Doris and Ernest

Left-over rejects from the Speed Dating event, Doris and Ernest strike up a unique relationship of their own. An excerpt from The Daily Spread regarding Doris' 'bewty school' is appended.

It’s a little-known fact that the Federation of Undertakers Benevolent Society does sterling work in supporting its members. Recognising the challenges that younger professionals in the trade face when it comes to finding love and romance, they offer free tickets to local speed-dating events, including one taking place this very evening. After a confusing whirlwind of introductions—resembling the chaos of picking teams in a schoolyard—couples are eventually paired off, leaving poor Doris and Ernest standing awkwardly to the side, unchosen and unpicked.

Doris, ever optimistic and sporting her signature smile, reaches out to Ernest, and so their story begins. Ernest Pilker meets Doris Dinglebert when both are left-over, rejected, and overlooked at the end of the event. Ernest, overwhelmed and bewildered by the dizzying succession of strangers, struggled to keep up with the fast-paced format. Doris, with her ever-present, overly cheerful expression, thickly daubed makeup, and incessant chatter about her job as a “bewtician,” managed to scare off any potential matches.

Now sitting together, feeling rather ignored and dejected, Doris, in an attempt to lighten the mood, compliments Ernest on his aftershave. Ernest hesitates, unable to admit that the scent she’s referring to is actually the lingering aroma of formaldehyde and embalming fluid. When she asks about his occupation, he worries about scaring her off and tells her, rather vaguely, that he’s in the “transport” business. As he says this, anxiety creeps in—what if Doris notices the hearse parked conspicuously in the pub car park? He dreads the impression that revelation might create.

Speed Dating

Ernest Senior slowed the hearse to a stop a little way down the road from the Flirty Grape pub, located on the outskirts of Middle Selyme. “I’ll drop you here, Ern, so as not to draw too much attention,” he said, glancing at his son. Ernest Junior nodded, taking a deep breath as a mixture of nerves and excitement fluttered in his stomach.

“It’ll be fine, Ern, just relax,” his father reassured him, a hint of pride in his voice. “You’re looking smart, and remember, you’ve got a solid business and a sensible way about you. With your exciting prospects, you’d be a great catch for any young lass lucky enough to choose you.” Ernest Junior swallowed hard, tugging at the collar of his shirt, which suddenly felt far too tight.

Ernest Senior clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Look, it’s a free ticket, so there’s nothing to lose. Think of it as an exciting opportunity to show yourself off, lad. No need for airs and graces, but if you can, try and be a bit more, well, chatty. The ladies’ll like that, you see.” He smiled encouragingly. “And since you’re a bit on the quieter side, if you just look interested and stay awake, most’ll think you’re a good listener.”

With a final pat on the back, Ernest Senior sent his son off, watching as Ernest Junior stepped onto the pavement, his posture slightly hunched with nervous anticipation. Ernest Senior drove off, calling one last bit of advice out the window. “Just be yourself, Ern! And remember, don’t be too quiet, but don’t come off too eager either!”

Ernest Junior stood alone for a moment, acutely aware of the curious glances from people nearby as they noticed the large black hearse driving away. He straightened his shoulders, swallowed his nerves, and handed over his ticket to a brisk young woman with a clipboard. Without much ceremony, she slapped a large sticky name tag onto his lapel and ushered him through the door into the Flirty Grape’s speed-dating event.

Inside, the room buzzed with nervous energy. Rows of tables with two chairs each filled the space, and the clipboard woman soon had everyone seated. Ernest found himself sitting across from a young woman with a bright smile who nodded encouragingly. Before he could make sense of what was happening, the clipboard woman announced, “The first round starts now!” and a bell rang.

Ernest’s heart raced, his hands sweating as he stared down at the paper in front of him, not quite understanding what he was supposed to do. The woman across from him leaned forward, her smile wide and inviting.

“Hi there!” she said, glancing at his name tag. “I’m Doris Dinglebert. Nice to meet you, Ernest!”

Ernest swallowed again, his mind blank as he struggled to find words. His father’s advice echoed in his head, but it was useless now. All he could manage was a nervous nod. Doris, unfazed by his silence, kept talking.

“I’m new to Portselyme,” she said brightly. “Mum and I moved here a few months ago. I’m eighteen, and I’m learning to cut hair at Bewty College—well, cosmetology, but I just say ‘beauty school’ because the other word’s a bit tricky.”

Her perpetual grin, a product of her dysfacia, seemed unending, and she was undeterred by Ernest’s lack of response. Ernest, for his part, listened, grateful that she was carrying the conversation. His anxiety slowly ebbed as Doris’s chatter filled the awkward silence.

The clipboard woman’s bell rang again, signalling the end of the first round. Ernest blinked, barely able to believe that the first three minutes had passed already. As Doris moved to the next table, he felt an unexpected warmth toward her—her friendliness had eased his panic, if only slightly.

---

The Whirl of Faces and Doris’s Introduction

The evening passed in a blur of faces and strained conversations. Ernest struggled to avoid the inevitable question, "What do you do?"—a difficult one for undertakers to answer without raising eyebrows. By the time Doris returned to his table for the second round, he was weary, confused, and desperate for the event to end.

Doris, however, seemed unaffected by the lukewarm reception she’d received from the other men. Her face, locked in a permanent expression of cheerful blandness due to her dysfacia, failed to impress even the most gallant of the lifeboat crew, nor did it charm the firemen brought in by the local reporter to stir up interest. Her clumsy makeup, applied with little artistry despite her beauty school training, didn’t help either.

But Doris wasn’t discouraged. When she sat down opposite Ernest again, she made up her mind to break the ice.

“You know, Ernest, I should be good at these things, what with being in beauty school and all,” she said, leaning in. “But I’ve got to say, I’ve never been good with boys. Still, I couldn’t help but notice—what’s that lovely aftershave you’re wearing?”

Ernest blinked in surprise. He wasn’t wearing any aftershave. But he warmed to Doris’s attempt to pay him a compliment.

“Um… I’m not wearing any,” he mumbled. Horrified Doris might have noticed the scent of embalming fluid that clung to him.

Doris giggled, undeterred. “Oh, well, I must be imagining it then! I’ve got a nose for scents, see, being in beauty school and all. Anyway, what do you do, Ernest?”

Ernest hesitated, his palms sweating again. “I work in… removals. Transport services,” he said carefully.

“Removals, eh?” Doris grinned. “That’s interesting. Bet you meet lots of people in that line of work.”

Ernest chuckled nervously. “Not as many as you’d think,” he replied.

=

For reasons of her own, Miss Ghasm attempts to stifle Doris’ affections for Ernest…

"Doris, dear, said Miss Ghasm, it's not as though I don't understand your plight. I was young and naïve in love once too, you know. It’s a familiar story for all of us, especially after that dreadfully dismal Speed Dating event, wasn't it? I can't imagine the humiliation you felt, spurned and rejected, left to languish like some forgotten trinket. Left over…. It must have been rather trying, being so thoroughly ignored by everyone present. Just because the two of you happened to end up in similar positions of rejection doesn’t mean you should lower yourself to throwing your affections at that poor lad, really.

Of course, I grasp that you feel a certain kinship given your shared experience of being ‘left over’, but have you truly considered what you’re about to embark upon? Do you genuinely understand the implications of associating with an undertaker of all people? I daresay your mother, bless her heart, surely harboured far greater aspirations for you than this unfortunate choice, Doris.

Now, contemplating dear Ernest... well, I shan't mince words. He isn’t the most dashing young man, is he? Those oversized ears sticking out like flagpoles from that dishevelled hair, teeth reminiscent of, shall we say, tombstones, and that pallid complexion—while it might hint at honesty in his eyes, it hardly screams ‘catch of the day’. Yes, I must applaud the happiness that flickers in his eyes when he looks at you, though it does rather evoke pity, don’t you think?

But, fear not, dear; he’s hardly likely to be swept away by another young woman, nor would he find much opportunity to stray even if he wished to! I have nothing against him personally; in fact, he seems quite the gentle soul, if rather serious. However, it’s that whole... undertaker profession of his that's a tad unsettling, wouldn't you agree? It’s simply not suitable."

Deidre is a little surprised too…

'An undertaker Doris?' Deidre exclaimed. 'Why Doris Dinglebert you'll be the death of me you really will.' She shook her head disapprovingly, an undertaker of all jobs for a nice young man, it hardly seems fitting. Romantic it may be no doubt, but nobody would want to get caught dead with an undertaker. A doctor, a dentist, fisherman or farmer, but no, you Doris Dinglebert entangle with a… he's bound to have skeletons in the closet.

=

The Daily Spread ‘Business Section’

Local Businessman’s Latest Venture

“It’s been a great success,” said the proud owner Bert, of Bert Butcher’s College of Cosmetology and Builders Merchants Yard. “A lot of effort to open, but already all our classes are booked, and the goods yard is at full capacity.”

Drawing on his own experience in the trade, Mr. Butcher added:

“It was always a challenge to keep up a polished appearance while working on a building site all day. It was a real struggle to find time for a hair fix up or nails done. Now, with the cosmetology college right in the goods yard, builders can pop in for a spa treatment or facial while waiting for their truck to load or the cement to mix.”

“Builders make great models for the students to practice on. A makeover or new look for a builder really puts the students’ skills to the test.”

The builders, meanwhile, “love all the extra attention they get on-site, and the wolf-whistles and cat-calls from passersby boost their confidence no end!”