Love Is... by Haley Hill Page B

to go. Who else will entertain me with their ridiculous life?’
    â€˜I’m not going,’ I said.
    There was a pause on the end of the line. Initially, I thought this was because Matthew was taking time to consider the implications on my future happiness, however, the loud slurping noise revealed that, instead, he was just taking a moment to sip his coffee.
    I sighed. ‘Does anyone actually care?’ Out of nowhere, Rupert jumped on my lap and gazed up at me.
    Matthew sniggered down the line. ‘Of course I care,’ he said. ‘I just care more after coffee.’
    â€˜So I was saying…’
    â€˜Yes, you’re off to Yank land.’
    â€˜No, I’m not. I’m not going.’
    â€˜Why not?’
    â€˜I hate America.’
    â€˜You haven’t even been.’
    I rolled my eyes. ‘Of course I have. The agency has an office in New York.’
    He laughed. ‘Yes, which you’ve visited once in three years, for, oh, what was it, all of six hours?’
    â€˜I’ve been twice actually. And I went to Disney World when I was twelve.’
    â€˜Aha,’ Matthew said, in the manner of a psychotherapist who had just pinpointed the cause of a patient’s neurosis. ‘Florida in the eighties doesn’t count. They were going through a difficult time: all visors and fanny packs.’
    I chuckled. ‘And there’s no way I could join a nation who voted for a president who said: “most of our imports are foreign”.’
    Matthew sighed. ‘They didn’t vote him in. He voted himself in. And, besides, they have a new president now, only since 2008.’
    â€˜Yeah, one who sided with Argentina over the Falklands.’
    â€˜Ellie, you can’t discount an entire nation based on political knowledge gleaned from a ten-year-old Michael Moore documentary and Perez Hilton’s blog.’
    â€˜I can.’
    He laughed. ‘So when you leave, who’s going to look after your clients?’
    â€˜I’ve told you I’m not going. Why isn’t anyone taking me seriously?’
    â€˜I suppose you could work from New York too. At least then you’d be rid of old twatty-pants Dominic.’
    â€˜Are you listening to me?’
    â€˜And the Sporting Lucas. I suppose you can take him with you?’
    â€˜Matthew!’
    He let out a deep sigh. ‘Ellie, beautiful, gorgeous Ellie, platonic love of my life.’ He sighed again. ‘When you repeatedly say you’re not doing something, usually it means you are.’
    I paced around the hallway, ready to shout down the phone at Matthew that no matter what anyone said, I had no intention of moving to America, ever, when I noticed Victoria peering through the front window.
    I attempted to ‘sign’ to her that I was on the phone, an act that I immediately realised could be no more explanatory than my actually holding a real phone to my ear.
    She ignored me and started thudding on the door, by which point, Matthew had begun humming Frank Sinatra.
    â€˜Bm ber der der der, start spreading the news,’ he sang, ‘Ellie’s leaving today. She wants to be a part of it…’
    I rolled my eyes and hung up the phone.
    Victoria bustled in, the moment I opened the door. Her arms were laden with Rupert-related paraphernalia.
    â€˜Morning,’ she said. ‘I forgot a few things.’ She placed the items down onto a large pile in front of me, then smoothed down her ponytail. ‘There’s the mattress for Rupert’s bed.’ She pointed at a thick circular cushion. ‘It’s made from coconut fibres so it’s more breathable. Here’s the pamphlet,’ she said, reaching into her pocket and handing it to me. ‘It’s been clinically proven to reduce the incidence of Sudden Puppy Death Syndrome.’
    I glanced at it and scratched my head.
    She continued, plucking something else from the pile. ‘This is his