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