Love Is…

I snuck behind the bar and picked up a photo frame that had been placed face down on a radiator cover. Straight away I recognised the image. It was a photo I’d taken on our singles’ trip to St Anton: the moment they’d jumped off the ski lift together, now freeze-framed forever. I smiled as I recalled the months I’d spent prior trying to persuade them to meet each other.

‘No, he’s too short,’ Cassandra had said, when I’d shown her his profile.

‘I usually date hotter girls,’ Dr Stud had explained, before selecting the profile of a bikini-clad twenty-three-year-old nursing graduate.

I’d always known though that if I could just get them together on the ski trip then they would understand. And they did—well, for nine years at least. I glanced back down at the photo and took another swig. I would never forget the way they laughed together. It was as though they were the only two who knew the punchline. That kind of love couldn’t simply fade to nothing. Could it?

I looked up to see the redhead giggling and then flashing her cleavage at Matthew. I glared at him. Just as I was about to intervene, Cassandra appeared beside me.

‘Gimme some of that,’ she slurred, snatching the tequila bottle from my grasp. I’d forgotten I was still holding it. She took a swig and then turned to me. Her mouth was smiling but her eyes looked vacant. She nodded to the photo. ‘What goes up, must come down,’ she said, surprisingly succinctly. Then she laughed. ‘No one can defy Newton’s theory of…’ She rubbed her temples and swayed a little. ‘Or was it Galileo?’

‘Newton,’ I said. ‘Gravity. Are you OK?’

She took another swig and then wiped her chin. ‘Never better,’ she said, handing the bottle back to me. ‘Right. Speech time.’

I was still gripping the photo frame as I watched Cassandra climbing onto a chair, microphone in hand. I should have intervened. It was clear to everyone that a public and drunken explanation as to why we should celebrate the breakdown of her marriage wasn’t going to end well. However, as much as I wanted to preserve her dignity, part of me was desperate to hear what she had to say. I gripped the photo frame tighter and glanced over at Matthew, who was now cupping the redhead’s breasts through her dress. In the past year the agency’s divorce rate had doubled. Even my own relationship was in distress. I wanted to know why. Because if I knew what was wrong, then I was closer to finding a way to fix it.

Cassandra wobbled on the chair a little, then steadied herself and tapped the microphone. The DJ turned off the music.

‘Hey, everyone!’ Cassandra shouted.

The crowd cheered.

‘It’s great to see you all here tonight,’ she said, looking around the room and holding out her hands. ‘Some of you knew me before…’ she pointed at a few people in the crowd ‘… and some of you knew me during…’ she pointed out a few more ‘…but now, after nine forgettable years, Richard, or Dick, as I now prefer to call him, is finally out of my life…’ She punched the air and the light from the disco ball caught a tear on her cheek. ‘That bastard might have cost me £1.3 million in settlement and my last fertile years, and…’ she pulled the skin tight on her face ‘…given me greater need for Botox, but now I’m rid of him.’ She punched the air again like a motivational speaker.

The guests cheered and clapped and she gestured for me to bring her the tequila bottle.

‘As I said,’ she continued, having taken another swig, ‘some of you knew me before, and some of you knew me during. But everyone will know me after! Let’s get this party started!’

Cassandra jumped down from the chair and the music was replaced by synthesised siren. A group of faux policemen stormed into the room. They had sunbed tans, thick thighs and crew cuts.

Matthew caught my eye, with a ‘can we please leave now?’ expression.

I glanced back at Cassandra, who had begun to emit a noise not dissimilar to that of a mating tree frog.

Matthew immediately abandoned the redhead and shuffled up beside me nervously. The crowd, mostly comprising single women, parted and chanted as the dance troop ripped off their Velcro fastened trousers in one synchronised movement and went on to execute a choreographed ‘stop and search’ procedure, intermingled with an array of dance moves, which Matthew identified as the rear arrest, the handcuff hustle and the truncheon treadmill.

Once the routine had finished, and the only garments that remained were black satin pouches, Cassandra lifted up her skirt and called out to the dancer with the largest bulge. I did a double take. He looked disconcertingly like Nick.

‘Officer,’ she said, slapping her bottom, ‘I’ve been a very naughty girl.’

After she’d manhandled his pouch, she whispered something in his ear and slipped him a fifty-pound note, followed by a cheeky wink in Matthew’s direction.

A short while later, after Matthew had been the non-consensual recipient of an extended lap dance from PC Schlong, he asked me if we could leave. I led him out of the house and closed the door closed behind us. He glanced around skittishly and then sped down the front path to hail a passing taxi.

I giggled as we climbed in. ‘You can’t have the smooth without the rough,’ I said.

He scowled at me. ‘There was no need for him to dangle the bloody thing in my face,’ he said.

I giggled some more.

‘Stop laughing,’ he said, folding his arms and staring out the window.

I leaned towards him and smirked. ‘You’ve still got some whipped cream on your chin,’ I said, still laughing.

His hand flew to his face until he realised I was winding him up. Then he glared at me. ‘Speak about this to no one,’ he said.

After I’d eventually managed to stifle my giggles, I shuffled up next to him.

‘Cheer up,’ I said. ‘We had fun tonight.’

He sighed. ‘Well, I’m glad you had fun while I was being lap-raped by PC Right Said Fred.’

I smirked. ‘So you didn’t have any fun at all? Not even squeezing Cassandra’s bottom?’

He rolled his eyes.

‘Or checking out that redhead’s boob job?’

‘She was asking my opinion.’

I sighed. ‘Because she thought you were gay.’

‘I can be objective.’

I shook my head.

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Lucy wouldn’t care anyway.’

‘Really?’ I asked. ‘You have a clause in your marriage contract stating that objective assessment of non-spousal secondary sexual characteristics is permissible?’

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Something like that.’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘Is everything OK with you two?’

He folded his arms tightly across his chest. ‘It’s amazing. It really is.’ He forced a smile. ‘Since we chose to breed, our relationship has transcended that tiresome phase of animalistic passion and become a more spirit-centred union.’

I frowned. ‘You mean spiritually centred?’

‘No, spirit. She drinks gin, I prefer vodka.’

I slapped him on the arm. ‘Can you be serious for just one minute?’

He sighed again and then gazed up to the roof of the taxi. ‘What do you want me to say, Ellie? It’s shit. My marriage is shit right now. It hasn’t always been and I’m hoping that it won’t always be, however, right now, it’s shit.’

I turned to him with a scowl. ‘You’ve got two beautiful children, a gorgeous home and a wife who loves you. You’re so lucky, Matthew. You should be grateful.’

‘Oh yes, because you think having a family is the key to your happiness. Ellie, you spent years thinking the perfect man was the key to happiness. When are you going to realise?’

‘Realise what? That you like willies?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘That there is no key…’

I stared at him.

He turned to me. ‘You want to know the truth?’

‘Go on then,’ I said, half smiling.

‘I enjoyed looking at that girl’s boobs tonight, because I’ve forgotten what a normal pair looks like. In the past two years, Lucy’s have been swollen, veiny and grotesque, if not leaking milk or infected. Her nipples have been cracked and furred with thrush. And now, when finally they’ve been handed back to me, empty sacks lined with stretch marks, she worries they don’t turn me on. And, as much as I love her, as much as I want them to and as much as I reassure her otherwise, we both know deep down that she’s right.’ He turned to me. ‘You think having babies will complete the you and Nick white-picket-fence happy-ever-after. Well, it won’t.’

I smirked. ‘You’re just grumpy because you’ve had a ten-inch penis slapped in your face.’

He glared at me. ‘Having kids changes everything, Ellie. I love Zach and Angelica, but Lucy’s the one who wanted them. Then straight away she went back to work leaving me at home to wipe bottoms and boil pasta.’ He looked down. ‘She treats me like I’m staff. You should hear her: “Matthew, pick up the dry-cleaning. Matthew, clean the windows. Matthew, did you call the upholsterer? Matthew, are you listening to me? Matthew. Matthew!” She’s lost all respect for me.’

‘No, she hasn’t.’

He rolled his eyes and let out a protracted sigh. ‘Well, why else did she shag her boss then?’

For the rest of the taxi journey, we didn’t speak. I knew there was nothing I could say that would lessen his pain. I squeezed his hand and we stared out the window.

‘Not a word to anyone,’ he said, as he climbed out the taxi.

I nodded.

‘About PC Schlong, I mean. I have a reputation to uphold.’

I’d prefer to think it was because I was starting to feel like myself again, rather than a fear of ending up like Matthew and Lucy. Or worse, Cassandra and Richard. Either way, as I climbed into bed and snuggled up next to Nick, I felt something I hadn’t felt in months. I leaned over and kissed him. I could tell he’d been drinking again but this time it didn’t bother me. I kissed him again, and he kissed me back.

That night, making babies was the furthest thought from my mind.

Chapter 5

First thing on Monday morning, I noticed a voicemail from Cassandra. I waited until I was in the office and had finished my coffee before unleashing the assault on my eardrums. I put it on loudspeaker so I could temper the impact, and also so I could type some emails while I listened.

Unlike the usual mega-volume, her words were slurred and hard to decipher because she was sobbing and then sometimes laughing between them.

‘I’m miserable, Ellie,’ she said and then paused. ‘It’s not the same.’ She sniffed. ‘I want my Dick back.’

When I looked up, I saw Dominic leaning over my desk, hair coiffed, eyebrows raised. ‘She wants her dick back?’ he whispered, laughing. ‘Just what we need: another “they matched me with a post-op” lawsuit.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘It’s not how it sounds,’ I said. ‘She’s just got divorced.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘And you want to counsel these freaks,’ he said, making an inverted comma gesture around the word ‘counsel’.

I shook my head, tempted to prod him with the biro in my other hand.

‘Cassandra isn’t a freak,’ I said, hand still firmly over the receiver. ‘She’s a client. And the Dick that she wants back is her ex-husband. Not male genitalia.’

Just as Dominic was processing what I had said, buttocks most likely twitching as he did, Mandi breezed over. She was wearing a patterned empire line smock, roomy enough to accommodate a sextuplet elephant gestation. I glanced down at her stomach and then back at her face. Despite the rumours circulating the office, I had yet to ask her the question formally. Dominic said it was a matter for HR and advised against it. Besides, once it was public knowledge, I feared Mandi might overload my inbox with a deluge of Pinterest nursery interiors.

Mandi leaned over my desk, eyes wide.

I decided it best to terminate the voicemail, before the entire office became involved.

Mandi leaned in further. ‘Was that Cassandra?’ she asked, holding her hands to her chest. ‘How is she?’ She looked to the floor. ‘That poor, poor woman. Divorce has to be the worst experience for anyone.’

Dominic, who was still leaning on my desk, smirked. ‘Worse than terminal cancer? Death of a child? Being decapitated by ISIS?’

Mandi ignored him. ‘And this is her second time. Simply awful. Is there anything I can do to help? And Richard, how is he? They were so in love, Ellie.’ She wiped a tear from her cheek. ‘So, so in love. How could we let this happen?’

Dominic interjected, with a dismissive flick of his wrist. ‘If it was her second marriage, then statistically, they only had a twenty-five per cent chance of making it work. There is nothing you could have done.’

Mandi narrowed her eyes and poked Dominic in the chest. ‘Would a doctor turn off a life support machine if a person had a twenty-five per cent chance of waking from a coma? No, they wouldn’t.’

Dominic sighed. ‘They turned it off. Not us.’

Mandi scowled. ‘This isn’t Dignitas. We’re a dating agency. We’re supposed to help people.’

Dominic laughed. ‘If only it was,’ he said. ‘There’s a far greater chance of preserving dignity in death than in dating.’

Mandi tutted then turned to me. ‘Ellie?’

I thought for a moment. ‘Cassandra wants him back.’

Mandi held her hands to her chest again and nodded.

Dominic sniggered. ‘Does she really though? Or is she just feeling sentimental after contracting pubic lice from a troop of strippers?’

I stared at him for a moment, wondering how he’d been privy to such classified information from the divorce party. Then I turned back to Mandi. ‘She says she still loves him,’ I said.

Dominic laughed. ‘I thought I still loved an ex when I found an old photo of her topless.’

It was hard to imagine Dominic on a date, let alone in a relationship. I was almost certain he was a sociopath who fantasised about mutilating female body parts in the manner of Patrick Bateman from American Psycho.

Mandi scowled at him, then continued. ‘They were so good together. Perfect for each other. You never saw them on the ski trip, Dominic. Or at their wedding. What would you know?’ Mandi’s chest was flushed now. She turned back to me. ‘I have to help them, Ellie. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.’

Dominic shook his head at Mandi. ‘Get one of your matchmakers to deal with it. You’re a manager now, you have more important things to do.’

‘Nothing’s more important than saving a marriage,’ she said. ‘And besides, Dominic, you should know by now, I’m a matchmaker first and a manager second.’ And with that she stomped off.

Dominic glared at her as she walked away, then turned to me and pointed at his watch to remind me, as he did every Monday, that it was time for our weekly meeting.

‘Another hour of my life I’ll never get back,’ I muttered, as I followed him into the meeting room.

‘Sorry, what was that, Eleanor?’ he asked, as he sat down in one of the executive orange leather seats he’d had commissioned for our meeting room.

I forced a smile. ‘Another intellectually stimulating chat,’ I said.

He looked at me and raised one eyebrow, then took a file from his briefcase.

‘So,’ he said, placing both hands on the table, ‘this dating therapy thing you want to do.’

I stared at him. ‘You mean the coaching programme, which has been formally approved by the investors?’

He nodded and smiled. ‘Well, I believe it could generate more profit than our introductions service.’

I went to smile but Dominic’s enthusiasm was concerning me.

He continued. ‘So the investors and I have spoken and it was unanimously agreed that you should manage this project.’

I stared at him some more, wondering what point he was trying to make.

‘In its entirety,’ he added.

‘I thought that had already been agreed.’

He leaned back and ran his hands through his hair. ‘We expect you to write and deliver the programme.’

I shook my head from side to side. ‘Well, the idea I had…’

‘Yes?’

‘…was to work with the top psychologists and researchers.’

Dominic clapped his hands together with the glee of a fisherman who had just felt a tug on his rod. ‘Excellent, Eleanor. That’s precisely what we were thinking too.’ He glanced down at his file and began flicking through the pages. Then he nodded and pushed the file across the table towards me. ‘You’ll find a comprehensive list of experts in there.’

I opened it and glanced at the first page, which I immediately discovered was a fold-out world map.

Dominic continued. ‘You’ll start in New York; that’s where most of the current research is being done. Using that as a base, you can travel to Long Island and Texas. Then, after that, you’ll move on to Iceland, then Tokyo—there’s some interesting research going on there—then Africa, and finally, you’ll end up back in Europe.’

I leafed through the pages, noting every stop Dominic had listed on my protracted tour of the globe. I closed the file and shook my head.

‘I’m not leaving London,’ I said.

The beginnings of a smirk crept out from the corners of his mouth. ‘But this is what you wanted, isn’t it, Eleanor? To find a cure for heartbreak?’

I pushed the file back towards him.

‘What about Skype? I could easily speak to the experts on the phone. I don’t have to be there.’

Dominic shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, we think you do. That way you can witness and experience any interventions firsthand.’

I screwed up my face. ‘I can’t be the researcher and the recipient.’

Dominic grinned. ‘The investors think you can.’

I stood up, ready to walk out. ‘Well, I’ll have to persuade them otherwise then, won’t I?’

His smirk was at full capacity now. ‘They’ve decided to channel all available resources into the project. So, good luck with that.’

That evening, I arrived home to find Nick in the kitchen, pan-frying tuna steaks. I could see he’d already prepared a salad and the table was set complete with a lit candle.

‘Evening, my gorgeous girl,’ he said, handing me a glass of wine.

I leaned in towards him and rested my head on his shoulder. I knew we’d have to have a conversation about our childless future at some point, but for the time being, I wanted it to just be Nick and I again. Without any complications.

Suddenly, my phone vibrated. It was a text from Victoria.

Hurry up. You’re late

I scrunched up my face, remembering a vague acceptance of a dinner invitation last week.

‘What is it?’ Nick asked, sipping some wine.

I sighed. ‘We’re supposed to be having dinner at Victoria and Mike’s tonight.’

Nick’s smile faded. He glanced at the tuna steaks and then at the candle burning and then back at me. ‘But I wanted a night with just us,’ he said.

I leaned over and turned off the hob. ‘So did I,’ I said, ‘but we promised.’

Nick let out a long sigh and then downed the rest of his wine.

‘Come on,’ I said, ‘we’d better get a move on, you know what she gets like if her scallops are overdone.’

I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek and we made our way next door.

We rang the doorbell twice before anyone answered, which, given Victoria’s domestic staffing levels, was quite unusual. There was a bit of a kerfuffle, some scratching at the door and what sounded like a tiny bird chirping, before eventually Olga, Victoria’s housekeeper, opened the door. A bundle of grey fluff rolled out onto the flagstone step. I bent down to pick it up. At first I couldn’t quite tell if the warm little body, with the fast-beating heart, was a cat or a rabbit or something else entirely, but when a pair of big blue eyes stared up at me, and the little tail started wagging, I realised it was…

‘A puppy?’ Nick asked, leaning in for a closer look.

Olga ushered us in. ‘I take Rupert now,’ she said.

‘No, no, He’s fine with me,’ I said, looking down at his furry face and smiling.

‘Careful, he’s likely to pee all over you.’ Victoria strode towards us, looking uncharacteristically flustered. ‘At best.’

‘Oooh, I don’t mind,’ I said, cradling him in my arms. I nuzzled his fur with my face. He smelled like malt biscuits and freshly cut grass.

Nick leaned in closer and stroked him on the tummy. ‘He’s a cute little chap, isn’t he?’

Victoria smoothed down her ponytail. ‘We need to eat,’ she said. ‘Give the hound back to Olga. And make sure you wash your hands.’

Mike didn’t join us until we were seated at the table and from his expression, he was as enthused about the dinner party as we were.

Once Victoria had formally chastised us for being late and thereby being solely responsible for the asparagus’ limpness, she went on to explain Rupert’s arrival.

‘Camille’s therapist suggested we get her a pet.’ Victoria sniffed. ‘She said that given the high turnover of au pairs, it would provide a constant in her life.’ She flicked her ponytail and speared a piece of asparagus. ‘Dr Osbourne has been harping on for months now about maternal attachment. Clearly trying to promote that book she wrote. She’s been on the Lorraine show too.’ She took a sip of wine, then shook her head quickly as if to disperse the alcohol. ‘I was raised by sixteen different au pairs and it never did me any harm.’

Nick started coughing. It looked as though a bit of asparagus had gone down the wrong way.

Victoria glanced around for Olga, then tutted and topped up her own wine.

‘I mean, seriously, what does Dr Osbourne expect me to do?’ she continued, taking a sip. ‘Give up my entire life to bring up my daughter?’

We all sat in silence. I swallowed the last mouthful of cold asparagus and then Mike stood up to pour us more wine.

‘But I bet Camille must love Rupert,’ I said, changing the subject. ‘He’s adorable.’

Victoria sighed. ‘She’s allergic. She’s gone through two asthma inhalers since we collected him from the breeder.’

There was a scratching sound along the floorboards, and suddenly Rupert skidded into the dining room, hotly pursued by Olga.

‘Rupert, Rupert, come!’ Olga shouted.

Victoria scowled at Olga. ‘Quiet,’ she said, ‘we are entertaining.’

‘Sorry, Mrs Victoria,’ Olga said, then tried to grab Rupert, but he bypassed her hand and scooted under my chair.

I bent down and picked him up. His eyes were wide, like a five-year-old who’d just arrived at Disney World. He jumped up and licked my face.

Victoria’s ponytail began to swing violently. ‘Olga, get that dog out of here right now. He’s supposed to be napping.’

Olga held her hands up. ‘I try, but he no want to nap. He want to play.’

Suddenly Rupert lunged forwards and swiped a Parmesan shaving from my plate.

Nick laughed.

Victoria tutted and marched towards me, snatching Rupert from my grasp. Then, arms outstretched, she handed him to Olga and waved them both out of the room.

‘As if having a child isn’t hard enough,’ Victoria said, ‘now I’ve got to train that bloody canine.’

Mike leaned back in his chair and laughed. ‘You’re not exactly training him though, are you, darling? Olga is.’

Victoria let out an extended sigh. ‘She knows nothing about dogs. I think they eat them in her country.’ She sipped some wine. ‘I suppose I’ll have to get a dog trainer. As if I haven’t got enough to do already.’

Mike laughed again, though louder this time. ‘Yes, whatever next, you might have to cancel a Pilates session or a lunch or, heaven forbid, a hair appointment,’ he said, taking another gulp of wine.

Victoria swished her ponytail from side to side. ‘Excuse me, Michael—’ she’d taken to calling him Michael since they’d joined the Chelsea Harbour Club ‘—I didn’t give up my career to manage household administration every day.’

Mike refilled his glass and leaned further back in his chair. ‘So, tell us, Victoria. What precisely did you give up your career to do?’

Victoria’s ponytail slowed to a stop and she glared at Mike.