Page 109 of Match Point

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I peer at Iris over the top of my phone as she sets down a mug of coffee on the table next to her parents’ sofa.

‘What?’ she says defensively, moving my feet so she can sit down.

I clear my throat and read out loud: ‘“We can’t know what – or should we say, who – may have caused this change, but what we do know is that he is playing with more heart than we’ve seen from him in the last decade.”’ I lower my phone. ‘Are you serious?’

‘He is! There’s nothing in there that implies it has anything to do with you. I could be talking about anyone! Maybe I’m talking about Neil. Maybe his dad.’

Tilting my head, I arch my brow. She rolls her eyes.

‘Okay, so maybe it could be interpreted in a way that suggests his falling head over heels has impacted his performance on the court.’ She offers me an apologetic smile. ‘In my defence, I wrote that yesterday and it was on a timer to publish this morning. I forgot to edit it.’

I sigh, reaching for the mug. ‘I’ll forgive you because you’ve brought me coffee. And without you, I would have been homeless last night.’

‘Mi casa es su casa.’ She hesitates. ‘Or rather, my parents’ house is your house.’

I smile into my drink. ‘It’s so kind of them to let me show up without warning and crash on their sofa.’

‘It’s really no problem; they love having you. Mum’s been using you as an excuse to yell at Dad for turning the second spare room into a gym that he never uses. I do feel bad you being on the sofa. You should have slept in my bed with me.’ She pats my leg under the duvet. ‘I’m a very good sleep partner. I don’t snore or anything.’

‘I would have kept you up, tossing and turning. My brain wouldn’t let me sleep. Anyway, I’ve become accustomed to sleeping on the sofa recently.’

She looks at me, her eyes filled with concern. ‘Are you okay, Flora?’

‘Yeah, of course,’ I say. She looks unconvinced. ‘I’m fine, really. It was a whirlwind romance, a summer fling, and now it’s over. We’re adults. We move on.’

‘It seemed more than a fling, though,’ she says carefully. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t give up on it quite yet. The pressure of Wimbledon, it would cause even the most level-headed person to spiral. He might have been having a moment yesterday.’

I shake my head, picking at the handle of the mug. ‘He made his feelings very clear, Iris. There’s no hope. And even if I think we have a shot, I don’t want to have to persuade someone to love me back. If he’s giving up, then I’m not fighting for it.’

She’s looking at me strangely, her teeth digging into her bottom lip, her eyes glistening.

‘What? What is it?’ I ask, puzzled by her expression.

‘Oh, Flora. You said you don’t want to persuade him to love you back,’ she says softly, giving me a half-smile. ‘You love him.’

I stiffen. ‘No, I… I didn’t mean…’

My sentence trails off as the realisation sinks in that there’s no point in protesting something that we know to be true. My heart jumps into my throat and I start to feel sick, an uncomfortable feeling sinking into my stomach.

‘I can’t,’ I whisper, looking at Iris in a panic. ‘I haven’t known him that long.’

She shrugs. ‘When you know, you know. And it has been an intense few weeks for you two. You’ve been through a lot and you’ve been living together. Besides—’ she raises her eyebrows at me ‘—I don’t think there’s a rigid rule about how long you need to know someone to fall in love with them.’

I press a hand on my chest in an attempt to steady my erratic heartbeat. ‘I admit, I’ve been falling for him. I mean, who wouldn’t?’

She nods solemnly. ‘He has the body of a Calvin Klein model, he has an Irish accent and there’s only one bed in your flat. Obviously you fell for him.’

‘Exactly. Obviously.’ I chew on my thumbnail, frowning. ‘But I didn’t think I’d fallen, you know, all the way.’

‘And now you know you have,’ Iris says slowly, looking at me as though this is a test.

I take a moment to seriously think about this. It might have been a slip of the tongue earlier. I can still back out; I can still claim that I spoke without thinking. But that’s the thing. I wasn’t thinking when I said it. I wasn’t concentrating on the exact words, choosing the most appropriate and considered ones. I spoke how I felt. I spoke from the heart.

I love him.

It suddenly seems obvious, almost insignificant. Of course, I love him. He’s the most wonderful person I’ve ever met. He’s kind and thoughtful and smart and fun. Beneath his moody and guarded shell, he’s soft and warm, loving and loveable. He’s unquestionably good-looking, but when you get to know him, he’s breathtakingly beautiful. Think of the way his eyes light up when he gets passionate about what he’s talking about, or the way his dimples show when he grins broadly or properly laughs, and the tiny creases that appear between his eyebrows when he’s concentrating.

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