Love Is... by Haley Hill

the ability to hunt ground vermin is an essential skill for a family pet.’
    Victoria shrugged her shoulders, still glaring at Mike. ‘Well, you know what they say about living in London.’
    We all looked at her expectantly.
    She narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re only ever a metre away from a rat.’
    Mike tutted, then scooped another mouthful of brûlée into his mouth.
    Rupert was still yelping from the kitchen and now he’d added mournful pines into the mix. It took all my willpower not to run out and soothe him.
    â€˜Maybe he’s trying to tell us something,’ I said.
    Victoria narrowed her eyes. ‘What, that we have rats in our house? Don’t be ridiculous. He’s just being needy and probably wants more Parmesan.’
    I turned to her. ‘Or perhaps he’s distressed? Having been dragged away from his mother and then locked in a huge kitchen by himself.’
    Victoria flicked her wrist. ‘He’s nine weeks old; in dog years that makes him nearly one and a half. He’ll get over it,’ she said, pushing her untouched dessert to the side.
    I glared at her.
    She opened her mouth as if to say something and then closed it again, clearly thinking better of it, which was unusual for Victoria.
    Mike stepped in instead, pushing his empty bowl to one side and turning to me and Nick. ‘So, bad news about the IVF then, guys.’
    Victoria sat upright in her chair and dabbed the sides of her mouth with a napkin.
    â€˜It’s just not right,’ she said, gesturing out the window. ‘All those offensive-looking people breeding like there’s no tomorrow, producing the most peculiar offspring.’ She turned to me. ‘And then there’s you and Nick. You’re an attractive, reasonably intelligent couple. Of course you’re by no means thoroughbreds—’ she took a sip of wine ‘—but certainly no reason to defy Darwin’s theory, wouldn’t you agree?’
    I nodded, assuming I had been complimented in some obscure way.
    Mike took another sip of wine. ‘I read something in the New Scientist, ’ he said, ‘about a man’s virility dropping in highly populated areas. Like some sort of natural feedback mechanism.’
    Victoria shook her head at Mike. ‘Well, that’s clearly not the case, my darling,’ she said. ‘Have you walked past Asda recently?’
    Mike shook his head and continued, turning to me. ‘So,’ he said, ‘reckon you’ll go again?’
    I glanced at Nick, who was now topping up his wine.
    He took a big gulp. ‘We can’t afford it,’ he said.
    â€˜Besides,’ I added, ‘our consultant said it’s best I give my body a break from the hormones.’
    Mike smirked. ‘Yeah, and Nick a break too, I imagine.’
    Victoria glared at Mike. Had she not been on the far side of a twenty-seater dining table, I imagine Mike would have received a stiletto heel to the testicles.
    I glanced back at Nick, who was wriggling in his seat. I was tempted to ask him if he needed the toilet.
    Victoria stared at him quizzically. ‘Everything all right, Nick?’
    He placed his now empty wine glass down on the table. ‘I had some news today,’ he said.
    I scraped my empty crème brûlée ramekin, wondering where it had all gone.
    â€˜I’ve been offered a job,’ he continued.
    I sucked a tiny bit of brûlée off my spoon and awaited Nick’s usual post–credit crunch story about a relentless head-hunter pitching a role with worthless share options, fourteen-hour working days and no bonus.
    â€˜It’s a great role,’ Nick said.
    I nodded vaguely.
    â€˜Excellent prospects.’
    Yeah, yeah, yeah, I said in my head.
    â€˜I’ll be working with a talented team.’
    Will be working with? I spun round on my seat.
    â€˜The only thing is…’
    Ah, here we go.
    â€˜It’s in New