“Some people invest hours and money in dating the logical, scientific way,” continues Sarika, “but you two just stumble across each other. It’s a dating miracle!”
She eyes Matt closely, waiting for him to respond…and then I get it. Sarika is a lovely, generous person—but even so, she’s dying to find something wrong. Because our love story disproves all her theories of dating, and Sarika’s used to being the clever one.
“Yes, it is a miracle, really,” I say, dragging Matt closer to me and wrapping my arm around his waist. “Sarika’s into online dating,” I add to Matt. “She believes in the power of the algorithm. But I don’t. I mean, be honest, would you have gone for me if you’d seen my profile on a dating site?” Even as I’m saying the words, I realize I don’t actually want Matt to answer this question. “Whatever!” I hastily chime in as he draws breath. “Maybe you would, maybe you wouldn’t, it’s irrelevant! Because here we are. And what brought us together wasn’t a computer.” I allow myself a tiny, disparaging smile. “I’m not guided by a piece of code that some stranger wrote. I’m guided by my own internal, natural code. My instinct.” I bang my heart. “My instinct was that we would be compatible, and it was right!”
“So—no flies in the ointment?” Sarika sounds teasing, but I can tell she seriously wants to know. “No clouds on the horizon?”
“None,” I say, trying not to sound smug. “All blue sky.”
“Amazing,” says Sarika, looking unconvinced. “Do you agree, Matt?”
“Hundred percent,” says Matt at once, and I feel a surge of love for him. “We have so much in common, Ava and I. We both love…” He pauses as though searching for words. “We both really enjoy…” He stops again, apparently stumped.
I feel a slight tweak of annoyance, because can’t he think of one thing we both like? There are so many! There’s sex…and there’s…
“Tai chi!” I suddenly recall. “We do tai chi together every day.”
“Yes.” Matt’s brow clears. “Tai chi. That was Ava’s idea,” he adds. “She has great ideas. Always coming up with plans.”
“You have great ideas too,” I counter at once, but he shakes his head.
“I’m not as creative as you. I was a lucky guy, meeting Ava,” he concludes stoutly. “Best day of my life.” At this, Sarika’s face melts into a misty smile. (For all her talk, she’s secretly a bit of a romantic.)
“That’s so lovely. How did you hurt your head, by the way?” she adds, looking at the Band-Aid on Matt’s forehead.
“Oh.” Matt smiles ruefully and raises a hand to touch it. “Pile of stuff fell on me at Ava’s flat. It’s pretty crowded in there, and there’s shit all over the place. I bumped into a dresser and a load of painting palettes and brushes fell on me.”
“It was only a small cut,” I say defensively, and Matt nods.
“At least I didn’t end up in A&E this time,” he says, and both Sarika and Nell goggle at him.
“A&E?” echoes Nell.
“Oh, didn’t I mention that?” I say evasively. “Matt had a tiny accident the first time he came to mine.”
“I sat on Ava’s ‘rescue chair’ and it collapsed,” explains Matt, and Nell snorts, then claps a hand over her mouth.
“Sorry,” she says. “Matt, have a drink. So, big question,” she adds as she pours him a cava. “Do you get on with Harold?”
There’s a long pause. I can see both Sarika and Nell waiting for Matt’s answer.
“Harold’s a character,” says Matt. “Definitely a character.”
“Do you have a dog?” asks Sarika.
“No, but my family keeps dogs.” He pauses again. “Although, you know, we train them pretty thoroughly. So. Bit different.”
I can see both Nell’s and Sarika’s eyes widening.
“Harold’s trained!” I say defensively. “He sits, he stays…sometimes….”
“Harold’s trained?” Matt echoes with a laugh. “Are you kidding? I mean properly trained. If you saw my family’s dogs, you’d understand.”
“What are they trained to do?” demands Nell suspiciously, and I want to hug her for leaping to my side. “Jump through hoops?”
“Be civilized companions for their owners,” says Matt easily, and I feel a tiny stab of annoyance, because he knows I don’t like the word “owner.”
“I think it’s about communication, not training,” I say, trying to stay lighthearted. “And I’m not Harold’s owner, I’m his friend.” I reach down to ruffle Harold’s head but, slightly annoyingly, he’s gone over to Matt.
“He could do with some training,” says Matt, as though I haven’t spoken. “But he’s a great guy, Harold. Aren’t you, boy?” He addresses Harold fondly. “I can’t believe I let you in the bed. Dogs should not sleep in beds.” He looks up at Sarika and Nell. “Anyway, yes, Harold and I have bonded. Mostly because we’re the two meat-eaters in the house,” he adds cheerfully, at which Sarika’s jaw drops open.
“You’re a meat-eater?” She swivels to me. “Ava, you told us you’d found a vegetarian artisan carpenter!”
“Called Jean-Luc,” adds Nell with a wicked grin.
“The Jean-Luc thing was a misunderstanding,” I say, ruffled. “Anyone can have a misunderstanding.”
“And I’m a meat-eating capitalist,” says Matt robustly. “Sorry about that,” he adds, sounding not at all apologetic.
“But you’re on the way to becoming vegetarian,” I say, still trying to sound lighthearted. “You’re considering it, at least.”
“Nope.” Matt shakes his head, and I feel a surge of indignation, which I try to quell. How can he be so closed-minded? Didn’t he hear anything I told him about the planet?
I’m suddenly aware that Nell and Sarika are scrutinizing me, and I hastily plaster on my loved-up euphoric smile.
“Anyway,” I say quickly, “it’s no big deal.”
“No big deal?” Nell peers at me, staggered. “Meat is no big deal to you?”
“No,” I say defensively. “It’s not. We’re in love.” I clutch Matt again. “The details are just details.”
“Right,” says Nell, looking skeptical. “Well, cheers to that.” We clink glasses, then I say, “Maud will be here in a moment. I’ll just assemble my vegetable mini-wraps.”
“Need a hand?” says Matt at once, and I can’t help shooting a triumphant look at the others as though to say, “See how helpful he is?”
“Don’t worry,” I say affectionately. “You chat with Sarika and Nell. I won’t be a minute.”
I spread out my picnic blanket next to Nell’s, take out my Tupperware containers, and start constructing my little wraps with vegetable strips and spicy sauce. I can hear Matt and my friends talking, but I’m concentrating so hard, I barely catch a word, until Sarika exclaims, “Golf!” in such a high-pitched, incredulous tone that half the park must hear her.
Oh shit. How did they get onto that? Now she’ll say she can’t believe I’m dating someone who’s into golf and make that a big thing. I should have told Matt not to refer to the golf. I could have said, really casually, “By the way, let’s never mention that you play golf.”
Then I catch myself. No. Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t want to lie to my friends. Obviously. But it’s quite annoying, them being so forensic and knowing so much about me.
As I finish the wraps and stand up, shaking my legs out, Nell’s voice travels through the air: “No, Ava never mentioned any art.”
“She described your flat,” chimes in Sarika. “It sounds wonderful. But she never mentioned the art.”
“For real?” Matt replies, sounding astonished. “Well, I’m quite a serious collector. One artist in particular. He’s a genius. I have his pieces everywhere.”
“Which artist?” demands Nell, and Matt says, “Arlo Halsan.”
Insta
ntly, Nell and Sarika whip out their phones. I just know they’re going to google Arlo Halsan, and I feel a sudden dread. Why did they have to bring up art?
“Ava!” says Nell chidingly as she sees me standing up. “You never told us about Matt’s art collection! Is it amazing?”
“Oh! Yes!” I force myself to sound enthused as I walk over. “It’s incredible.”
“Which is your favorite piece, Ava?” Matt turns to me eagerly. “I’ve never even asked you.”
I stare at him, frozen.
“It’s…hard to decide,” I say at last. “They’re all so…”
“Oh my God,” says Sarika, blinking in shock as her phone loads with images of the hairless wolf and disturbing sculptures of eyeless faces. “Wow.” She looks up at me, her mouth twitching, and I stare desperately back at her. “ ‘Incredible’ is the word.”
“Jesus!” Nell recoils from her phone as the same images appear. “Very…” She searches for a word. “Distinctive.”
“Search ‘Raven Three,’ ” suggests Matt eagerly. “I have that piece in my hall. I got it at auction. Cost a lot, but…wait till you see it.”
There’s silence as Sarika and Nell both google it, then Sarika makes a muffled, exploding noise, which she hastily turns into a cough. Nell gazes at the screen, apparently speechless, then looks up and says in heartfelt tones, “I don’t even know how to respond.”
“I know, right?” says Matt, his eyes lit with enthusiasm.
“Are those human teeth inside that beak?” Sarika is peering at the image, looking freaked out.
“What do you think of it, Ava?” says Nell brightly, and I silently curse her.
“Well.” I rub my nose, playing for time. “I love art. So.”
Sarika gives another suppressed snort and Nell bites her lip. Then she seems to have an idea.
“Hey, Matt, I was going to bring crisps for the kids, but I forgot. Would you mind getting some? There’s a kiosk by the gates.”
“Sure,” says Matt easily, batting away the fiver she offers him. “Back in a moment.”
He saunters off, and the others watch him before swiveling to me.
“Golf?” says Sarika in a hysterical undertone. “Golf? Does Matt know your views on golf, Ava?”
“He clearly has no idea about your taste in art,” says Nell with a gurgle of laughter. “Or are you saying you like this freaky stuff?”
“Stop it,” I say crossly. “It’s irrelevant.”
“Don’t you think you need to be a little bit honest with him?” Sarika looks suddenly earnest. And I know she means well, but I’m not in the mood for a lecture about relationships.
“No!” I say. “I mean, I am!” I give a huge yawn before I can stop myself, and Nell peers at me.
“Ava, sweets, you look a bit shit, if you don’t mind me saying so. Are you coming down with something?”
“No.” I hesitate. “It’s just…”
“What?” demands Nell.
“I can’t sleep at Matt’s place,” I admit. “His bedroom’s freezing. And his bed is like a plank of wood.”
“Have you told him his bed is like a plank of wood?” queries Nell.
“Yes. But he says it’s really comfortable and he has no idea what I’m talking about.” As I look at my friends, I can feel my veneer slipping a little. “Look, Matt and I are compatible. We really are. But there are just a few tiny areas where we need to find a middle ground.”
“Oh, Ava.” Sarika wraps her arms around me, laughing. “You’re a love. I’m sure you’ll make it work, but not if you float around in denial.”
“If his art collection is the worst thing, it’s not so bad.” Nell shrugs.
They’re both being so nice and supportive, I feel a sudden urge to confide in them fully.
“It’s not the worst thing,” I confess. “The worst thing is I met his parents and they hate me.”
(I can’t admit the worst thing is I keep googling his ex-girlfriend. That does not sound cool.)
“How can they hate you already?” Sarika looks astounded, so I tell her and Nell about the book and Genevieve’s face being ripped in two, and they both burst into fresh hysterics.
“Glad you think it’s funny,” I say morosely.
“Sorry,” says Sarika, calming down. “But honestly, Ava, you do get into situations.”
“What about this ex-girlfriend?” says Nell, her eyes narrowing. “Is she an issue?”
“Dunno. There are two ex-girlfriends, actually. Or maybe three. But it’s Genevieve who works for the family company. And his parents love her.”
“Well, sod his parents,” says Nell robustly. “Ignore them. Refuse to engage, if they can’t be more polite.”
But already Sarika’s shaking her head.
“Bad strategy. Ava, you don’t want them complaining about you to Matt, putting a wedge between you. I’d say go the other way. Win his parents over. Go on a charm offensive.”
“Why the hell should Ava have to go on a charm offensive?” says Nell combatively, and Sarika sighs.
“She shouldn’t. I’m just being pragmatic.”
Nell rolls her eyes. “You’re such a bloody lawyer,” she says, and Sarika grins, because she and Nell have some version of this argument about three times a year. (Usually in the context of Nell telling Sarika to leave her job and her shitty bosses and stick it to the man. Whereupon Sarika ignores her advice, stays, and gets a pay rise.)
“Ava, Matt’s parents will love you,” reiterates Sarika, putting a hand on my arm. “They just don’t know you yet. You need to spend time with them. Next time Matt visits his parents, go along too. Bond with them. And don’t take Harold.”
“Sarika’s right,” chimes in Nell. “Don’t take Harold. I’ll have him.”
“But—”
“If you take Harold, it’s over,” Sarika cuts me off bluntly. “You think ripping the ex’s face in half was bad? Wait till he eats the lunch.”
“Or all the shoes,” says Nell.
“Or the priceless new goose-down pillow.”
They both gaze at me adamantly, and I fold my arms, not wanting to admit they have a point.
“Let’s wait till I get an invitation, shall we?”
“Anyway, I think Matt’s lovely,” says Sarika supportively. “What does he think of us?”
“Oh, he loves you,” I say automatically, then suddenly focus on Matt, who is approaching over the grass. He’s holding about ten bags of crisps in his arms, accompanied by Maud, who is talking very intently at him in a way I recognize.
“Oh God,” I say. “Maud’s got him.”
“Shit,” says Nell.
“Uh-oh,” says Sarika, biting her lip.
“I told him to say no,” I say. “I told him! But look at him, nodding away!”
“Poor love,” says Sarika, laughing. “Didn’t stand a chance.”
Matt is clearly captivated by Maud. I mean, everyone’s captivated by Maud, what with her amazing auburn hair and lustrous eyes and instant way of making you feel you’re special. He’s still nodding, and she’s clutching his arm, and as they get nearer, I hear her saying, “Thank you so much,” in her confident, penetrating voice. “You’re such a star, Matt. So, you’ll phone the storage company, will you?”
“Er…no problem,” says Matt, sounding a bit startled.
“You’re an angel.” Maud bats her eyelashes at him. “Now, tell me, you don’t know any MPs, do you? Because—”
“Maud!” I cut her off brightly. “Happy birthday!”
“Oh, thank you!” says Maud, blinking at me as though this greeting is a complete surprise. “What a lovely day.”
“Where are the children?” inquires Nell, and Maud looks around vaguely.
“They were here….Now, Matt, that reminds me, you
don’t have an electric mower by any chance, do you?”
“No, he doesn’t,” I say quickly. “Matt, a word?”
I drag him away a little distance and say in a stern undertone, “You have to say ‘no’ to Maud, remember? We went over this.”
“I’m not just going to say a flat ‘no’ when someone asks me a favor,” says Matt, frowning. “I’m a decent human being.”
“That’s how she gets to you!” I retort. “She makes you feel like a decent human being, she flutters her eyelashes gratefully…and then boom. You’ve been got. I love Maud, but it’s true.”
Matt laughs and bends to kiss me.
“Thanks for your concern,” he says. “But I can look after myself.”
Fourteen
Famous last words. Sure enough, two hours later, Matt looks utterly beleaguered. God knows what he’s agreed to do for Maud, but she’s been monopolizing him and saying things like “I’ll text you the details” and even handing him Royal Mail notices about parcels. In the last conversation between them, I overheard the phrases “passport office,” and “school run,” and “so kind.”
Well, he’ll learn.
By now we’re all sprawled on the picnic rugs, searching for the last of the cava. Maud’s children were eventually located trying to cadge food from another family picnic and corralled back to ours. Now, having heard that Matt does martial arts, they’re attacking him with “kung fu” punches.
“I’m going to beat you up!” Bertie yells at Matt for about the hundredth time.
“Stop it, Bertie, my love,” says Maud, glancing up briefly. “Matt, I’m so sorry, only he does adore martial arts.”
“It’s fine,” says Matt good-humoredly, although I see him flinch as Bertie prepares to kickbox him again.
“I’ve found it,” Nell addresses Matt, looking up from her phone. “ ‘The fundamental problems with Harriet’s House: a feminist viewpoint.’ It’s a blog. I knew I’d seen it. Have you read it?”
“Can’t remember, I’m afraid,” says Matt, looking even more beleaguered. He and Nell have been debating Harriet’s House all afternoon—at least, Nell has been telling him how patriarchal and misogynistic it is, and he’s been occasionally offering replies like, “We have a new feminist line of character dolls,” which barely causes her to break stride.
Love Your Life Page 17