Page 17 of Match Point

‘Why? Are you worried she’s going to be cross at you for leaving her place this morning without saying goodbye?’

His eyes widen in shock. I feel a rush of pleasure at being the dominant one in this conversation. Up until now, he’s seemed so superior and conceited, it seems like an achievement to put him on the back foot for once.

‘How did you know that?’ he asks, the creases on his forehead deepening in concern. ‘Did you read it online somewhere?’

‘No, I took a guess and you just confirmed it for me,’ I tell him primly. ‘It doesn’t take a genius to work it out. You rock up here way too early in clothes that you were clearly out in last night, hungover and stinking of booze, and you keep ignoring calls from a woman.’

He scowls. ‘All right, Sherlock. Very clever.’

His phone starts ringing again and I roll my eyes. ‘I know it’s none of my business, but at least message her if you’re not going to pick up,’ I suggest. ‘Maybe she thinks she did something wrong. If she didn’t, it’s not fair to leave her worrying, and then she’ll stop pestering you with phone calls. A win-win situation.’

‘I’m not… she didn’t do anything wrong.’ He sighs, stroking his stubble thoughtfully. ‘What we have is casual. She knows that.’

‘So why did you feel the need to creep out this morning?’

‘I didn’t want the paps to see me leave. They’re often around her building first thing. I wanted to get out of there before they arrived.’

I nod, intrigued. ‘So she’s famous, huh. What does she do? Would I know her?’

He doesn’t answer.

‘Whatever,’ I say, sighing impatiently. ‘Don’t be a dick, just message her and explain the thing about the reporters. If she’s famous, she’ll get it, won’t she.’

He picks up his phone begrudgingly and starts typing before glancing up at me, looking uncertain. ‘Did you say I stink of booze?’

‘Oh. Uh… yeah. But I think the rosé has made it worse, to be fair.’

He can’t help but smile at that, and I catch a fleeting glimpse of his dimples. I would say that I hadn’t noticed them before, but I actually think he just hasn’t smiled properly in front of me until now. They completely change his face, making it softer and more appealing. But they appear so briefly before his blank expression returns, I’d question whether they genuinely exist.

When his phone rings again, I groan, throwing my head back and looking up at the ceiling. ‘Just pick up. She’s obviously upset.’

‘It’s not her,’ he tells me, before actually bothering to answer his phone. ‘Hi, Neil.’

I bring my head forwards again, noticing his expression darken as he listens to whoever Neil is on the other end. His eyes flicker at me.

‘Yes. It was a misunderstanding. I can explain when I see you,’ he says with an edge to his voice. ‘How bad?’ As he listens to the answer, he presses his lips together so tightly into a thin line, they almost disappear. ‘Okay. Fine. Don’t bring Nicole in yet, just you for now.’ He pauses to listen again and shakes his head. ‘No, just you, Neil. I mean it. I don’t want the whole team here. Oh, I’ll need some fresh clothes. Yeah, Tori has my stuff. It’s due to arrive here at five, but I’ll need something before then.’ He looks at me pointedly. ‘Apparently I don’t smell too fresh and I’d like to shower.’

He hangs up and sighs heavily, bowing his head for a moment.

‘Everything okay?’ I ask.

He inhales and types something into his phone. At first I think he’s rudely ignoring my question and is back to messaging Henrietta, but then he rises to his feet and comes over to me, holding out his phone so I can see his screen. I take it from him to look at it properly.

It’s a string of reports on social media, the majority of them displaying the same clip: a video of me and Kieran talking to each other in the beer garden of Dog and Fox, before I stand up furiously and chuck my drink all over him.

‘Oh my God,’ I whisper, scrolling in horror. The re-posts and comments are endless.

‘You should be flattered,’ Kieran remarks drily. ‘A drink throw so good, it’s gone viral.’

5

The photographers arrive in a trickle. At first there’s just one guy with a camera round his neck, lurking on the pavement nearby, and then another one arrives, greeting him like an old friend, and then another and another until there’s five or six out there. It’s only been a couple of hours since the wine-throwing clip was uploaded online and already they’ve tracked down where Kieran is staying. It’s creepy.

‘You need to stand back from the window,’ Kieran tells me crossly for the hundredth time. ‘They’ll see the blinds move.’

‘I don’t understand how they worked out where you are!’ I exclaim, dropping the blind. ‘How do they know?’

‘Because people tell,’ Kieran says bitterly. ‘One of your neighbours must have seen me and spread the word. Probably when you wouldn’t let me in and insisted we talk loudly through the door. It wasn’t exactly subtle.’

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