Page 6 of Match Point

That’s it. I’ve been polite enough. It’s time to get some answers.

‘Excuse me, but why are you here?’ I ask bluntly.

He frowns at me. ‘I didn’t think it would be a problem that I’m early.’

‘But I’m not expecting you.’

‘Well, I wasn’t expecting you,’ he mutters, looking me up and down. ‘As I said, I appreciate you greeting me but I can see everything’s in order, so you can go.’

‘Why would I go?’ I ask, putting my hands on my hips. ‘I live here.’

‘No,’ he says, narrowing his eyes at me. ‘I live here.’

I stare at him. Oh God. This is bad. Kieran O’Sullivan is clearly having some kind of episode and has convinced himself that he lives in my flat!

As he rises to his feet, eyeing me suspiciously, I take a step back from him.

‘You’re not from the agency, are you,’ he surmises.

‘What agency? No, I’m not from any agency.’

‘Who are you? How did you know I was staying here? Did someone on my team tell you? Who? How did you get in?’ he asks rapidly, his voice strained and sharp. ‘Who told you I was staying here?’

‘I didn’t… no one told me anything!’ I stammer, unnerved by the flurry of questions. ‘This is my flat! You don’t live here, I live here!’

He hesitates. ‘This is your flat.’

‘Yes!’

‘As in, you didn’t mean you’re staying here, you meant you live-live here.’

‘Yes,’ I say, staring at him wide-eyed.

‘Ah.’ His expression softens with relief. ‘I think I understand the confusion. You’ve rented out your flat for the next few weeks, right? Yeah, I’m the one who’s renting it.’

I’m too stunned to speak for a moment.

‘Huh?’ I blurt out eventually.

‘I’ve rented your flat,’ he repeats, reaching up to rub at the nape of his neck. ‘I thought you were from the letting agency.’

‘You… you’ve rented my flat,’ I say in disbelief. ‘Really?’

He nods, slumping back down on the sofa.

‘Are… are you sure?’ I check.

‘Yep,’ he says wearily, nodding at the cherry blossom on the wall. ‘This is the place.’

I pause, attempting to wrap my head around the fact that it’s not a tennis fan who will be living in my house, but Kieran O’Sullivan, a celebrity.

‘Sorry I’m early,’ he says, making himself comfortable again while I stand frozen to the spot. ‘I know I’m not meant to be here until five, but… I was at a loose end.’

His phone rings again. I can see from the Caller ID that it’s someone named Henrietta. He glances at it, but doesn’t move a muscle, letting it ring out.

‘You’re staying here,’ I say out loud as though that might help my brain to accept the fact. ‘That’s… wow.’

He presses his lips together, looking uncomfortable. ‘Yeah, look, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone that. I don’t want the press swarming the place.’

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