Free Matchmaker Cat (A Romantic Comedy Short Story) by Elizabeth Kyne Page B

wonder how on earth the page had ended up
on my computer. I must have Googled something obscure and pulled it
up by mistake, like the time I searched for a pantomime script of Babes in the Wood for my neighbour’s school and ended up
looking at entirely the wrong sort of babes.
    I felt the
brush of warm fur at my ankle. Chester was suddenly at my feet.
‘Hello, what are you after?’ I stroked him on the top of his head;
he seemed to like that.
    This was all
very well, but it wasn’t getting my email read. As I reached for
the mouse, Chester jumped onto my lap and knocked my arm away.
‘You’re such an attention seeker!’ I stroked his fur with my
mouse-hand and felt the rumble of his purr as he arched his
back.
    As soon as I
took my hand away, he demanded my attention again by jumping up
onto the computer table. ‘Chester!’
    He walked along
it, his tail dangling perilously close to my tea. ‘Come on, get off
of there! You know you’re not allowed on the furniture.’
    I was about to
cup my hands over his furry body and lift him back onto the floor,
when he sat right on the middle of the mousemat and placed his
front paws on the mouse buttons. On the screen, a window popped up
over the image of the smiling man.
    Yes, I would
like to meet this man , it said along the top of the window.
Underneath, it had a box to tick and space to fill in my
details.
    I looked at
Chester - with his paws sitting on the mouse - then I looked back
at the screen. I looked at Chester again, his eyes blinking
innocently in the glow from the webpage. It was impossible for the
two things to be linked, and yet they seemed to be. An eerie
feeling came over me, like a ghost was leaning over my
shoulder.
    One of the
man’s eyes in the photograph peeked out from behind the pop-up
window with a warmth that seemed to chase the ghost away. Almost as
if he were inviting me to fill in my details. Without stopping to
think about it, I typed in my name - Rosemary Woodvine - and my
email address, and hit the enter button.
    *
    The smiling man
in the photograph was called Horace, a name he was embarrassed
about and always shortened to Riss. He told me he’d been teased
rotten at school and called Horrible Horace and other, less
gracious, names. It had knocked his confidence for six and, while
friends of his were busy going out with girls and kissing behind
the bike sheds, he was on his own reading books or building train
sets.
    By saying that,
it’s probably obvious that my request to connect with Riss was
accepted. We exchanged emails for a few days, finding out little
bits about each other and generally chatting, until he finally
invited me out for a meal. Of course, I said yes.
    He had the same
smiling eyes in person as he had in the photograph. In fact, he
looked exactly the same, a forty-two year-old face with an amazing
amount of confidence for a man once known as Horrible Horrace. He
was dressed in a smart shirt and lived-in jeans; like he’d made an
effort, but hadn’t tried too hard. He made our meeting relaxed and
comfortable without the pressure that often comes with a first
date.
    We talked and
talked over our meals of pollo farcito and salmone paradiso at the
Italian restaurant in the centre of town. It was a nice place, not
too posh to be intimidating, and not too scummy either. We spent
two hours together and had gone through starter, main course and
dessert, before I even thought to look at my watch.
    ‘How are you
getting home, Rosemary?’ he asked as the waiter went to fetch the
bill.
    ‘I’ll take a
taxi.’ I’d got there by bus, which was fine in the early evening,
but not so pleasant late at night.
    ‘Want to
share?’
    I shook my
head. ‘No, it’s all right.’
    ‘It’s not much
out of my way, and it’ll save you a few bob.’
    He looked at me
with those smiling eyes and I just had to say yes. Anyway, it was
an excuse to spend a little more time in his company.
    It was, maybe,
presumptuous of me to invite him in for a