Haley Hill - Love Is...

‘Client retention,’ he declared, as though he’d discovered the cure for cancer.

I frowned. One of the investors leaned forward.

Dominic continued. ‘Currently we’re retaining clients for an average of six months. If we could up that to twelve, we’d double our profits.’

The investor who was leaning forward, interrupted. ‘Adjusting for client acquisition costs,’ he said, ‘we’d actually triple our profits.’

‘Exactly,’ said Dominic.

Mandi’s hand shot up.

Dominic ignored it.

Mandi coughed loudly.

I gestured at Mandi to speak.

She turned to Dominic. ‘But our job is to match people. To find them partners. We want them to find love and leave our agency. That’s what they’re paying us for.’

‘Yes,’ Mandi’s assistant chipped in. ‘The clients get upset if they’ve been with us for months without being presented with a life partner.’

Mandi glared at her.

Dominic ignored them both. Then he tapped the keys on his laptop.

He continued. ‘You can see from my projections, if we delay matching our clients by a week or so each time, it will prolong the duration of the service, significantly increasing the revenue from monthly subscriptions.’

He pressed a key and a bar graph was projected onto the wall.

One of the investors made a note on a pad in front of him. Another one checked his mobile.

‘Another significant change I propose,’ Dominic said, leaning back expansively, ‘is with technology.’

All four investors sat up straight. The one with the mobile in his hand quickly put it back in his pocket.

‘Apps,’ Dominic declared, this time as though he’d discovered a renewable energy source. He tapped on his laptop and then another graph appeared, seemingly demonstrating a considerable reduction in costs and an exponential growth in profits.

‘Matchmaking apps.’ He smiled a self-congratulatory smile, while pressing keys on his laptop, which projected an array of charts and screenshots onto the wall. ‘If we convert our service to a digital interface, we’ll cut staffing costs by ninety per cent.’

As Dominic continued babbling on about profit margins and shareholder dividends, I gripped the sides of my chair and starting counting back from a hundred, a technique Dr Phil had explored on a recent episode about anger management. I counted slowly and purposefully, breathing deeply as I did, but at fifty-six, I could no longer stand to listen to Dominic’s attempts to brainwash the investors into agreeing to erode every value that the agency had been founded upon.

I stood up and glared at him. ‘Enough,’ I said.

Dominic stepped back. ‘Excuse me?’

‘You’re excused,’ I said, pushing past him and slamming shut his laptop, bar graph wilting as I did.

Mandi sat forward in her seat. An investor smirked.

Dominic glared back at me. ‘What’s the matter, Eleanor? Are you not concerned about profits?’

‘Of course I am concerned about profits,’ I said. ‘My house is falling down, I’m thirty-six and still wearing Primark shoes. I had more disposable income when I was twenty than I do now. I would love nothing more than a nice fat dividend once in a while. But—’ I turned to the investors ‘—that is not why I am here. That is not why I founded this company.’ I turned back to Dominic. ‘So yes, Dominic, I am concerned about profits. But what I’m more concerned about is our clients.’

Dominic rolled his eyes, as though I was about to suggest we pitch for government-funded matchmaking.

‘This year,’ I continued, ‘we’ve had more divorces than marriages. Did you know that, Dominic?’

He straightened his tie.

‘Last year alone, our clients reported 14,198 failed relationships and 1,239 broken engagements.’

Mandi’s eyes widened.

I continued, ‘Six hundred and seventy-five divorces.’

Mandi gasped.

I leaned forward and connected Mandi’s laptop back to the projector. ‘Mandi’s presentation showed we’re doing a great job. We have contributed to more marriages than any of the online agencies. However, we could do better. We’re helping people find love. But I believe we should extend our service to help our couples maintain their relationships. They need our support.’

Mandi shook her fist in the air like a ‘let ’em ’ave it’ angry cartoon character.

Dominic tried to speak but I silenced him with a glare and continued.

‘We offer a personal service. That’s how we differentiate from all the other dating agencies. The superficial swipe-to-reject dating apps out there are feeding the narcissistic monster that is sabotaging the fundamental principles of marriage.’ I narrowed my eyes at Dominic. ‘Besides,’ I added, ‘if we dehumanise matchmakers, who’s to say we won’t dehumanise daters?’

Dominic shook his head. ‘What does that even mean?’

I sighed, wishing Matthew was there to back me up by citing Freudian and Jungian papers.

Dominic rolled his eyes and began checking emails on his phone.

I whipped out the divorce party invitation and slid it across the table towards the investors.

‘This is the tenth one I’ve received this month,’ I said. ‘We need to take action.’

‘Hear, hear,’ said Mandi.

One of the investors nodded.

I continued. ‘No one gets married thinking they’ll divorce.’ I looked the investors in the eyes. ‘No one falls in love thinking it won’t last.’

Dominic glanced up from his phone.

I cleared my throat. ‘We all hope for the best but few of us are equipped to deal with the worst.’

I noticed one of the investors was blinking rapidly and rubbing a tan line where his wedding ring used to be.

‘And how do you propose we do that?’ Dominic asked, as though I’d suggested we populate Pluto.

‘Instead of cutting staff,’ I said, ‘we should recruit more, invest in their training. We should equip our matchmakers with the knowledge and the skills to support our clients.’ I glared at Dominic. ‘That is something even the most nifty app could never do.’

Dominic smirked. ‘Nifty?’ he said, his expression implying that the use of old-lady vocabulary could compromise the credibility of my argument.

I continued, keen to move on. ‘We should train all of our matchmakers as dating psychologists.’

Dominic rolled his eyes again, and let out a why-don’t-we-feed-the-starving-in-Africa-while-we’re-at-it sigh.

I continued, pretending to ignore him. ‘I want us to be pioneers in our field.’

Dominic threw up his hands. ‘Oh, come on, Eleanor, that will cost a fortune.’

The investor with the tan line leaned forward and raised his hand to silence Dominic. Then he stared at me for a moment. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘you’ve got my vote.’

Dominic went to speak but another investor cut him off. ‘Me too,’ he said.

The other two investors nodded in agreement. ‘Let’s do it,’ one said.

The remaining investor, who was also Dominic’s grandfather, turned to him. ‘I’m with Ellie on this,’ he said.

I smiled and, rather smugly, held out my hand to Dominic. He bypassed it, grabbed his laptop and then stormed out of the room, buttocks clenching as he did.

As soon as he’d left, Mandi jumped up from her seat and began clapping wildly.

‘Yay, Ellie!’ she shouted.

Her assistant followed her lead. ‘Yay!’ she said.

Perhaps it was because this was an unusual situation for them, or maybe they were genuinely moved by my proposal, but for whatever reason, the investors began to clap too. That was until one of them must have realised that it was a little odd and stopped. At which point the rest followed and then filed out of the room, checking their mobiles, seemingly trying to pretend it hadn’t happened.