“What did you say?” I gaze at him in dread.
“I said I’m not going to do it. We’ll have to find someone else.”
“Is there anyone else?”
Matt doesn’t reply, and I feel a clenching in my stomach. I know I’m trying to empathize with Matt’s world, but I’m running out of empathy.
“Matt, tell me something,” I say impulsively. “Are you happy doing what you’re doing?”
“Of course I am,” says Matt without missing a beat. He looks at his watch. “We should get going.”
“No, wait.” I put a hand on his arm. “I’m being serious. I feel like you’re two different people. Sometimes you’re alive and fun and smiling. Like last week in Covent Garden, that was wonderful! But other times—in fact most of the time, to be honest…” I bite my lip. “You seem like someone else.”
“Ava, what are you talking about?” replies Matt irritably. “I’m the same guy.”
“You’re not! The guy I met in Italy was easygoing. Relaxed. But now you’re back, you’re…”
“A miserable git,” supplies Matt.
“No!” I say quickly. “Not a miserable git, but…”
“It’s fine.” He hunches his shoulders. “I know I’m a miserable git. Well, sorry to disappoint you, Ava. The holiday was a blip. Dutch was a fabrication. When the sun’s shining, anyone can be a nice guy.” He gestures at himself. “But this is who I really am.”
He looks so resigned. I can’t bear it.
“It’s not who you are,” I retort passionately. “I know it’s not. If you’re a miserable git, it’s because you’re unhappy. Maybe there are aspects of your life that you should change.”
“I know you have problems with my life, Ava,” Matt says, his face tightening. “You’ve made that abundantly clear.”
“I would love your life, if it made you happy!” I erupt in frustration. “But when I see you so closed up, so rigid…I’m just looking at the evidence, Matt,” I add, remembering what he said in Italy. “I’m just going on what I see in front of me.”
Matt doesn’t respond, so I put out a cautious hand to touch his shoulder.
“I want you to live your best life,” I say in loving tones. But if I hoped that would touch him, I was wrong. He flinches.
“ ‘Live my best life,’ ” he echoes scathingly. “How incredibly exhausting. The thing is, Ava, I’m content with my mediocre-to-disappointing life. So, sorry about that.”
I should stop the conversation here. But I can’t resist one more attempt, hoping that somehow I’ll find the magic button that gets through to him.
“Matt, why do you work at Harriet’s House?” I ask gently. “Is it because you love it?”
Matt glances up with a frown, as though he doesn’t quite compute the question. “Someone has to do it,” he says. “Since I’ve taken over, profits have increased year on year. We’ve expanded into ten more territories. Communications have improved. There were a bunch of inefficiencies and I’ve ironed them all out.” He comes to a finish, as though he’s covered everything.
“Right.” I nod. “That’s great. But none of that is about you, is it? None of that is about your happiness. Your fulfillment.”
“Fuck’s sake.” Matt sounds at the end of his tether. “This is work. It’s business.”
“It’s your life!”
“Yes, Ava. My life.”
He snarls it like a warning, and I feel a jolt. If I push this any more now, we’ll end up in a massive argument, just as the others arrive.
“OK.” I smile, trying to hide my hurt. “Well, I’ll go and be ready for the guests.”
As I head out, my stomach is churning in distress, and I find myself looking for Topher. (This shows how desperate I must be.) I discover him in his bedroom, doing crunches on a yoga mat, dressed in his customary black athletic shorts and an inside-out T-shirt.
I’m not even going to mention the fact that he’s supposed to be attending a drinks party in two minutes. I want to get straight to the point.
“Matt’s parents want him to go to Japan for a year,” I say, sitting on Topher’s bed.
“Figures,” says Topher, between crunches.
“He doesn’t want to go, but it doesn’t seem like they’ve got anyone else.”
“That’s because they’re stingy fuckers,” says Topher between pants and gasps. “Of course they don’t have anyone else, not of Matt’s caliber. He does way too much for that organization. You need someone to supervise a construction project in Japan? Well, you know what? Hire the staff. Hire the fucking staff.”
I can hear genuine anger in Topher’s voice, and I stare at him in surprise.
“Do you think Matt enjoys his job?” I venture.
“Of course not,” Topher replies, so briskly that I blink.
“Not at all?”
“Oh, he has successes like anyone. He has family pride in the company. But overall, deep-down, contented happiness? No.”
“He says profits have improved since he joined.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Topher comes up to a sitting position on his mat and regards me quizzically. “You have to understand, it’s not a job for Matt. It’s an answer.”
“An answer to what?” I say, confused.
“To the nightmare of being Rob Warwick’s brother.” Topher swings over and starts doing press-ups. “Matt had to be the older brother of the champion golfer his whole life. He always felt inadequate.”
My mind shoots back to that glass cabinet full of sporting prizes and photos. I’ve never felt able even to mention that to Matt. It feels too sensitive. Too raw.
“What’s Rob like?” I say curiously. “Have you met him?”
“Few times,” Topher says, his breath short. “He’s pretty insubstantial. Weaselly. Superb at golf, give him that.” He sits up on the mat again and reaches for a towel to mop his neck. “When Matt finally joined Harriet’s House, he was the family savior. He got kudos. He still gets kudos, approval, one up over Rob….And he can’t let that go, even if he doesn’t realize it. You know originally he said he would only join Harriet’s House for two years?” Topher adds, glancing up. “He wanted to turn around its problems, then go and do something for himself.”
“Really?” I stare at Topher.
“That was six years ago.” Topher shrugs. “He’s gone stale. The kudos are less every year, his parents take him for granted…but he still stays. I’ve offered him a job myself,” Topher adds. “But I can’t compete.”
“You’ve offered him a job?” I stare at him.
“Partnership, in fact. Several times. I could use his business skills, he’s very talented, interested in what we do, so…”
As he speaks, I have a vision of Matt sitting with Topher at his workstation, the pair of them engaged in animated, passionate conversation. Matt loves nothing better than to sit with Topher, late into the night, and talk about his latest figures. Obviously they should work together.
“He’s turned me down every time, of course,” Topher adds, and his voice is offhand but I can hear a thread of hurt.
God, Matt’s parents have a lot to answer for. I have so many more questions for Topher, but at that moment the doorbell rings, and I feel a spurt of excitement-slash-panic. Someone’s arrived!
“I’ll get it!” Matt calls from outside the room, and I turn back to Topher.
“Are you coming to the party?”
Topher heaves an unenthusiastic sigh. “Really?”
“Yes! Really!”
“I’m inherently antisocial,” says Topher discouragingly. “As I’ve mentioned before, people don’t like me.”
“I like you.”
“You’re dating Matt. You have no taste.”
“Will you come anyway?” I say patiently, and Topher rolls his eyes.
�
��Fine. Kill me with your feminine wiles.”
“I didn’t use my feminine wiles!”
“Coming to my room and asking me in person is using feminine wiles,” says Topher, as though it’s obvious. “Matt and Nihal would text. Except they wouldn’t ask in the first place, because they know I’m a recluse.”
“I’ll see you there,” I say firmly, and hurry out. I find Matt outside the front door, and a moment later Nell, Maud, and Sarika come piling out of the lift, all in party outfits and heels and greeting me with exclamations.
“We’re here!”
“You made it!”
“Matt! Look at your flat!”
As we all hug and kiss in the atrium, I can smell alcohol and Maud is particularly giggly. They must have gone for a stiffener first. (I slightly wish I could have gone too.)
“Guess what?” announces Maud in excitement. “Sarika’s new man is on his way. They’re going to have their very first date at your party.”
“Really?” I stare at Sarika.
The great WhatsApp excitement of yesterday was Sarika announcing that she’d finally whittled down her shortlist to one man, who fulfills all her criteria, and saying she was going to contact him for a date. But I never expected to meet him so soon!
“That’s OK, isn’t it, Ava?” adds Sarika. “The others made me text him from the pub, but I never thought he’d say yes….”
“Of course it’s OK!” I say. “It’s great! What’s his name again?”
“Sam,” says Sarika lovingly, summoning up a picture on her phone of an Asian guy. “He grew up in Hong Kong, but then he went to Harvard Business School and now he’s moved to London. He cycles and he plays percussion and every single one of his food preferences chimes with mine. Every single one!” She opens her eyes wide. “We’re totally compatible!”
“Where does he live?” I ask mischievously, and Nell snorts with laughter.
“Five minutes from Golders Green tube,” says Sarika, lifting her chin. “You can mock me, but I know this guy. I know what podcasts he listens to, and I know what he would put in a time capsule on the moon. And I agree with every single choice.”
“Well, great.” I hug her. “Can’t wait to meet him.”
I sling everyone’s coats and bags onto the leather footstool, whereupon Matt silently opens the coat cupboard and hangs them up.
Oh, right. Yes. Somehow the coat cupboard never occurs to me; in fact, I forget it exists.
“Wow,” says Sarika, clocking the sculpture with the outstretched hands. “That’s…In the flesh, it’s even more…challenging.” I can see her trying to overcome her revulsion, and I shoot her a grateful smile.
We had a little WhatsApp exchange yesterday in which I explained how sensitive Matt is about his art. The whole squad said they understood and promised fervently to be positive about it. But now they’re here, I can see everyone struggling. Maud did a double take as soon as she entered, and I’ve seen Nell snort once or twice.
“It’s definitely challenging,” says Maud. “But, then, art should be challenging,” she adds quickly.
“It really is,” says Nell, walking up to the straining eyeless face, then abruptly turning away. “I mean, the raven is…” She seems lost for words. “And the space is fantastic.”
At once, everyone seizes on the topic of the space.
“The space.” Maud nods fervently. “Just look at the space!”
“Amazing space!” chimes in Sarika.
“Well, come through,” I say, ushering them into the main living area, where I pour out champagne for everyone. We’re just lifting our glasses in a toast when Nihal timidly approaches. He’s brushed his hair flat and put on a tie and he looks about twelve years old.
“How do you do,” he greets everyone, shaking hands formally. “I’m Nihal.”
“Nihal!” Maud swoops down on him, her eyes glittering with interest. “You’re the computer expert!”
“Yes,” says Nihal. Then he seems to reconsider his answer. “ ‘Expert’ is a somewhat vague term. It would depend on your definition of—”
“So clever of you,” says Maud breathily, blinking at him.
Nihal looks taken aback. “Knowledge of computers isn’t inherently clever,” he says politely. “It’s merely an application of—”
“Well, I think it’s tremendous,” Maud cuts him off in a gush. “Just tremendous. I so admire your skills. So useful.”
“Ava,” murmurs Sarika in my ear. “Did you warn Nihal about Maud?”
“Oh God.” I look at her in consternation. “No.”
“Well, tell him, quick!” she says in an urgent undertone.
“How can I?” I whisper back. “It’ll ruin the party atmosphere!”
“You have to! The poor thing’s defenseless!” She prods me—but it’s too late.
“Nihal,” Maud is saying in her super-charming manner, “I don’t suppose you could come round and look at my laptop? I have no idea what’s wrong with it, and you’re so clever, I’m sure you could sort it out.”
She bestows her most dazzling smile on him, and Nihal blinks at her a few times.
“Maud,” he says mildly, “you’re a friend of Ava’s and you seem like a very nice person, so obviously I would like to help you. But I think that was an inappropriate request, bearing in mind that we only met a few minutes ago. So I’m afraid I will be turning you down on this occasion. With apologies.” He gives her a sweet, implacable smile.
Maud’s mouth has slowly dropped open, and her cheeks have turned pink.
“Oh,” she says at last. “Oh. Of course. I’m…so sorry!” She takes a deep sip of champagne, and I can feel Sarika descending into giggles beside me.
“I take it all back, he’s a genius,” she murmurs. “What did you say he does, runs Apple?”
“Apologies for my tardiness.” A familiar dry, raspy voice cuts across the conversation, and we all turn our heads.
I’ve got used to Topher’s hulking, powerful, ugly frame. But as I see him afresh through the viewpoint of my friends, I realize again how unconventional he looks, with his fleshy, cratered face and huge eyebrows. He’s obviously taken his T-shirt off and put it on the right way around, as a concession to the party, but is still wearing black running shorts and sneakers. As he approaches, he glowers uncompromisingly at Maud, Nell, and Sarika.
“Hello, Ava’s friends,” he says.
“This is Nell, Maud, Sarika,” I say, gesturing at each of them in turn. “Topher.”
“Are you all vegetarian too?” asks Topher, and at once Nell’s eyes flash dangerously.
“What would you think if we answered yes?” she shoots back in her most confrontational manner.
Topher raises one dark eyebrow. “You want the truth?”
“Of course I want the truth.” Nell squares up to him, her chin set. She’s looking as bolshy as I’ve ever seen her, and I feel slight dismay. Are they going to have an argument already?
“Does it really matter?” I chime in brightly. “So anyway…who saw that news story about the Shetland pony?”
Both Nell and Topher ignore me. In fact, everyone ignores me.
“Of course I want the truth,” Nell repeats, and a glimmer of amusement passes over Topher’s face.
“OK.” He shrugs. “The truth is, whatever you answered, I’d think, ‘That’s another rung up this pointless ladder of conversation. What shall I ask next?’ I’m not sociable,” he adds, taking a glass of champagne from Matt. “No offense.”
An expression of appreciation is slowly growing on Nell’s face. I can tell that wasn’t what she was expecting.
“I’m not sociable either,” she replies with the tiniest of grins. “No offense.”
“Hmm.” Topher looks skeptical. “When I say ‘not sociable,’ I mean I’ll happily go a we
ek without seeing anyone except these guys.” He gestures at Matt and Nihal.
“I sometimes go a month without setting foot outside the house,” Nell responds, and Topher surveys her with renewed interest.
“You hate people?”
“I do hate a number of people, as it happens.” Nell nods. “People are shit.”
“Yes. Agreed.” Topher lifts his glass to her.
“Also, I have lupus,” she adds in an offhand manner.
“Oh.” As Topher digests this, his face is impassive, but I can see his deep-set eyes scanning Nell’s face intently. “Bummer.”
“Yeah.”
I’m agog, and I can tell the others are too. Nell never tells people she has lupus when she first meets them. What’s going on?
“I don’t know anything about lupus,” Topher says at length. “But I should imagine it’s fairly unpleasant.”
“Has its moments,” Nell replies with a nod.
“Nihal, why the fuck haven’t you cured lupus yet?” Topher whips round to address Nihal in suddenly accusing tones.
“I’m not in medical research, among other reasons,” Nihal says patiently.
“That’s no excuse.” Topher swings back to Nell. “I’m so sorry. It’s all my flatmate’s fault. He’s a lazy bastard.” He pauses, then adds, “So, here’s a pertinent question. Are you allowed to drown your sorrows in tequila?”
Twenty
Everyone gets drunk really fast. It’s not just the tequila; it’s the slightly weird boys-and-girls vibe—my friends and Matt’s friends, getting the measure of one another. It almost feels as though we’re all back at the school disco.
Within forty minutes, Maud has got up on a chair and started her usual drunken speech about refusing to become an invisible woman. Topher and Nell are in the middle of some sort of heated discussion, and Nihal is showing off his robot to Sarika; meanwhile, Matt and I are trying to retrieve Matt’s new scarf from Harold’s jaws.
“You’re so, so wrong,” I can hear Nell saying vehemently to Topher. “That’s the worst theory.”
“Out of how many theories?” demands Topher.
“Out of all the theories!” she shoots back. “All. The. Theories.”