“No,” she says firmly. “Take Launceton Road. That’ll shave off five minutes.”
“Are you cutting through the shopping center?” chimes in Topher, squinting at his screen. “Because that’ll cut down your time too. Are you jogging?”
“Jogging?” Sam looks startled.
“You should jog.” Topher taps his chest. “Health.”
“What about a skateboard?” suggests Nihal.
“Yes!” exclaims Topher. “Genius, Nihal. Use a skateboard,” he instructs Sam. “Get you there in no time.”
“A skateboard?” echoes Sam, looking around at our faces. “Listen, guys, I appreciate your suggestions, but—”
“If you use a skateboard and take Launceton Road, I reckon we’ve got it down to ten minutes,” Nell says firmly.
“I’d say eight minutes with the skateboard,” chimes in Matt. “You can power along on one of those things.”
“Even better,” says Nell. “Got that?” She swivels to Sam, who looks totally bewildered. “You’re eight minutes from the tube. Remember that, Sam. Eight minutes.” She catches my eye and bites her lip, and I have a horrible feeling I’m going to burst into laughter, when Sarika appears and says brightly, “Ready to go, Sam—aaargh!” She suddenly screams in horror. “Harold! What the hell?”
“What’s wrong?” I leap up in alarm. “Oh no!”
As I catch sight of Harold, my stomach swoops in horror. There’s a dismembered furry paw sticking out of his mouth. It looks very much like the paw of a massive fluffy teddy bear. I glance beyond him and see a furry head lying on the floor, with two glassy eyes staring reproachfully at me. Shit.
“Oh God.” I clasp my head. “Sam, I’m so sorry, he must have got hold of your teddy—”
“That bloody dog!” exclaims Sarika, making a swipe for Harold, who darts merrily away.
“Harold!” I say. “Drop! Drop it!”
“It’s fine,” says Sam, in a voice which suggests it’s really not fine.
“Welcome to my world,” says Sarika wryly.
“Now will you agree he’s a bastard?” says Topher to me, but I ignore him.
“Come here, you bad dog!” Nell gets to her feet.
“Who’s got a snack?” says Maud helpfully.
Soon all of us are pursuing Harold while he dances around the flat, occasionally dropping one piece of mutilated teddy bear, barking at us, then triumphantly grabbing another.
“We need to have a strategy,” says Matt for the third time. “We need to form a circle around him…stay still, Harold!” As the landline phone rings, he turns his head briefly and says, “Get it, someone, will you?”
We approach Harold, who’s clutching the teddy’s head and eyeing us with bright defiance.
“We need to close in on him slowly…” says Matt in a low voice. “Then, when I say, ‘Now,’ we all make a grab….Now!”
We all swipe for the teddy’s head, Maud manages to grab it, and she starts a tussle with Harold.
“Drop!” she exclaims breathlessly. “Drop!”
“Drop!” I join in.
“Bastard dog!” says Topher, and Harold lets go of the teddy to bark at him.
“Got it!” exclaims Maud, lifting the dismembered, mangled head aloft while Harold’s barking rises to a frenzy.
“Matt, it’s for you.” Sam tries to make himself heard over the racket. “Someone called Genevieve?”
Twenty-One
I mean, it’s fine. Genevieve can phone Matt. In fact, Genevieve has to phone Matt, on occasion. They both work for the same organization and are obliged to be in contact. I do understand that. But I don’t see why Genevieve has to call quite so often.
For a “shadow from the past,” she’s pretty bloody present. It’s two weeks since the party, and since then she’s been on the phone every night. Matt talks in short, sharp monosyllables, but still the calls seem to go on forever. Whenever I query them (in a lighthearted manner), Matt says, “We’re doing a presentation together at the expo. We need to talk.”
And then he looks beleaguered. And putts his golf ball for hours on end—which I’ve realized is not about enjoyment at all. It’s stress relief.
Things are generally good, I keep reminding myself. The party was deemed a massive success—in fact, it went on till 2 A.M. and ended with everyone drunkenly swearing lifelong friendship. But I still feel tetchy. The more I watch Matt, the more I can see that Topher’s right: He’s stale. But I can also see how conflicted he is. Even I feel conflicted, and it’s not my family company.
I mean, it’s an amazing heritage. Whenever I see a Harriet’s House ad on the TV, I feel a vicarious flicker of pride. But at the same time, I can’t help resenting it. The day after our party, Matt had a closeted phone call with his parents, in which he told them he wasn’t going to Japan, and ever since then he’s been even less communicative than usual.
I haven’t said a word on the subject, because Matt’s been too preoccupied by the upcoming expo. But at last, thank God, Harriet’s World day has arrived. Matt’s event is at midday and we’re in a taxi on our way to the venue, and then it will be over. Genevieve won’t have an excuse to phone every night, and maybe Matt and I will sit down for a good talk. Meanwhile, I’m trying my hardest to keep an open mind. As our taxi drops us at the conference center, I notice a pair of girls walking toward us on the pavement, and I can’t help gaping.
“Look!” I nudge Matt. “They’ve dressed up as Harriet.”
“Oh. Yeah.” He glances up without interest as they approach. “They do that.”
Both girls have auburn wigs on, I notice as they get near. And turquoise shoes and dresses which they must have made themselves. How many hours did they devote to these outfits?
“Here’s your VIP pass.” Matt hands me a printed pass on a lanyard, and I stare at it, slightly astonished. I’ve never had a VIP pass in my life.
“VIP, huh?” I say. “You do treat me well.”
Matt laughs and gives me a kiss, which is interrupted by a voice saying, “Matt?” One of the girls has come to a halt nearby and is staring at Matt, bug-eyed. “Are you Matt Warwick?”
“Yes, I am.” Matt smiles at her, looking uncomfortable. “Welcome to Harriet’s World. Enjoy your day.”
“Is that Genevieve?” asks the other girl, pointing at me in excitement.
“No,” says the first girl. “They broke up. And Genevieve’s blond. Don’t you know anything?”
“So who’s that?”
“Dunno.” The first girl addresses me with an air of antagonism. “Who are you?”
“I’m Ava,” I say, bewildered.
“We have to go now, guys,” says Matt hurriedly. “Have a great day at Harriet’s World. Catch you later.”
“Wait, can I have a selfie?” says the first girl, and my jaw drops. A selfie? With Matt?
I watch as he poses awkwardly with each of the girls, then chivvies me into the conference hall through a side entrance. I’m already drawing breath to question Matt urgently, but as we step into the giant space, my queries melt away. Because…oh my God.
I’d pictured the expo, of course I had. But I hadn’t imagined the scale of it. Everywhere I look, there are life-size dollhouse-room sets. Or stalls piled high with merchandise. Or real-life Harriets walking around. It’s all a little creepy, if you ask me.
“This way,” says Matt, leading me briskly past the stands. But I can’t stop swiveling my head to look at all the attractions: little stages with entertainers already in full swing, and cotton-candy stations, and life-size toy ponies standing in a life-size toy stable.
“You make life-size toy ponies?” I say incredulously, and Matt glances at them as though he’d never noticed them before.
“Oh. Yeah. I mean, we put on this expo in a few locations around the world, so it’s cost
-effective to produce them. I guess they’re popular….”
He’s so dispassionate, I almost want to laugh. Everywhere I look I can see bright, exhilarated expressions—except on him.
As I’m glancing around, I notice that a few visitors are holding Genevieve’s book. Oh God, she’s probably here already, isn’t she? We’ll probably bump into her any minute.
“Matt.” I tug at his arm so he stops walking. “I need some answers. What was that outside? Those girls.”
“Oh,” says Matt, after a pause. “That.”
“Yes, that! Why were they talking about you and Genevieve breaking up? How did they even know about you?”
“OK,” says Matt reluctantly. “Well, a few superfans are interested in the company. The history. The family. All that. They can’t get enough of it. And they became…Well.” He hesitates. “Invested in Genevieve and me. As a couple.”
“Invested? Because, what, they saw you on social media?”
“I guess,” he says, looking slightly tortured. “They followed us, they chatted on the forums….For some people this is their major hobby. They dig in deep. I mean, it was Genevieve’s thing more than mine,” he adds, just as his phone rings. “Hey, Dad. Yes, just got here.”
As Matt chats with his dad, I whip out my phone and do a quick, very specific google: Matt Genevieve gossip breakup Harriet’s House.
I’ve googled Matt before (several times). But I obviously wasn’t using the right search terms, because I never happened upon this stuff. There’s a whole forum called “Harriet’s House gossip.” I stare at it in disbelief, then click on an old thread entitled Genevieve and Matt…where are they at?
At once I’m greeted by online howls of despair.
WHY DID THEY BREAK UP?????
I know. They were so cute!!!
The cutest EVER couple.
Who broke up, Matt or Genevieve?
Matt’s gay, it’s all a big cover-up, my bf works there and told me.
Who’s going to the new Harriet Reveal Manchester event? Because I feel like boycotting right now? Just sad.
I guess it’s their business?
It’s our business too. I follow Genevieve.
I blink at the screeds of chat, then hastily click off. My head is whirling. I don’t even know how to process this. Matt finishes his call and says to me, “OK, let’s go to the Green Room.” Then he looks at me again. “Ava? What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing!” I say, trying to stay calm. “I’m only wondering, Matt, why you didn’t tell me that a whole bunch of people were apparently devastated when you and Genevieve broke up?”
“Right.” Matt looks evasive.
“Apparently you were the ‘cutest ever couple’?”
“Ava, don’t look at those gossip pages,” says Matt, sighing. “It’s just online rubbish in a tiny niche world. A few obsessive fans thought they owned us—oh, hey, Genevieve.” His face tightens into a dreadful fake smile. “Good to see you.”
Shit. She’s here?
I wheel round to see a vision in pink, with clouds of blond blow-dried hair, accompanied by two guys in jeans with headsets. I recognize her from the book, but she’s even prettier in real life. She looks phenomenal, I have to give her that, all petite in her perfectly fitting pink trouser suit and sky-high fuchsia heels.
“You must be Ava!” she exclaims, as though meeting me is the high point of her life. “So good you could come!”
“You too,” I say feebly as we shake hands, and her face squashes up in mirth as though I’ve said something hilarious.
“They couldn’t really stage the event without me, could they? Of course I will,” she adds charmingly to a hovering little girl in a Harriet’s House hoodie. “Just an autograph or would you like a selfie?” She poses immaculately with the awestruck child, then turns to Matt and says, “Let’s hit the Green Room.”
“Genevieve!” calls out a nearby girl. “Can I have a selfie?”
“Sorry, guys,” says Genevieve regretfully. “Be back soon!”
As the two men in jeans silently accompany us through the crowds, I realize they’re some sort of security. Genevieve is wearing a headset, too, I notice, and ducking her head as she walks along like some sort of A-lister. Meanwhile, every thirty seconds some nearby fan calls out, “Genevieve!” or tries to grab her. She’s like the Beyoncé of Harriet’s House. I don’t know whether to laugh or be impressed.
The Green Room is a separate area from the conference hall, with sofas and a snack table, and it’s stuffed full of people in suits. I recognize Matt’s parents and Walter, talking intently on the far side of the room, but all the others are new to me. I guess they’re all Harriet’s House corporate types. Matt instantly gets swallowed up into a conversation and everyone greets Genevieve effusively, but she seems to want to stay with me.
“Let me get you some coffee, Ava,” she says kindly, ushering me through the throng. “I expect you’re overwhelmed! I remember my first Harriet’s World Expo. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. I was six,” she adds with a laugh. “Hardcore fan here.”
“How long have you been an ambassador?” I say, trying to make polite conversation.
“I started the YouTube channel five years ago.” She smiles reminiscently. “But I’ve only been full-time ambassador for three years. It’s gone stratospheric,” she adds with satisfaction. “Matt must have told you.”
“Not really,” I say, and Genevieve’s eyes flash in slight annoyance.
“Well, it has. I can say this to you….” She leans forward as though imparting a delicious secret. “My commission is through the roof. There are some very big celebrity collectors. And I mean huge.” She hands me a cup of coffee. “You’d be amazed if I could tell you. Obviously I can’t, but let’s just say, household names. Let’s just say, private jets.” She shakes her hair back and checks her reflection in the back of a teaspoon. “There’s one celebrity I assist with her collecting—I mean, if you knew who it was, you’d die.”
“Wow,” I say, trying to sound suitably impressed. At once Genevieve’s eyes narrow, as though she suspects I don’t believe her.
“I can show you what she wrote to me,” she says. “I can’t show you her name, but I can show you the kind of relationship we have. I’m not just her Harriet’s House consultant, we’re friends.”
She whips out her phone and finds a page, then shows it to me, one manicured thumb plastered firmly over the name at the top. There’s one text, and it reads: Thanks, babe.
“See?” says Genevieve triumphantly. “I can’t tell you her name, but that’s an A-lister.”
Plainly, she’s waiting for a reaction. What am I supposed to do, fall to my knees and kiss the phone?
“Amazing,” I say politely. “Well done you, for knowing celebrities.”
“Well.” Genevieve gives a self-deprecating laugh. “In a way, I am a celebrity. In an itty-bitty way.” She laughs again and smooths down her hair. Clearly what she means is “in a gigantic, colossal way.”
I’ve really had enough of this conversation, and I glance around to see if Matt is nearby. But to my dismay, Genevieve grabs my arm as though we’re best chums.
“You’re the one with the dog, aren’t you?” she says cozily, as though Matt has ten girlfriends, all with different pets. “I heard how you ripped my face to bits.” She tinkles with laughter. “So funny.”
“It was an accident,” I say, and Genevieve smiles kindly at me.
“Please. Ava. You don’t need to feel threatened. You mustn’t feel threatened! I said this to the last girl too. I said, ‘Look, I’m close to the family, I understand the family, I dated Matt for longer than any other girlfriend…but at the end of the day, what does that mean? That I’m still in the frame? No! It’s his life. He’s out there, having fun before he…’ ” She gives an e
asy shrug. “You know.”
Her words are shimmering through my head and I’m trying to unpick them, but she’s such a pink, toxic presence, it’s hard.
“No, I don’t know,” I say at last.
“Oh my God.” Genevieve puts down her coffee, blinking innocently. “I’m not saying he’s going to end up with me. That’s not what I’m saying. Who am I? I’m out of the picture! Biscuit?”
“No thanks,” I say, trying desperately to catch sight of Matt.
“His parents still keep in touch, though, isn’t that sweet?” continues Genevieve in musing tones. “They actually fill me in on his love life, which is hilarious. The girl he dated straight after me? The one he met doing martial arts? She was loopy.” She gives me a conspiratorial smile. “Elsa was straight on the phone to me: ‘Genevieve, what am I going to do?’ And I said, ‘Elsa my love, relax, it’s just a fling—he’s not going to marry her.’ And then of course it ended so acrimoniously.” She smiles sweetly. “I’m sure Matt’s told you.”
Her eyes are probing me as though to find a weakness. As though she already suspects I know less about Matt’s past than she does. Well, she can sod off, because who had sex with him last night?
“Actually, we don’t look backward,” I reply in pleasant tones. “Because we have so much to look forward to in our beautiful future together. In fact, Matt’s so uninterested in his ex-girlfriends that the subject never comes up. For example, I’m trying to think of the number of times he’s mentioned you, Genevieve.” I crinkle my brow thoughtfully. “Oh yes. None.”
“Well.” Genevieve’s smile freezes. “If I can be any help, please let me know. Oh, Matt, there you are.”
“Hi.” As Matt joins us, his eyes swivel uneasily from Genevieve to me and back again. “So…you guys have been talking. Great.”
“Yes, isn’t it great?” I say. “So great. But I’ll let you two get ready for the event now,” I add, seizing the chance to escape. “Have fun!”
As I stride out of the Green Room, I’m breathing heavily. What was that? She’s the most narcissistic bighead I’ve ever met.