Love Your Life(113)

He practically swaggers along. He’s all “Get me, with my cool metal leg.” The veterinary physio said she’d never met a dog with such confidence. Then she got a puzzled look in her eye and added that he almost seemed to lead the sessions. At which Matt and I glanced at each other and Matt said, “Yup, that figures.” Then he added, “Wait till he becomes famous. He’s going to be unbearable.”

    It was a month after the accident that Felicity called to tell me that a publisher called Sasha wanted to turn my story of Harold into a book. A real book!

Sasha came to lunch and met Harold and I told her the story of the accident. (It was a bit of a therapy session in the end.) And then I said, surely I should put the whole incident into the book? Because this was part of who Harold was now?

Whereupon Sasha became thoughtful and said maybe leave that story for the sequel. And the next thing was, Felicity phoned me up and said the publishers had changed their mind: They now wanted two books! Two books about Harold! It’s unbelievable. The whole thing’s unbelievable. They offered me this incredible sum of money and I replied, “Wow, thank you!” before Felicity hastily stepped in and said my reply did not imply acceptance of the offer. And then she somehow got them to give me even more. I still don’t know how. So I’ve been able to quit my job writing leaflets. I’m totally focused on writing another Harold book. (Except I do still want to get into aromatherapy; that’s definitely going to be my sideline.)

Since then, Matt and I have worked out an arrangement where I sleep at his place—in fact, I live at his place, really—but work at my flat. That way, I still have my own office. We might buy a place together down the line. But in the meantime…drumroll…we’ve been bed shopping! It took a while, but we have the best ever bed now. Two different mattresses, zipped together. It’s genius!

    We’ve moved the hairless wolf, though. Since I know the unbearably poignant story behind it, I can’t even look at it without my eyes filling up with tears. So we’ve decided the bedroom should be an Arlo-free zone.

Now I peer around Nell’s sitting room to see where Harold’s got to, and sure enough, Nell’s nabbed him for a cuddle. She always had a soft spot for Harold—but even more so since his accident. Walking’s been tricky for her this last month, and she told me that whenever she’s struggling, she thinks of Harold.

“Ava!” she exclaims now, as she sees me looking at her. “You haven’t told us! How was the naked sauna?”

“Oh my God.” Maud perks up from her seat on the floor. “Yes! You haven’t told us yet.”

“We’re not here to talk about me,” I object. “We’re here for the launch.”

The exciting news is, Nell and Topher are launching a new political party! Its working name is the Real Life Party. It has ten members so far, because we all instantly joined, plus Topher’s assistant and Nell’s mum. But it’ll grow soon, once they make a website and everything.

Nell and Topher both want to stand as MPs at the next election, but they’ve been quite cagey about any further details…until today! They’ve made a campaign poster and they want feedback, so this is why we’ve all gathered at Nell’s place. The poster is standing on an easel by the window, draped in a sheet, and they’re going to unveil it in a minute. Yesterday we started calling this the “unveiling,” and then Topher said, “Fuck it, let’s call it the official launch,” and bought champagne, which is why everyone’s in such a tremendous mood.

    (Also: They’re totally a couple. Even if Nell still claims they aren’t.)

“We’ll have the launch in a minute.” Nell bats my objection away. “First, naked-sauna story!”

“Naked-sauna story!” agrees Sarika firmly, and nudges Sam, who obligingly echoes, “Naked-sauna story!”

“Fine.” I glance at Matt, who chuckles into his drink. “Well, as you know, we went round to Matt’s parents’ place yesterday—”

“How is it with them?” interjects Nell.

“It’s fine,” I say, after a moment’s thought. “It’s a lot friendlier than it was. They remember to give me vegetarian food now. And they’ve forgiven Matt, pretty much. And they never mention Genevieve, obviously.”

I glance at Matt again, who nods in assent, a wry smile on his face.

I don’t add, “They never mention Genevieve, because she was caught dealing drugs in a sting.” I don’t need to. It was all over the Daily Mail two months ago: Popular children’s influencer offers cocaine to journalist posing as Hollywood agent.

Elsa nearly collapsed. It was crisis central. Every single member of the board, including Matt, had to go and denounce drugs publicly in this grim press conference. But then Harriet’s House sales surged on the back of all the publicity. So, you know. Swings and roundabouts.

“Well, that’s good,” says Maud encouragingly, and I nod.

    “Yes. It is.”

The other thing I don’t say is, “I’ve felt warmer toward Elsa, ever since she put the framed photos of Matt in the glass cabinet.” Because that’s a secret between Elsa and me. The first time Matt saw them, he actually stopped dead. Then he said, “Wow. Mum. Those are new.”