Love Your Life(84)

“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.