Page 58 of Match Point

Kieran shakes his head at him in disbelief.

His eyes land on me and he manages to whisper, ‘Sorry, Flossie,’ before he exits the room. I jump at the bedroom door slamming. Neil exhales, his breath shaking.

‘Shit,’ he whispers.

‘What happened?’ I ask, aghast.

He glances at me, his lips pursed.

‘We had a press conference after the match. It was going very well until one of the reporters asked him what he thought about the news that his father has written a book.’

My mouth turns dry. ‘A book about Kieran?’

Neil nods slowly. ‘Kieran, Aidan, all of it. It’s a memoir.’

‘Oh my God,’ I utter, my chest swelling with an ache of sympathy for him.

‘I don’t know how much you know about the O’Sullivan family, but I can’t imagine Kieran will come out looking like the son of the year. And obviously, anything about Aidan—’

His eyes fall to the floor.

I’m too shocked to speak, my heart too heavy to say anything useful.

Eventually, Neil clears his throat. ‘I should go. I’ll be back in the morning to pick him up for training. Lots of work to do.’ He hesitates, giving me a pointed look. ‘Probably best to leave him tonight. Let him cool off.’

I nod.

‘Right then.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight.’

He turns to leave, shuffling out of the room and down the hallway, each step weighed down with disappointment and regret. The front door shuts and the flat descends into an eerie silence. I go quietly into the kitchen to put away the cake.

15

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ I ask carefully, sinking down onto a chair opposite Kieran at the kitchen table.

He taps his fingers on the side of his coffee mug. I was wide awake when he left the flat this morning to go for his jog and by the time he got back, I’d showered and dressed, and made him one of his fruit smoothies to greet him with at the door. I’ve watched him make them enough times now to know all the ingredients. Flushed and out of breath, he’d taken it gratefully and retreated to the bedroom. Now, freshly showered, he’s come to find me in the kitchen, taking his place at the table silently while I made coffee.

‘I’m sorry about last night,’ he says eventually, his eyes fixed to the table surface. ‘I needed some time alone.’

‘I understand. If you want to be on your own now, that’s okay, too. I want to make sure you’re all right, that’s all.’

‘I’m fine. In a bit of shock, but fine.’

He lifts his eyes to meet mine. They’re filled with pain and uncertainty, and it makes me want to throw the table between us over on its side and rush to wrap him in my arms and hold him tight. Instead, I clasp my coffee mug and take a sip.

‘You’ve seen the news by now,’ he states, no need to make it a question.

The reveal of Brian O’Sullivan’s book has hit the press, but the bigger story is Kieran’s reaction to it. Since he was told about it at a press conference, there were several cameras on him at the time. All of them captured the colour drain from his face before he snaps that the conference is over and storms out the room, his chair tipping backwards from the force of his abrupt exit. You can tell that he didn’t knock his chair on purpose, but many of the tabloids have gone with the juicy Kieran-O’Sullivan-throws-his-chair-in-fury angle.

‘I’m so sorry, Kieran,’ I say, my fingers itching to reach out to his hand resting on the table. ‘You must feel so hurt.’

‘I can’t believe he would do this,’ he says, his eyebrows knitting together in earnest bewilderment. ‘Does he want to destroy me? And, worse, Aidan’s memory?’

‘Nothing could destroy Aidan’s memory,’ I assure him. ‘You knew your brother, you loved him, that’s all that matters.’

He sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. ‘My reaction yesterday won’t have helped matters,’ he says bitterly. ‘The publishers can be sure of good sales now. Everyone will want to hear about a fractured relationship so fucked up that I threw my chair across a room.’

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