Page 25 of Match Point

He gives me a forced smile, as though he gets it. I nod gratefully and go to sit back down, while he adjusts his headset.

Kieran’s been out most of the day training and returned this evening smelling like chlorine, heading straight to shower before taking over the kitchen to make a paella that he ate in about five seconds flat. It’s been nice having the flat to myself all day, but even though he wasn’t here, he’s made his presence known. His workout equipment takes up so much of the space in the living room that it makes it look cluttered and messy, which has been stressing me out, and I’ve tripped over those fucking resistance bands about five hundred times.

I’ve noticed he’s also left loads of his products in the bathroom, and while I approve of all the fancy stuff he uses that smells very nice, I moved it all neatly into a little box for him on the edge of the bath, only to find that after his shower this evening, he left the bottles scattered carelessly all over the place in there.

Now he’s back, the mood in the flat has dipped and I’m trying to accept that he’s going to spend time in the living room, even though, technically, he’s barged into my bedroom to play his stupid little game. I’m not going to go and sit in the bedroom to read, so the least he can do is keep it down. Settling back into the sofa cushions, I set down my chamomile tea and open my book.

Moments later, I’m disturbed again.

‘The ring is closing, get in, get in!’ he cries, as I lower my book in disbelief. ‘Ah, okay, let’s push this team. Go left, go left! No, what are you doing? Don’t do that! I said go left!’

My jaw clenched, I glare at him before picking up a cushion and throwing it at his head. He turns round in surprise, looks down at the cushion and then back up at me, grabbing it and tucking it behind his back.

‘Thanks,’ he grunts, settling back onto it. ‘That’s much better. Right, lads, stop playing trash and listen to my instructions so we might have a chance at winning.’

I hate him.

*

Awoken by that BLOODY blender again, I storm into the kitchen and stand in the doorway until he notices me. Glowering at him, I wait for him to turn it off.

‘Morning, sunshine,’ he says coolly, focusing on pouring his drink.

‘I asked you to shut the door,’ I remind him, my blood boiling.

‘My mistake. I’ll remember tomorrow. That hotel room is still an option, you know.’

I stare at him, baffled. ‘Doesn’t it bother you that I’m here? Why would you want to live in a small flat with a stranger rather than an amazing hotel?’

‘I could ask you the same question.’

‘I don’t get you,’ I say, massaging my temples. ‘Why won’t you leave? What is so special about staying on Lingfield Road?’

Without saying anything, he finishes his drink and stalks past me out the kitchen.

‘And do you really need all that gym stuff here taking over the whole place?’ I ask, bristling as I follow him towards the bathroom. ‘Don’t you literally spend the whole day working out in a gym?’

He turns, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom. ‘I play tennis, too.’

‘No shit.’

‘I also swim in the afternoon.’

‘Thanks for the details. If you’re doing all that, why do you need a gym here?’ I emphasise, rolling my eyes.

He shrugs. ‘I might need to do stretches or drills here sometimes.’

‘Okay, then could all the equipment live somewhere else until those times come?’

‘No.’

I glare at him. ‘Do you ever compromise on anything?’

He looks pensive. ‘Yes.’

‘But you won’t compromise on this.’

‘No.’

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