3 notable skills matchmaking and people pleasing
3
notable skills: matchmaking and people pleasing
Finn
In a moment of impossible luck, I wake up ten seconds before my alarm. Five fifty in the morning is marked by weak sunlight filtering through the gap in my blinds, accompanied by the rumbling of Brixton’s near-constant traffic.
Humming, I head into the kitchen, keeping an eye on my phone while I prepare a protein shake and resist my daily urge to reorganise my landlord’s cupboards into a more logical layout. Because even though it absolutely would make more sense to have the mugs by the kettle and the knives by the chopping boards, I’ve been given strict instructions to keep things precisely as my landlord left them while I live here. Such is the price I’m willing to pay for a fully furnished apartment on a short-term lease.
Six o’clock comes and goes and I get ready for the day, still listening out for the call I’m expecting. I raise the blinds and open a few windows, breathing in the fresh South London air, which arguably isn’t super fresh, but it does the job.
By the time it gets to six fifteen, I type out a text. It takes me another few minutes to press send.
finn: Hey Dad, no worries if you’re busy, but are you still free for our call?
A reply comes through quicker than I expect.
dad: Something came up at work, we’ll try again another time.
He doesn’t suggest an alternative day, so I make a mental note to contact his assistant to organise it. Protein shake in hand, I brush off the quiet pangs of disappointment and head out the door, aiming to get a quick swim in before work.
I was warned that no one talks to each other in London. But on my walk, I say hi to the postman, promise the guy at the fruit and veg stand that I’ll be back soon – their mangoes are infinitely better than anything you could get from Tesco – and have a you-go-no-you-go moment with a sweaty middle-aged man in the doorway of the leisure centre’s changing room.
By the time I’ve dived into the water, my mind is settled. For years now, I’ve used swimming as a constant. Everywhere I’ve lived, the water wraps itself around me in a hug, the smell of chlorine so familiar it feels like a friend. There’s something to be said about the sameness of moving myself through the water – arms, legs, breathe, arms, legs, breathe.
When my muscles start to protest, I push through a few more laps and then call it a day. I’m leaving wet footprints on the floor when someone calls my name. Mia’s another regular in the pool – and the weights, and the treadmill and the boxing ring. We’ve been out a few times to the pub as friends, and a little while ago I got a hunch she might want something more than I could give. There’s not much I enjoy more than a casual flirt, but I didn’t want to inadvertently string her along, so I took matters into my own hands.
‘I just wanted to say thank you,’ she says, shifting her weight from one hip to the other. ‘For setting Matt and me up the other week.’
Pink rises to her cheeks, and I breathe a sigh of relief. ‘It’s going well?’
She drops her voice, excitement coating every word, and I lean in closer for the gossip. ‘We’ve trained together for the pentathlon a few times, and we’re going out for dinner this evening. You’re basically Cupid.’
‘I’ll clear my calendar for your wedding.’
‘Finn! It’s way too earl—’
But at the sound of the changing room door opening behind me, her eyes light up and she never finishes her sentence. I turn around and see the man in question, in all his impossibly muscular glory.
‘I’ll leave you guys to it. Have a good session,’ I say, shooting her a knowing smile and greeting Matt as I pass. Jesus, the guy makes me feel like a cheese string.
I’m still grinning to myself as I get changed. If I can’t be the one who lays down roots, at least I can watch love blossom for others.
How long can you act like a tourist when you move somewhere? It’s been months and I still feel like I’m in a movie every time I step on the Tube. Sure, in rush hour I occasionally fear for my life, and I’ve witnessed at least three people pee on the tracks at various times of day, but there’s a vibe.
As I walk along the platform, I make a plan to stop off at the coffee shop opposite the office before I start work. I’ve spent the past few months whining to Julien about the lack of decent coffee in this city, but finally my prayers have been answered in the form of City Roast’s espresso. I’ve been served by two different baristas on my three visits – a friendly Spanish man who managed to convince me to buy both a muffin and a cookie with my drink both times I’ve seen him, and a tall, beautiful woman who seems like she’d shoot actual daggers from her eyes before she’d ever give me the time of day.
By the time I get to the ticket barriers, I realise this very barista is at the gate next to me, presumably on her way to open the shop. She taps her phone twice against the reader with a scowl when it doesn’t immediately register, lips pressed into a pout. The giant headphones she’s wearing tell me – and everyone else at this station – to stay far, far away. When we exit, she heads left, taking the quickest route to work, and I make a detour that’ll kill some time before the shop opens.
I start by walking through Victoria Embankment Gardens, where the flowers are in bloom and a handful of people are sitting on the benches, taking in the low thrum of the city before it wakes up. I sit for a bit too, enjoying the sunshine, before I text Julien.
finn: You still up for tonight?
He responds almost immediately, one message after the other.
julien: Shit, I’m so sorry
julien: Can we do it another time?
julien: Promise promise promise I won’t flake again
I’m not particularly surprised by this. I’ve known Julien since we went to the same school in not one, but two countries as kids, and he’s never been great with following through on plans. But I don’t want him to feel bad, so I shake off the remnants of disappointment for the second time today and type out my reply.
finn: No worries, see you in the office
I’d intended to visit a food truck in Shoreditch with him later. Knowing that my time here has an expiry date, I’ve been trying to steadily cross items off my London bucket list so they don’t all pile up at the end of the summer. Unfortunately, I’d envisioned most of this list to be completed with Julien, but he already had his own life in London before I showed up, and I should’ve realised he wouldn’t be able to move everything around for me the second I got here.
He’s a man of many hobbies, and even more whims. We work at the same company, but most of his free time is currently spent training to become a florist at the London Flower Academy. It’s a career change that is somehow both random and incredibly on-brand.
So, for now, I’m adding items to my list whenever I come across something interesting. Occasionally I cross off an activity or location alone, but it’s just not as fun.
From the vantage point of my bench, the sights and sounds of pre-rush hour London wash over me like water in a pool, and I log them to memory, storing them neatly alongside images from all the other places I’ve lived throughout these twenty-eight nomadic years. It’s a rhythm I’ve grown used to – move somewhere, make a few loose connections, move again, start over. It’s what I do best.