Love Is…

Nick shot me a sideways glance.

I shifted in my seat, hoping Rupert would come skidding back into the room and divert the conversation.

Fortunately, Olga returned instead, with the main course.

‘Filet de boeuf,’ she announced plonking the tray down on the table. ‘And yes, Mrs Victoria, I wash my hands.’

We ate the beef in silence. Occasionally, I glanced at Nick but mostly I just chewed and gazed around the room. Whenever I visited Victoria’s house, I felt as though I’d stepped into the centre spread of Home and Garden magazine. It seemed unfair that she could just swish her ponytail like a wand and get everything she’d ever wished for. My vision board was plastered with images of interiors like this, dotted around the doctored photo of Nick and I with a baby; however, so far all the universe had seen fit to deliver to me was up-cycled furniture from Gumtree. I huffed. Nick and I might not be worthy of parenthood, but surely the universe could spare a chesterfield sofa?

Rupert continued to yelp from the kitchen for the duration of two courses. I kept looking at Victoria, hoping she might soften her resolve and bring him in for a cuddle, but she was still glaring at Mike. Mike looked nonplussed.

‘So, what breed is he?’ I asked, in an eventual attempt to break the silence.

‘Sporting Lucas,’ Mike answered, matter-of-fact, between mouthfuls of crème brûlée. ‘Apparently, the ability to hunt ground vermin is an essential skill for a family pet.’

Victoria shrugged her shoulders, still glaring at Mike. ‘Well, you know what they say about living in London.’

We all looked at her expectantly.

She narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re only ever a metre away from a rat.’

Mike tutted, then scooped another mouthful of brûlée into his mouth.

Rupert was still yelping from the kitchen and now he’d added mournful pines into the mix. It took all my willpower not to run out and soothe him.

‘Maybe he’s trying to tell us something,’ I said.

Victoria narrowed her eyes. ‘What, that we have rats in our house? Don’t be ridiculous. He’s just being needy and probably wants more Parmesan.’

I turned to her. ‘Or perhaps he’s distressed? Having been dragged away from his mother and then locked in a huge kitchen by himself.’

Victoria flicked her wrist. ‘He’s nine weeks old; in dog years that makes him nearly one and a half. He’ll get over it,’ she said, pushing her untouched dessert to the side.

I glared at her.

She opened her mouth as if to say something and then closed it again, clearly thinking better of it, which was unusual for Victoria.

Mike stepped in instead, pushing his empty bowl to one side and turning to me and Nick. ‘So, bad news about the IVF then, guys.’

Victoria sat upright in her chair and dabbed the sides of her mouth with a napkin.

‘It’s just not right,’ she said, gesturing out the window. ‘All those offensive-looking people breeding like there’s no tomorrow, producing the most peculiar offspring.’ She turned to me. ‘And then there’s you and Nick. You’re an attractive, reasonably intelligent couple. Of course you’re by no means thoroughbreds—’ she took a sip of wine ‘—but certainly no reason to defy Darwin’s theory, wouldn’t you agree?’

I nodded, assuming I had been complimented in some obscure way.

Mike took another sip of wine. ‘I read something in the New Scientist,’ he said, ‘about a man’s virility dropping in highly populated areas. Like some sort of natural feedback mechanism.’

Victoria shook her head at Mike. ‘Well, that’s clearly not the case, my darling,’ she said. ‘Have you walked past Asda recently?’

Mike shook his head and continued, turning to me. ‘So,’ he said, ‘reckon you’ll go again?’

I glanced at Nick, who was now topping up his wine.

He took a big gulp. ‘We can’t afford it,’ he said.

‘Besides,’ I added, ‘our consultant said it’s best I give my body a break from the hormones.’

Mike smirked. ‘Yeah, and Nick a break too, I imagine.’

Victoria glared at Mike. Had she not been on the far side of a twenty-seater dining table, I imagine Mike would have received a stiletto heel to the testicles.

I glanced back at Nick, who was wriggling in his seat. I was tempted to ask him if he needed the toilet.

Victoria stared at him quizzically. ‘Everything all right, Nick?’

He placed his now empty wine glass down on the table. ‘I had some news today,’ he said.

I scraped my empty crème brûlée ramekin, wondering where it had all gone.

‘I’ve been offered a job,’ he continued.

I sucked a tiny bit of brûlée off my spoon and awaited Nick’s usual post–credit crunch story about a relentless head-hunter pitching a role with worthless share options, fourteen-hour working days and no bonus.

‘It’s a great role,’ Nick said.

I nodded vaguely.

‘Excellent prospects.’

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I said in my head.

‘I’ll be working with a talented team.’

Will be working with? I spun round on my seat.

‘The only thing is…’

Ah, here we go.

‘It’s in New York.’

Suddenly, the spoon slipped from my grasp and spiralled through the air, before ricocheting between the marble fireplace and the mahogany table leg. I reached down to pick it up. By the time my head popped back up, the conversation was continuing without me.

‘Well, I think you should go,’ Mike said. ‘There’s no point being childless in Clapham. It’s like being poor in Paris, get out of here, mate.’

Victoria agreed. ‘Yes, yes, and that ramshackle house of yours. I mean, let’s face it, a renovation can only do so much.’

‘Er, excuse me?’ I raised my hand, partly because I felt like an invisible child with no right to a vote, but mostly because I wasn’t quite sure what else to do. ‘Am I allowed an opinion?’

Nick looked at me from across the table. He seemed so far away. ‘Of course, sweetheart,’ he said, in his high-pitched let’s-placate-Ellie voice.

I wasn’t falling for it. I folded my arms. ‘I don’t want to go.’

Everyone turned to me. Rupert’s yelps had escalated and I could hear Olga in the background trying to soothe him.

‘You aren’t even going to consider it?’ Nick said.

I shook my head. ‘Nope. I love it here. I love our house. I love the parks. I love the people.’

Nick huffed. ‘What do we need four bedrooms for? What are we going to fill them with? Pot plants?’ He stared at me. ‘The parks are full of scooting kids and dog turds. The people…’ he glanced sideways at Victoria and then Mike ‘…well, they’re a bit, you know, self-important, aren’t they?’

‘And they’re so down to earth in Manhattan, aren’t they?’ I sneered at him.

Olga came back in the room with Rupert wrapped up in a blanket. ‘He crying so much, he been sick,’ she said, about to hand him to Victoria.

Victoria waved them away. ‘Not near me. I’m wearing cashmere.’

I opened my arms and gestured for Olga to bring him to me. He scrambled out of the towel and onto my lap.

I looked down at him and the moment his bright blue eyes met mine, the pining stopped. I stroked his tiny head.

Nick coughed. Then I looked up to see Victoria staring at me, her expression had softened. She didn’t need Botox, she just needed to lighten up.

Olga cleared the plates and Nick shuffled up next to me to stroke Rupert. Rupert wriggled out of my grasp and clambered onto Nick’s lap. Nick ruffled Rupert’s fur and smiled.

Victoria let out a sharp sigh. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ she said.

I looked up. ‘What?’

‘Just take him, will you,’ she said, her tone implying I might be more of a moron than she’d initially anticipated. ‘The dog. Rupert. Have him.’

I frowned. ‘Seriously?’

She glanced at Mike for confirmation. He shrugged his shoulders.

Victoria smiled and then turned to Nick.

‘Well,’ she said, smiled broadening. ‘There’s no way Ellie can go to New York now.’

Chapter 6

‘Congratulations,’ Matthew said, after I’d called him the following morning to share my news. ‘You’ve just done what every other infertile couple does.’ He paused to laugh. ‘Seriously, the clinics should affiliate with an animal rescue centre. “Sorry, your embryos were useless but we have an adorable whippet called Wilbur who needs a home. He’s very loving, great with kids. Not that that matters.”’

I ignored him and continued. ‘And Nick wants us to move to Manhattan.’

‘Whoa, what’s going on? First a dog and now emigration? Does he have a green card?’

‘Nick?’ I asked.

‘No, Rupert,’ he replied. ‘Those Yanks are ruthless with their border control.’

‘He’s not a Border, he’s a Sporting Lucas.’

He laughed some more. ‘You’re not allowed to go. Who else will entertain me with their ridiculous life?’

‘I’m not going,’ I said.

There was a pause on the end of the line. Initially, I thought this was because Matthew was taking time to consider the implications on my future happiness, however, the loud slurping noise revealed that, instead, he was just taking a moment to sip his coffee.

I sighed. ‘Does anyone actually care?’ Out of nowhere, Rupert jumped on my lap and gazed up at me.

Matthew sniggered down the line. ‘Of course I care,’ he said. ‘I just care more after coffee.’

‘So I was saying…’

‘Yes, you’re off to Yank land.’

‘No, I’m not. I’m not going.’

‘Why not?’

‘I hate America.’

‘You haven’t even been.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Of course I have. The agency has an office in New York.’

He laughed. ‘Yes, which you’ve visited once in three years, for, oh, what was it, all of six hours?’

‘I’ve been twice actually. And I went to Disney World when I was twelve.’

‘Aha,’ Matthew said, in the manner of a psychotherapist who had just pinpointed the cause of a patient’s neurosis. ‘Florida in the eighties doesn’t count. They were going through a difficult time: all visors and fanny packs.’

I chuckled. ‘And there’s no way I could join a nation who voted for a president who said: “most of our imports are foreign”.’

Matthew sighed. ‘They didn’t vote him in. He voted himself in. And, besides, they have a new president now, only since 2008.’

‘Yeah, one who sided with Argentina over the Falklands.’

‘Ellie, you can’t discount an entire nation based on political knowledge gleaned from a ten-year-old Michael Moore documentary and Perez Hilton’s blog.’

‘I can.’

He laughed. ‘So when you leave, who’s going to look after your clients?’

‘I’ve told you I’m not going. Why isn’t anyone taking me seriously?’

‘I suppose you could work from New York too. At least then you’d be rid of old twatty-pants Dominic.’

‘Are you listening to me?’

‘And the Sporting Lucas. I suppose you can take him with you?’

‘Matthew!’

He let out a deep sigh. ‘Ellie, beautiful, gorgeous Ellie, platonic love of my life.’ He sighed again. ‘When you repeatedly say you’re not doing something, usually it means you are.’

I paced around the hallway, ready to shout down the phone at Matthew that no matter what anyone said, I had no intention of moving to America, ever, when I noticed Victoria peering through the front window.

I attempted to ‘sign’ to her that I was on the phone, an act that I immediately realised could be no more explanatory than my actually holding a real phone to my ear.

She ignored me and started thudding on the door, by which point, Matthew had begun humming Frank Sinatra.

‘Bm ber der der der, start spreading the news,’ he sang, ‘Ellie’s leaving today. She wants to be a part of it…’

I rolled my eyes and hung up the phone.

Victoria bustled in, the moment I opened the door. Her arms were laden with Rupert-related paraphernalia.

‘Morning,’ she said. ‘I forgot a few things.’ She placed the items down onto a large pile in front of me, then smoothed down her ponytail. ‘There’s the mattress for Rupert’s bed.’ She pointed at a thick circular cushion. ‘It’s made from coconut fibres so it’s more breathable. Here’s the pamphlet,’ she said, reaching into her pocket and handing it to me. ‘It’s been clinically proven to reduce the incidence of Sudden Puppy Death Syndrome.’

I glanced at it and scratched my head.

She continued, plucking something else from the pile. ‘This is his heartbeat cushion Olga found at Pets Are Our World. Apparently it settles him…’ she pointed at something else ‘… along with his pheromone spray and plug-in. There’s his brush, made from natural fibres…’ she continued pointing ‘… his puppy shampoo—don’t over-wash him, he’s sensitive—toothbrush, toothpaste.’ She turned to me. ‘Dental hygiene is paramount to prevent future decay.’ She turned back to the pile. ‘There’s one week’s food. He’s on Paula’s Kitchen Puppy meals. They’re grain-free, from ethically sourced meat, with no fillers, and also with added bergamot and dandelion for his liver and kidney. And there are some special grain-free treats in this bag.’ Rupert jumped up, sniffing the packet and wagging his tail. She handed him one. Then reached in her other pocket and continued. ‘I’ve printed off a list of human foods he must not have, under any circumstance, and also a list of garden plants that are poisonous to dogs. It’s best to remove them from your garden just in case.’ She glanced through the kitchen to the back door. ‘Chances are you’ve got some of everything in that overgrown mass back there.’ Then she handed me a bundle of papers. ‘Here’s his pedigree certificate and passport application forms. He can’t go abroad until he’s had his rabies vaccine. His vet’s number is on the back…’ she pointed out where ‘…just below the grooming salon. Also he has a few sessions with his nutritionalist plus a month’s worth of canine psychology sessions to help him adjust to his new home.’ She looked down at Rupert, then back at me. ‘And just in case,’ she added, her expression cooling, ‘here’s the number of a dog therapist in New York.’ She looked me in the eye. ‘If you were to go, it would be immensely traumatic for him and he would need extensive emotional support to adapt to such a change.’

‘But I’m not going,’ I said.

She took a deep breath and looked at me. ‘You’ll take care of him, won’t you, Ellie?’

I nodded, bending down to pick him up. Victoria leaned in to stroke him.

Rupert wriggled, then jumped up into her arms.

Either he’d already been Stockholmed, or, I began to wonder, perhaps Victoria had been kinder to him than she’d let on.

‘So,’ she said, peeling him off her and placing him on the floor. ‘Everything all right with you and Nick?’

I nodded, distracted by Rupert arching his back on my carpet.

Victoria squinted her eyes. ‘Right, OK,’ she said, before giving Rupert one final pat on the head. She shut the door quickly before he was able to follow her out.

Moments later, I caught sight of her running back up the front path. She posted a large envelope through my letterbox. Inside were multiple newspaper and magazine clippings highlighting various shocking facts about the US, including but not exclusive to terrorism threats, obesity crisis, gun crime, poor social welfare and the number of unresolved puppy abductions in New York City.

I stuffed the clippings back into the envelope and left it on the side, then took Rupert, along with the list of poisonous plants into our garden. I’d decided to stay home with him that day to settle him in and show him around.

I pushed open the old French doors and stepped out onto the patio, trying to recall the last time I had actually ventured into the mass of weeds and tangled shrubbery that was our ten-metres-square London garden. It must have been over a year ago when we’d just moved in. I placed Rupert down by my feet and watched him explore. To little Rupert, faced with dense foliage over twice his height, it must have seemed like a jungle. He stepped tentatively forward, then a crow squawked and he ran back between my legs. Moments later, he tried again, this time venturing a little further.

Just as I’d spotted a potentially toxic-looking weed, my phone rang again. It was Mandi.

‘Ellie, where are you?’

Rupert bounded back between my legs. I shifted him away from the plant. ‘At home,’ I said.

Mandi paused for a moment as though she didn’t quite know what to do with that information. ‘Doing what?’

I bent down and tugged at the roots. ‘Weeding.’

Mandi paused again. I imagined her twitching her nose. ‘You need to come in.’

I threw the weed onto the patio. Rupert sniffed it then ran back between my legs. ‘Can’t it wait?’ I said.

‘No,’ she replied, more sternly than Mandi usually spoke. ‘It’s important.’

When I arrived at the office, having transported an increasingly perplexed Rupert in his Louis Vuitton dog carry case, Mandi jumped out at me. She was wearing what looked like an Aztec-patterned tepee with a coordinated neck scarf.

‘Ellie, you’re late,’ she said. ‘Into the meeting room quickly.’ Then she stopped, turned and peered into the carry case. She held her hands to her chest and made a high-pitched squealing noise.

‘Aw,’ she said, ‘a puppy! I absolutely love puppies. Did I tell you how much I love puppies? And kittens, of course. I love kittens. But not as much as puppies. Puppies I simply adore. He is just too cute. Can I cuddle him? Please can I?’ She peered in closer. ‘What’s your name, little fellow?’

Rupert growled. I went to turn the carry case away, assuming Mandi’s attire must have alarmed him, when I noticed Dominic standing behind her. Rupert growled again and then bared his tiny teeth.

Dominic sneered at the carry case. ‘No animals in the office,’ he said. ‘Clause 13.5b on our lease. He’ll need to be removed immediately.’

Mandi waved Dominic away. ‘Oh, get a life,’ she said. ‘It’s not as though he’s running wild, chewing the table legs and weeing up your trousers. Besides, it’s essential Ellie is present at this meeting.’

Dominic’s jaw tensed before he followed Mandi, Rupert and I into the meeting room.

Once we were all seated, Mandi flipped open her laptop. I smiled at her, quietly hoping she was about to unveil an e-petition for which she had solicited a hundred thousand client signatures objecting to my relocation.

She stood up and cleared her throat. ‘Eighty per cent of our matchmaking workforce is women,’ she began.

Dominic sighed and checked his watch.

‘Forty-three per cent of those are mothers,’ she continued.

Dominic rolled his eyes.

‘Our maternity package is grim.’ She looked down and started rubbing her tummy. ‘We offer little more than statutory pay, no child-care benefits and no additional support to mothers at all.’

Dominic sat back in his chair and stretched his arms above his head. He let out an extended sigh. ‘Have you got something to tell us, Mandi?’

She ignored him. ‘If our business is about bringing couples together, then surely our business should also be about preventing couples from separating.’

I leaned forward.

Mandi continued. ‘If we don’t support the family unit, then how can we say we are supporting the couple?’

Dominic sighed again. ‘So let’s cut to the chase, what do you propose?’

Mandi smoothed down her blonde flicks and pressed some keys on her laptop. ‘I’ll email you my full proposal, but, in short, I would like us to provide on-site childcare, flexi-working hours, extended holidays, extra sick pay when children are poorly, priority parking for pregnant women and breast-feeding stations in the office.’

He laughed again. ‘How about prenatal yoga while we’re at it? Or nappy bins in the meeting rooms. A jungle gym in the lobby?’

Mandi scowled at him.

‘What about paternity rights too?’ I interrupted. ‘One of my closest friends is a house husband.’

Dominic rolled his eyes. ‘Men shouldn’t be looking after babies.’

Mandi and I both stared at him.

Dominic shrugged his shoulders. ‘We’re not built for it,’ he said. ‘We don’t have the hormones or the attributes.’ He nodded to my chest and raised his eyebrows. ‘We were meant for world domination, not bottle feeding and nose wiping,’ he said.

I glanced at Mandi, whose mouth was wide open, then back at Dominic.

Dominic smirked. ‘Although the breast-feeding station sounds intriguing.’

I shook my head and stood up to leave.

Dominic followed me. ‘Oh, by the way, Ellie,’ he said, ‘the investors rejected your request.’

I turned to face him. ‘What request?’

‘The request to conduct your research from the UK.’

I stepped back. ‘I wasn’t aware I had formally requested that yet. I didn’t even know a meeting had been scheduled.’

He leaned forward and squeezed my shoulder. ‘I sent you an email. The meeting was this morning,’ he said. ‘You missed it, while you were tending to—’ he glanced down at Rupert, who was now sleeping in his carry case ‘—your dependant.’

That night Nick and I sat in bed together with Rupert nestled between us. Nick had insisted Rupert not be left alone with the weird heartbeat toy on his first night with us.

‘Dogs are pack animals,’ he’d said, seemingly trying to justify his sentimental side. ‘They feel insecure unless the alpha dog is there to protect them.’

A lengthy debate as to whether Rupert would view me or Nick as his pack leader followed, before our conversation moved on to the topic of New York. It wasn’t long until my arms were folded. ‘How many times do I have to say this? I’m not leaving my clients,’ I said.

Nick raised his eyebrows. ‘You don’t have any clients any more. When was the last time you actually did any matchmaking?’

‘The business needs me.’

‘You can work from New York.’

‘Well, I’m not leaving Rupert.’

‘Oh, come on, Ellie. You’re not going to let the perceived needs of a nine-week-old canine come between us and our future happiness.’

I stared at Nick. ‘Sorry, whose future happiness?’

He stared back at me.

‘Besides,’ I continued, ‘he’s our responsibility now. There’s no way I would consider rehoming him. He’s been through enough turmoil in his little life already.’

Nick smirked. ‘I wasn’t suggesting that for a second. We would take him with us.’

I glanced at Rupert, then back at Nick. ‘What sort of life would he have in Manhattan?’

Nick laughed. ‘Ellie, we have a Brooklyn budget. I was thinking Park Slope.’ He picked up his iPad and showed me an image on the screen. It looked nice enough, but there seemed to be lots of traffic.

‘What about the pollution?’ I asked.

‘We live hundred metres from the South Circular. I suspect there is a higher concentration of sulphur dioxide on Battersea Rise than there is on Broadway.’

I glanced down at Rupert. ‘I just want to give him the best life we can.’

Nick rolled his eyes. ‘Are you going to fret about his schooling now? Or the cultural clash he might face when integrating with native American breeds?’ He laughed again, though louder this time. ‘Do you think the Brooklyn street dogs are going to back him into a corner, mug him of his grain-free puppy snacks, and say, “Hey, Stan, we’ve got us a Sporting Lucas here. He says he’s from Engerland.”’

I folded my arms more tightly across my chest. ‘What about my friends?’

‘You’ve seen Cordelia once in the past year.’

‘It’s not my fault she chose to move to Woldingham.’

Nick rolled his eyes. ‘You hardly ever see Kat because she lives north of the river. And when was the last time you saw Matthew?’

‘Last Friday actually.’

Nick turned to me with a frown.

‘He came with me to Cassandra’s divorce party.’

Nick raised both eyebrows. ‘You went to a divorce party? Are you supporting a different cause now?’

‘I’m not supporting divorce, I’m supporting Cassandra.’