Find yourself a husband! There are so many single men out there.”
One of them suggested a matchmaking agency called “The Perfect Match.” Sarah thought it sounded a bit silly, even pathetic, to resort to an agency. But then again, she was forty-twothat number made her restless. Her grandmothers old clock ticked loudly in the corner, a constant reminder of time slipping by.
So Sarah went to the agency. A friendly woman in purple glasses greeted her:
“Weve got the very best. Lets take a look at our database together. Come, sit beside me!”
“Theyre all certainly handsome,” Sarah said with a smile. “But how do I know if any of them are right for me?”
“Thats the beauty of it,” the woman replied. “We lend you one for a week. Plenty of time to decide if hes the one or if youd like to try another.”
“Lend?”
“Exactly! A man will come live with you for a week. No need for blushingwe cut straight to the point here. And dont worry, no oddballs or nutcases.”
Suddenly, Sarah was excited. With the womans help, she picked five candidates, paid a modest fee, and hurried home. The first one was due that very evening.
She slipped into a green dressthe color of hopeand put on diamond earrings she rarely took out of her old jewelry box.
Ding! The doorbell rang.
Sarah peeked through the peephole first. She saw roses and let out a little gasp of delight. When she opened the door, the man was just as elegant as his photo.
They sat down to eatSarah had prepared a feast. She placed the bouquet in the center, stealing glances at her charming guest. “This is it,” she thought. “No need to look further.”
They started with the salad. Her prospective husband winced. “Bit heavy on the salt, isnt it?” Flustered, Sarah smiled and served the roast duck instead. He chewed slowly. “A bit tough” He didnt care for the rest either. In her rush, Sarah had forgotten the winea bottle shed carefully picked. She poured a glass and raised it. “To new beginnings!” He sniffed it, took a sip. “Rather cheap, this.” Then he stood. “Lets have a look around your flat.”
Sarah handed him the roses. “I actually hate roses. Goodbye.”
That night, she cried a little. It stung. But there were still four more to meet.
The second suitor arrived the next evening. He strode in confidently. “Alright, love?” He reeked of whiskey. Sarah frowned. “Celebrating without me?” He chuckled. “Oh, lighten up! Tell me, you got a telly? Man Uniteds playing. We can chat while we watch.” Sarah folded her arms. “You can watch football at home.”
Again, she cried herself to sleep.
Two days later, the third man showed up. Not handsomeworn-out jacket, grubby nails, mud on his shoes. Sarah was already planning a polite way to send him packing. But she decided to feed him first. He ate hungrily, wolfing it down, praising her cooking so much she nearly blushed. She brought out her famous chutney. “Blimey!” he exclaimed. “This is the best thing Ive ever tasted!”
Just then, her grandmothers clock chimed. The man frowned. “Whats that racket?” He marched over, climbed onto a stool, and inspected it. “Ill fix that in a jiffy. Got any tools?”
Soon, the clock was ticking clean and clear. Sarah was enchanted by the sweet sound. Maybe this was a sign. This scruffy manhe was kind, handy. The shoes and nails? Easily fixed. Plus, he was the third one. Lucky number.
They were meant to spend the night together. Sarah had preparedfresh sheets with big rose patterns (she did love roses, really). When she stepped out of the bathroom, he was already asleep, fully dressed. She smiled. “Poor thing, youre exhausted.” She slipped under the covers beside him.
Then came the nightmare. The snoring. Epic, window-rattling snoring. Sarah buried her head under a pillow, shoved himnothing worked. She didnt sleep a wink.
In the morning, he marched into the kitchen where Sarah sat, bleary-eyed. “So, whats the verdict? Should I move my things in tonight?”
Sarah shook her head. “No, sorry. Youre lovely, but no.”
The fourth one had a beard like an old adventure hero. She even let him smoke in her kitchen. After a drag, he said, “Lets be clear, Sarah. Im a free spirit. Love fishing, nights with the lads. Dont expect me to check in. That work for you?”
Sarah watched him tap ash into her orchid pot. “And women? You chase them too?” He grinned. “Course. A mans got needs, hasnt he?”
After he left, she aired out the kitchen for ages. Her head pounded. She felt drained, hollow. She didnt even do the dishes.
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains. Sparrows chirped outside. For the first time in ages, Sarah felt wonderful. It was Saturday. Nowhere to rush. No one to complain, snore, or mess up her peace. The dishes? Shed do them later.
Then the phone rang. “Sarah? Its The Perfect Match. Weve got one more candidate todaytrust us, this ones the one!”
Sarah nearly shouted into the receiver. “Take me off your list! Delete my file! The perfect match? The best husband is no husband at all!”
Laughing, she threw open the curtains.
