Page 27 of Match Point

‘Pretty stupid not to look in there, Kieran,’ he mutters to himself, as he kneels on the ground to get it set up again. I chuckle lightly at his comment and he hears, glancing over. I notice his expression soften a little, before he returns to sorting out the wires.

*

The next morning, I’m surprised to find that I’m not woken up by the blender, but by the loud chattering of the paparazzi who have arrived to gather around the gate. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I peer through the blinds and see them all congregated together. Even though they can’t see me, I give them a dirty look.

I get up to head to the bathroom and see that the kitchen door is closed. I hear the sound of dull muffled whizzing behind it, and I smile to myself. Looks like being tough with the PlayStation last night helped matters. Deciding to repay his kindness by exiting the bathroom quickly so he can shower before me, I plod back into the living room to find him standing next to the sofa, holding his smoothie.

‘Oh, hey. There are reporters out there so I would—’

‘Your phone went off,’ he interrupts, his voice sharp. With a thunderous expression, he pointedly glances to my phone sitting on top of the coffee table. ‘I came in here and I saw it ringing on the table. I saw the name flashing up. It was Iris Gray.’

I frown at him, folding my arms. ‘Okay. Kieran, why—’

‘You’re talking to a journalist,’ he states angrily.

‘What? No, I—’

‘I know her name, Flora. Iris Gray is a sports journalist. Why would you be talking to her? Why would her name be saved in your phone? Are you feeding her information about me? Is that what’s going on? Is that why you won’t leave?’

I stare at him, bewildered. ‘No!’

‘I should have known,’ he mutters, shaking his head, pained. ‘I should have guessed that you’d sell your story.’

‘I would never—’

‘Was it you who told the press where I was staying? What has Iris offered to pay you? Has she—’

‘Bloody hell, Kieran, no one is paying me anything!’ I cry, throwing my hands up in exasperation. ‘I would never sell a story, okay? Not everyone is out to get you!’

He stares at me, the muscle in his jaw twitching. His eyes are frantically scanning my expression, trying to work out if I’m telling the truth, but I can tell he remains unconvinced.

‘Iris is my best friend,’ I tell him firmly. ‘We used to work together. We’re friends. She doesn’t print gossip-type stuff anyway. Check her columns, you’ll see she hasn’t written anything about you the last few days. She’s only interested in the tennis! You can speak to her yourself if you don’t believe me.’

Frowning, he keeps his mouth shut, his lips still and straight.

‘Kieran,’ I continue, taking a step forwards, ‘I don’t blame you for seeing her name and jumping to that conclusion, but I swear it’s not what it looks like. She’s my friend, who happens to be a journalist. Sometimes she calls me to check in on her way into work, which is probably what she was doing then. You can trust her. And… you can trust me.’

His eyes drop to the floor. I don’t move, watching him closely.

‘I should go shower,’ he says eventually, storming out the room.

Grabbing my phone, I curl up on the sofa underneath the duvet and quietly wait for him to get ready. I’m irritated that anyone would think I’d do something so low as to sell my story, but I also feel sad that that would be Kieran’s first thought. I guess Henrietta Keane hasn’t exactly helped his paranoia.

When the bell goes to signal Neil’s arrival, Kieran leaves without saying goodbye, opening the front door to an eruption of noise from the paparazzi. Once I’ve heard his car pull away and the road return to normal again as the reporters scatter, I get up and go into the kitchen to make myself a coffee.

That’s when I notice there are two smoothie glasses in the sink. One that’s empty and has clearly been drunk from, and the other on its side, its contents slowly oozing out across the basin. It takes me a moment to realise that’s why he was in the living room in the first place. He was bringing me a smoothie.

7

When I spot Iris, she’s emerging from the flower shop in the Village with a pretty bouquet of colourful summer blooms. She notices me strolling towards her and she throws her head back and laughs, before holding them out to me.

‘Busted!’ she cries, throwing her free hand up in the air. ‘I was going to show up to our dinner with these for you as a surprise.’

‘You got me flowers?’ I gasp, as she hands them over and I admire them. ‘Why?’

‘Because your trip fell through and I wanted to cheer you up,’ she says with a shrug. ‘Don’t get all smushy on me, it’s not a big deal.’

‘But it is a big deal!’ I exclaim, before I pull her into a hug. ‘That’s so thoughtful and lovely. I can’t remember the last time anyone bought me flowers. Thank you.’

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