“What on earth are they talking about now?” Matt mutters to me.
“No idea,” I mutter back. “Global warming? Economics? Making Swiss rolls?”
“Harold, you total bastard,” Matt exclaims in exasperation as Harold dodges away triumphantly, the scarf still in his jaws. “OK, that’s it. He’s going on the Bastard Chart.”
“What?” I stare at him, half wanting to laugh, half dismayed. “No!”
“He’s going on,” repeats Matt adamantly. He marches up to the chart and adds Harold to the list, then draws a fat strike next to it.
“That’s so unfair!” I try to grab the pen out of his hand. “Harold’s not a bastard.”
“He’s the biggest bastard!” Topher joins in. “Admit it, Ava. All he does is scheme and plot against us. He’s the Bond villain of dogs.”
“And he’s never sorry,” volunteers Nihal.
“Correct,” says Topher, as though he’s making a case in court. “He exhibits zero remorse, he’s far too clever for his own good….” As Harold reappears without the scarf, looking all bright and bouncy and innocent, Topher’s eyes narrow at him. “What’s your diabolical plan for world domination, doggo? And don’t pretend you haven’t got one.”
“OK, everyone!” Sarika exclaims suddenly, looking up from her phone. “Sam’s here.”
“Sam!” exclaims Maud, waving her arms in excitement, as though Sam is a boy band and she’s fourteen. “Sam’s here! Yay!”
“Oh God,” says Sarika, looking at her as though for the first time. “Maud, how much have you drunk?”
“Not much,” says Maud at once. “Less than…him.” She points at Topher.
Sarika’s the most sober person in the room, and as she surveys us all, I can see qualms in her face. I mean, it was a little ambitious to have a first date with all the rest of us too.
“Is Sam a feminist?” demands Maud, still addressing the room from her chair. “Because if he’s not, if he’s not, then—”
“Yes, of course he’s a bloody feminist,” says Sarika impatiently. “Maud, get down off that chair. And don’t ask Sam for any favors. And don’t be weird,” she adds, taking in everyone with a sweeping glare. “That goes for everyone. Be nice. Be…you know. Normal.”
“Normal!” Nell barks with laughter.
“OK, then, pretend to be normal. I’m going down. I’ll be back up soon.” She gives us all another ominous look. “I’ll knock on the door.”
As Sarika disappears, we all exchange glances like guilty children.
“We need fresh supplies,” says Topher at last. “And then you need to tell us who this character is.” He heads to the kitchen, then returns with a new bottle of tequila. “OK, spill,” he says, filling my glass. “Who’s Sam?”
“All we know is that he’s the perfect guy for Sarika,” I explain. “She met him online.”
“After the most fearsome vetting procedure,” puts in Nell.
“God, yes.” I nod. “Terrible! Like…” I cast around. “Like, worse than the Foreign Office exams.”
“It would be easier to get a job at NASA than to date Sarika,” affirms Maud.
“But Sam got there,” I say. “He beat all the others. He meets all her requirements. Every single one!”
I almost feel as though we should give this guy a round of applause and present him with a trophy as he enters the flat, just for surviving the process.
“What requirements did she have?” asks Topher.
“Oh, a million,” I say. “She kept adding more. He couldn’t be super-tall or be a dancer or an oil-rig worker…or vegetarian…What else?” I look at the others.
“He had to chime precisely with her views on the environment and social media and Ed Sheeran and Marmite,” says Nell, wrinkling her brow. “Oh, and there was a question about hair washing. She’s obsessed by clean hair.”
“And live within ten minutes of a tube station,” puts in Maud, with a gurgle of laughter.
“Yes!” I exclaim. “That’s one of her big things. She’s tired of guys who live in the middle of nowhere.”
“Wow,” says Nihal, digesting this. “Ten minutes from the tube. Ed Sheeran. Marmite. She’s quite…picky.”
“Not picky,” I say, automatically coming to my friend’s defense. “Just realistic. Her theory is, the more groundwork you put in beforehand, the more chance you have of success.”
“D’you think she’s right?” says Topher as a knock sounds at the front door.
“Dunno,” I say, giving a sudden giggle. “I guess we’re about to find out.”
As Matt opens the front door, the rest of us are utterly agog, facing the door like a reception committee. Harold skitters to join us and barks twice, as though to assert that his opinion matters too.
“So, everyone…this is Sam!” says Sarika, ushering in a guy with the cleanest, shiniest hair I’ve ever seen. He has a sweet face—far handsomer than in the photo she showed us—and smiles around with a disarming grin.
“Hey,” he says, lifting a hand to greet us all. “I’m Sam.”
“Matt,” says Matt, shaking hands with him.
“I’m Maud,” says Maud, tossing back her hair and giving him a dazzling smile. “You’re an accountant, right, Sam? That’s such a coincidence. Because—”
“It’s a coincidence because we don’t need any accounting work doing,” Nell cuts her off firmly. “At all. Do we, Maud? Hi, I’m Nell.”
“Nihal,” says Nihal shyly.
“Hi, Sam,” says Topher. “Great to meet you. We were just talking about Marmite. Work of the devil, right?”
“No way!” says Sam, his eyes brightening in good humor. “I love Marmite.”
“You’re Marmite lovers?” Topher surveys him and Sarika with disfavor. “Well, no wonder the pair of you found each other. There are only two of you in existence. You revolt me.”
“Have some tequila!” I add quickly to Sam, who looks a little nonplussed by Topher, as well he might. “I’m Ava.”
“Sure,” he says, then glances around the flat. “Amazing art, by the way. Oh, awesome robot,” he adds, catching sight of Nihal’s creation. “And I have to say…what a great dog.”
* * *
—
Half an hour later, the truth has become apparent: Sam’s perfect. He’s absolutely perfect. Sarika is the queen of dating and the rest of us should all just give up.
He’s witty, bright, obviously into Sarika, and has interesting yet palatable views. He’s endearingly enthusiastic about his percussion playing, and he’s fit, because he’s climbed Everest. (Or maybe some portion of Everest. Whatever.)
We’ve reached the mellow, sitting-around stage of the party. Any minute now someone will suggest a curry or pizza. Maud’s quizzing Matt about Harriet’s House because—this is so Maud—she’s only just clocked what Harriet’s House actually is, by idly picking up Genevieve’s book five minutes ago.
“Oh, those houses!” she exclaimed in astonishment. “Those dolls! I know those! They’re really famous!”
“Maudie, what did you think we were talking about, this whole time?” said Nell in fond exasperation, and Maud replied vaguely, “Oh, I had no idea. I never know the names of things.”
Now she’s sitting next to Matt, saying things like, “So who chooses the curtains?” and “How do you choose the color of the dolls’ hair?” while Matt answers patiently and I bite my lip.
“Hey, Ava.” Nell’s voice whispers in my ear. “Sam’s a bit of a star, isn’t he?”
She’s come over to my side without my noticing and nods her head toward where Sam and Sarika are sitting together on the sofa, heads tilted toward each other, speaking in soft voices.
“He’s amazing,” I say in an undertone. “I bet he can cook.”
“Of course he can cook!” says N
ell, rolling her eyes. “Are you kidding? Sarika put in about ten cooking requirements. If the guy couldn’t make risotto”—she draws a finger across her neck—“deal-breaker.”
“Risotto!” I say, my eyes widening. “That’s punchy.”
“That’s Sarika,” counters Nell. “Knows what she wants. A guy who can make risotto.”
We both turn to survey the happy couple again, and I notice that Sam has leaned even closer to Sarika. I bet he knows who Ottolenghi is, I find myself thinking—then hastily thrust the thought from my mind. It’s irrelevant. Matt and I have a different kind of relationship. Not so matchy-matchy. More…
Well. More un-matchy-matchy.
“I mean, we were engaged, but only briefly….” Matt’s voice travels across the room, and I stiffen. What? Engaged? What is he saying?
“Engaged!” exclaims Maud with interest. “Ava never told us you’d been engaged.”
“Well,” says Matt, shifting uncomfortably on his seat. “It was only…I mean, ‘engaged’ is probably overstating it….”
I’m blinking hard, my head trying to process this bombshell. Engaged? He was engaged? I suddenly remember asking Matt how serious it was with Genevieve and his answer: “Depends what you mean by serious.”
How could that be his answer? Engaged is serious!
OK, I have to speak to him. Now.
“Oh, Matt!” I say, already on my feet. “I never told you about…that thing you were asking about. That really important private thing that we need to discuss?”
As Matt turns his head, I shoot him my most fearsome daggers, and he blanches.
“Right.” He swallows. “The thing.”
“So shall we do it now?” I smile ominously at him. “Get it out of the way?” I’m already plucking at his arm, quite hard, and he gets up reluctantly. “Won’t be a sec,” I add over my shoulder to Maud. “It’s just a private…”
“Thing,” she supplies. “Yup. Got it.”
I wait until we’re both in the bedroom and the door is safely closed. Then I round on Matt.
“Engaged?”
“Just for twenty-four hours,” he says hastily. “Less than twenty-four hours.”
“To Genevieve?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
Matt stares at me, bewildered. “No! Why would I? We’re not doing baggage, remember?”
“We’re doing some baggage!” I almost explode. “We’re doing context! You should have told me when we did those five extra questions. That’s when.”
“But you didn’t ask, ‘Have you been engaged?’ ” Matt says, looking flummoxed, and I suppress the urge to scream.
“OK.” I try to speak calmly. “Let’s start again. So, you were engaged to Genevieve.”
“No!” Matt puts a fist to his head. “I mean, yes, strictly speaking; she proposed to me and it was very hard to say no. So for a matter of hours, yes, we were engaged. Until I broke up with her. But that was it. I mean, it really was it. Relationship over.”
“Right.” I’m still breathing hard, poised to fight, but I can’t think of my next move. Because this doesn’t actually sound quite as heinous as what I was imagining. (Genevieve at the altar and Matt backing away, still clutching his top hat.)
“I never bought her a ring, we never planned a wedding….” He shakes his head. “It barely happened.”
“Did anyone know about it?”
“A few,” allows Matt. “My parents. Her parents. Her followers on social media.”
“A few?” I stare at him. “She has thousands of followers!”
“But they’ve all forgotten about it by now,” he adds unconvincingly. “It was like…a flash in the pan.”
He looks so troubled, I start to relent. Anyone can be engaged for twenty-four hours by mistake.
“OK, well, I’m sorry I overreacted. It’s just…” I hesitate, breathing out. “It’s quite hard, you know? Genevieve’s not like a normal ex, who disappears off the scene. She’s still around…your parents love her…you obviously had super-hot chemistry—”
“What makes you say that?” Matt stares at me, and I flush. That just kind of slipped out.
“I saw you in this video online,” I confess, feeling a familiar gnawing in my stomach as I recall it. “Doing a presentation with Genevieve about some new nautical line? And you were awesome together. You had such a spark. I guess it made me feel—” I break off, not knowing how to continue. Matt is peering at me, perplexed. Then his face clears.
“The presentation in Birmingham.”
“Yes. The one where you kept finishing each other’s sentences and you looked really happy,” I add for good measure.
“I was happy,” Matt says slowly. “You’re right. But I was happy professionally. You don’t know the backdrop. We’d had a lot of acrimony in-house. We’d lost a key member of staff. There was a lot of arguing about what direction we should go in. Then Genevieve came on the scene, she knew the fans, she got the brand—and we instantly agreed on a lot of issues. Business issues,” he clarifies quickly. “She was a great new asset and it was a relief for me. I guess that’s why I looked happy. Seems a long time ago now,” he adds with a wry twist to his mouth.
I have a flashback to Topher talking about Matt being “stale” in his job. But I’ve said enough on that subject for one day.
“It can’t just have been professional chemistry,” I challenge him instead. “You fancied her too. And she fancied you.”
“Well,” says Matt, looking uncomfortable. “Maybe. But we weren’t even a couple yet in that video. We were just two colleagues agreeing with each other.”
“So how did it turn from business into romance?” I persist. “Did you ask her out? Or did she? Or what?”
“Ava.” Matt surveys me seriously. “Do we need to do this?”
I open my mouth to say, “Yes!” then close it again, because I’m not sure it’s the right answer.
“I’m with you,” he continues. “I love you. We’re hosting a party.” He gestures with his arms. “We shouldn’t be huddling in here, going over old ground; we should be out there enjoying ourselves. Everything’s great and Genevieve is just a shadow from the past. Genevieve who?”
He draws me close for a slow, deep kiss, and I feel the Matt-magic working on me again. He has a point. Where are my priorities? I’d actually almost forgotten we were hosting a party, just for a minute.
“OK,” I say at last, smiling up at him. “You’re right. Genevieve who?”
“Exactly.” Matt clasps me tightly, then releases me. “Shall we get back?”
As we head toward the others, I whisper to Matt, “Sam’s pretty perfect for Sarika, isn’t he?”
“Seems to be.” Matt nods. “Good for her!”
We both sit down, and Maud shoots me a quick “Is everything OK?” look. I nod surreptitiously, then tune back into the conversation.
“I’m visiting her tomorrow,” Sam’s saying. “Just talking about my colleague,” he adds to me in explanation. “She had a baby a couple of weeks ago. He’s called Stanley.”
“Stanley!” exclaims Nell.
“I know.” Sam grins. “Great name, isn’t it? I’ve just arranged to see them. Can’t wait. I spent like an hour trying to choose a present.” He rolls his eyes ruefully. “I was like, ‘I’ll be original. I won’t just get some massive fluffy teddy bear.’ But in the end what do I buy? A massive fluffy teddy bear.”
“D’you want children, Sam?” says Nell provocatively. There’s a tiny, tense pause—then Sam laughs, glances briefly at Sarika, and says, “One day. With the right person.”
Oh my God. Just when I think he couldn’t get any more perfect—he does!
“Shall we get some food? Like…pizza?” says Maud, looking around vaguely, as though hoping it m
ight just spring up. Meanwhile, Sam turns to Sarika and touches her gently on the arm.
“D’you want to…We could go on somewhere?”
“Sure.” She smiles happily at him. “Love to. I’ll go and freshen up.”
As she heads off to the bathroom, Nell addresses Sam again.
“That’s very nice of you, visiting your colleague.”
“Well, she’s my neighbor too,” explains Sam. “We both live right next to Queenwell Park—do you know it?”
“I thought you were five minutes from Golders Green?” says Nell, frowning.
“I was.” Sam nods. “But I just moved. Last week.”
“How close are you to the tube station now?” queries Nihal, who has been following this exchange with interest.
“Not sure,” says Sam easily. “Maybe half an hour? But, you know, it’s worth it for the extra space and greenery.”
Beside me, Nell splutters on her drink, and Maud’s head whips round. He lives half an hour from the tube?
“Does Sarika know that you’ve moved?” asks Nihal in a slightly strangled voice.
“Don’t know,” says Sam. “I’m not sure I’ve mentioned it to her yet.”
As I look around the group, I can see identical expressions of somewhat hysterical consternation. Sam can’t live half an hour from the tube. He can’t be eliminated now.
“Sam, I really think you need to decrease your commute time,” says Maud seriously. “For your own good. It should be your highest priority.”
“I agree,” chimes in Nell.
“I don’t mind the walk,” says Sam, shrugging. “It’s not a problem.”
“It is a problem!” Nell contradicts him forcefully, and he blinks in surprise. “It’s more of a problem than you realize.”
“Could you walk more quickly?” I suggest. “What road are you on?”
“Fenland Street,” says Sam, looking a bit confused, and instantly Topher, Nihal, and Maud pull out their phones.
“I know that area,” says Nell, summoning up a map. “What route are you using?”
“Down the hill,” Sam replies. “Takes you straight there, pretty much.”