Chapter Four Carys #3
‘Oh. Anything I guess. I’ve always got a few million thoughts going on at once. Though at work it’s usually a goat with its head stuck in a fence or something.’
‘A… goat? What do you do?’
I explain that I work on a city farm in London’s East End, and I’m not just wrangling various animals from an office cubicle.
‘Well, I wouldn’t judge you if you were.’
I laugh, and I can feel the smile in the mirror stretching my cheeks. It’s a real, real smile. I can just tell he’s a good person. You just can’t be a bad person when you sound like he does; he’s sunshine, I think.
I’m trying to work out how to ask for his biography – I really think we should all come with a Wikipedia-type summary – when he says, ‘Can I ask you a question, Carys?’
I nod and then remember he can’t see me. ‘Yes! Go ahead.’
‘Okay. If we were hosting a dinner party and you could invite any one person, living or dead, who would you invite?’
Well. That’s a different train of thought than I was expecting, but I’ll go with it. I know it’s probably the opener he asks everyone, but throwing a we in there from the off just feels special. I repeat the question back to him just to make sure I understood.
‘I know my answer,’ I say eventually. ‘But it does make me sound like a bit of a nerd.’
‘I’m sure I won’t think that.’
‘Okay.’ I feel the excitement of talking about something I love ripple in me.
‘I would invite Jane Austen because her novels are such interrogations of people, of how we act and love and who we are, and even if she was quiet at our dinner party, I know she would have thoughts that I’d be fascinated to hear. ’
I feel my cheeks flush – I have a lot of feelings about Austen.
The thing I don’t add is my opinion that her novels, particularly Pride and Prejudice, are about autistic people of the past. Her characters are people I know and understand (sometimes literally), even if they act completely bananas sometimes.
It’s like their DNA is familiar to me: the way Darcy restrains himself to the point of squashing; Lizzie’s loud brilliance and opinionated nature; Lydia’s impulsiveness.
Even Mrs Bennet’s obsession with propriety.
I see them in me, and my family, all the time.
‘Which is your favourite novel?’ he asks, which is always a good sign because men usually seem to think she only wrote Pride and Prejudice. That’s if they even know it’s a book and not just a film or a TV show.
‘It changes, but I love Lizzie and Darcy. Their spiky romance is my heart-story.’
‘I’m more of a Sense and Sensibility man myself but I must admit that’s because I love watching Alan Rickman as Colonel Brandon.’ He says it so boldly that I know this is a truth. ‘There’s something so wonderful about him.’
That’s when I know for sure that my first instincts are right; there’s something special about Patrick.
I’ve never met a man who would choose lovely dependable (and kind of old) rescuer Colonel Brandon as their favourite if they were trying to impress.
They’d choose Fitzwilliam Darcy because they know he’s rich and because Colin Firth walking out the lake is imprinted on so many women’s minds.
Or if they do know Sense and Sensibility, they choose Edward Ferrars because he’s played by Hugh Grant.
I know Victor said that liking the same things isn’t everything, but this feels important. This isn’t just taste, this is like a literary horoscope. Brandon is reliable.
‘I love Colonel Brandon,’ I whisper. ‘Are you a romantic too, Patrick?’
‘I am. To a fault. I imagine all of us must be.’
I spin his question back to him.
‘Oh, I’m afraid my answer is a bit boring but I’d pick David Attenborough. I think he’d just have lots of really good stories from his lifetime of adventures.’
‘That’s not boring. He’s what my capybara is named after.’
‘You have a capybara? On your city farm?’
‘I have a cuddly one who lives on my bed,’ I say, because it feels safe to tell him that. Poor David is still stuffed in my suitcase because I felt a little embarrassed about bringing him. Now I know her, I feel like Dolly wouldn’t bat an eye at my emotional-support capybara.
‘I look forward to meeting him. I mean, sorry! That’s rather rude, isn’t it? He just sounds like a nice chap. That’s not me presuming I’ll see your bed. I’m… I’m making it worse.’ He’s so spluttery and sweet that I can’t stop laughing.
I know the show’s matchmakers set it up so that there are multiple on-paper compatible matches for each of us. But… wow. Do I really need to speak to anyone else?
There’s something about him: the way he talks, the way he asks me questions. I really want to see him again.
What if he’s the one? What if in two weeks’ time, he’s the man I’m engaged to? What if we’re married in a matter of weeks?
I think… I think I could see that.
I think Dolly would like him. He’s funny and silly and awkward and he sounds like a good man.
Our time flies by as we chat. He tells me about his quiet childhood watching a lot of television with his family pets, while his parents were working, and how all this time with animals led him to become a veterinarian, instead of a GP like his parents.
I can’t believe we both work with animals.
We both love animals, and, if we got married, I wouldn’t have to explain about bringing babies home to feed.
He’s open to relocating, and wants children when the time is right. All box ticks for me.
My notebook is untouched, and I’ve only drunk when my mouth felt dry. I’ve been so excited speaking to him that I haven’t had to find things to do with my hands.
What luck. How incredible that he was my first date. Does he want to see me again?
A jingle sounds through the speakers that apparently signals that it’s time for us to say goodbye and make our way outside.
‘I—’ I begin just as he says, ‘Oh really – sorry!’
‘You go first!’ I insist.
‘No, you!’
We share a giggle.
He clears his throat. ‘Maybe this will get easier with more dates?’
My heart catches. ‘So you’re already hoping for more dates?’ I whisper, trying to steady my voice.
‘Yes, I’d like to see you again, Carys. I’ve… I’ve got a good feeling about us.’
Me too, I think. ‘I want to see you again too,’ I say. ‘Goodbye for now, Patrick.’
‘Have a lovely day, Carys. I’ll see you again soon.’
The light dims and his voice disappears.
Gosh, I can’t believe I’m so lucky, to have maybe found my person on the first day. What are the chances?
I can’t wait to tell Dolly. I hope she’s having as lucky a day as me.