Love Is.... Haley Hill

Circular. I suspect there is a higher concentration of sulphur dioxide on Battersea Rise than there is on Broadway.’

      I glanced down at Rupert. ‘I just want to give him the best life we can.’

      Nick rolled his eyes. ‘Are you going to fret about his schooling now? Or the cultural clash he might face when integrating with native American breeds?’ He laughed again, though louder this time. ‘Do you think the Brooklyn street dogs are going to back him into a corner, mug him of his grain-free puppy snacks, and say, “Hey, Stan, we’ve got us a Sporting Lucas here. He says he’s from Engerland.”’

      I folded my arms more tightly across my chest. ‘What about my friends?’

      ‘You’ve seen Cordelia once in the past year.’

      ‘It’s not my fault she chose to move to Woldingham.’

      Nick rolled his eyes. ‘You hardly ever see Kat because she lives north of the river. And when was the last time you saw Matthew?’

      ‘Last Friday actually.’

      Nick turned to me with a frown.

      ‘He came with me to Cassandra’s divorce party.’

      Nick raised both eyebrows. ‘You went to a divorce party? Are you supporting a different cause now?’

      ‘I’m not supporting divorce, I’m supporting Cassandra.’

      He shook his head. ‘She’s a nut job, that one. I don’t even want to imagine what went on at that party.’

      I sighed. ‘It was a divorce party, not a swingers party.’

      He scowled at me. ‘It’s still weird. And not the sort of place I want my wife hanging out.’

      ‘Hanging out? I haven’t hung out anywhere since I was fifteen and wore Reebok Classics.’

      He smirked.

      ‘Besides,’ I added, ‘it’s my job. You have to respect that.’

      ‘No,’ he replied. ‘Your job is to run a business. You have matchmakers to do all the other stuff now.’

      ‘Ah, thanks for telling my what my job is.’

      ‘Well, at least I know what it is you do.’

      I tutted. ‘I know what you do.’

      He raised an eyebrow. ‘Go on then?’

      I sat up in bed and lifted Rupert onto my lap. ‘You work in finance.’

      Nick rolled his eyes. ‘Yes, me and the rest of the working population of London. What precisely do I do in finance?’

      ‘You manage risk.’

      ‘Manage? What does that mean?’

      ‘It means you oversee risk algorithms.’

      ‘Oversee?’

      I huffed. ‘Look, I don’t follow you around all day taking notes. How am I supposed to understand the intricacies of financial technology?’

      ‘You’re not. But it would be nice if you cared enough to find out the intricacies of my life.’

      I forced a laugh. ‘Says he who didn’t even know where his wife was on Friday night.’

      ‘That’s because I was too busy doing a job I hate.’

      ‘Too busy entertaining. What a drag.’

      ‘It is a drag spending time with a bunch of wide boys who think Chateaubriand is a type of wine.’

      ‘If you hate it so much, why don’t you leave?’

      Nick sat back and glared at me. ‘That’s exactly what I’m trying to do.’

      ‘But I don’t want to move to New York,’ I said.

      ‘What about what I want?’

      I glanced around the bedroom, then back at him. ‘I can’t believe you’re so quick to give up on our dream.’

      Nick sighed. ‘What dream, Ellie? The dream you’ve been spoon-fed by your friends and those silly magazines you read. The dream that involves stripped floorboards, a herb garden, Petit Bateau-ed children and an ultimate migration to Surrey. The dream you’ve been trying to shoehorn your life into since the day we met.’

      I looked down at Rupert. His shiny blue eyes stared back up at me. It seemed as though he knew exactly what I was trying to say.

      Nick’s expression softened. He leaned towards me and squeezed my hand.

      ‘We can’t have children, Ellie,’ he said. ‘We have to accept that and move on with our lives.’

      I snatched my hand back. ‘I’m not going to leave my clients and I’m not going to leave Rupert.’

      Nick pulled himself up in bed. ‘You want to stay here instead? In a town with the highest birthrate in Europe, torturing yourself? And, what, try IVF another twenty times until you’ve bankrupted us or turned into even more of a mental case?’

      ‘I’m not going to give up.’

      ‘On what? You don’t even know what it is you’re holding out for.’

      Nick pulled up the duvet, turned away from me and switched off the light. Rupert clambered off my lap, climbed onto Nick then back onto me until finally settling in the valley between us.

      I lay there, listening to Rupert’s gentle snores, watching the outline of his tiny ribcage rising and falling, and wondered what precisely it was that I was holding out for.