Page 16 of Match Point

‘Yes, it is.’

‘No, it’s not!’ he repeats crossly, his nostrils flaring and his voice rising. ‘You are not stupid if you say a stupid thing. People say stupid things all the time. For example, saying that you have to be in the Lake District to create art is a stupid thing to say.’

‘You’re insulting me all over again!’ I point out, throwing my hands up. ‘I shouldn’t have let you back in. Why don’t you go somewhere else?’

He takes a step forward. ‘I can prove to you that what you’re saying is stupid.’

I glare at him. ‘How?’

He jabs his finger in the direction of the cherry blossom artwork across the wall behind the TV. I pause, turning to look at it. I don’t know what I was expecting him to give as an explanation, but I wasn’t expecting this.

‘There,’ he says, studying me. ‘I’m guessing you didn’t drag this wall all the way up to the Lake District to paint that.’

‘That’s… different,’ I stammer.

Exhaling, he lowers his hand to his side again. ‘All I was saying is that people make excuses all the time because they’re scared of putting themselves out there. If you want to draw a graphic novel, Flora, you can do it anywhere.’

I continue to stare at the wall, perplexed. He sighs and turns away, getting out his phone and sitting down on the sofa to read through it. I suddenly feel weirdly vulnerable, as though he’s seen through me. Folding my arms across my chest self-consciously, I swivel to face him, jutting out my chin defiantly.

‘Still, you shouldn’t have been so mean,’ I state, although it sounds petty and childish out loud.

‘You shouldn’t have thrown your drink at me,’ he retorts without a moment’s hesitation, as though he was ready for me to say that and had already prepared his answer.

I shift my weight from one foot to the other. ‘Fine. Unlike some people, I’m big enough to admit when I’m wrong.’ He lifts his eyes to me in mild surprise. ‘The throwing of the drink was a little… unnecessary. I should have, instead, explained to you why I was upset.’

He presses his lips together and takes a deep breath, his chest rising slowly, his gaze fixed on me the whole time. I wait for him to say something. He doesn’t.

‘Aren’t you going to apologise?’ I prompt impatiently.

‘I already did,’ he claims.

‘Excuse me? No you didn’t!’

He frowns at me in confusion. ‘I said just a moment ago that I apologise if I said it clumsily and I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.’

I open my mouth to protest and then realise that… he’s right. He did say that, right before he made his point about my wall art, but I was too pent up with irritation and anger to hear and appreciate it.

Damn it.

‘Oh yeah,’ I mutter. ‘Okay. Fine. Thank you. I accept your apology.’

Going back to his phone, he quirks a brow in satisfaction.

‘There’s no need to look so smug.’

He ignores me completely and I roll my eyes, moving to slump down on the other sofa. I feel exhausted and I still have to work out what I’m going to do about the next few weeks. Kieran’s phone rings and I glance over to see him frown at the caller ID and ignore it.

‘You can answer her; don’t mind me,’ I say absent-mindedly, chewing my thumbnail. It’s a habit that I gave up years ago, but it returns when I’m stressed, like a nervous tick.

‘It’s fine, I’d rather…’ He pauses, tilting his head at me. ‘How did you know it was a “her”?’

‘I assumed. Why, am I right?’

He doesn’t say anything but the muscle in his jaw twitches.

‘I’m right, aren’t I,’ I say brazenly. ‘Henrietta. You should answer her calls. She obviously needs to speak to you if she keeps calling.’

‘Not that it’s any of your business,’ he begins in a deep and even voice, ‘but I’d rather not speak to her right now.’

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