Love Your Life(50)

“Right. OK.” He starts the calf-stretching exercise he does every morning. “What’s up?”

“OK,” I begin. “So, we’ve decided not to discuss romantic baggage, and I think that was the right decision. I mean, God, Matt, I have no desire to know about your ex-girlfriends. None.” I fling out a hand, just to demonstrate how little I want to know about them. “It’s the last thing I want to think about, believe me!”

“Right,” says Matt again, looking confused. “Well, let’s not talk about them, then. Sorted.”

“But it’s not as simple as that, is it?” I continue quickly. “If we’re really going to know each other as rounded people, then we need context.”

“Do we?”

“I think so,” I say firmly. “A bit of romantic context. Just for information. For a fuller picture.”

“Uh-huh,” says Matt, looking less than enthusiastic.

“So I have a new idea,” I continue.

“Thought you might,” mutters Matt, so quietly that I can barely hear him.

“What?” I narrow my eyes.

“Nothing,” he says hastily. “Nothing. What’s your idea?”

    “We do what we did at the monastery. We can ask one question each about ex-partners. I mean, five questions,” I amend quickly. “Five.”

“Five?” He looks appalled.

I want to retort, “Five is nothing, I have fifty!” But instead I say, “I think that’s reasonable. I’ll start!” I add before he can protest. “First question: How serious was it with Genevieve?”

Matt looks speechless, as though I’ve asked him to explain string theory in three words.

“Depends what you mean by serious,” he answers at last.

“Well…did she stay over here?”

“Sometimes.”

I suddenly remember that I already knew that and curse myself for wasting a question.

“How often?”

“Couple of times a week, maybe.”

“And did you…” I hesitate. “Did you tell her you loved her?”

“Can’t remember,” says Matt after a pause.

“You can’t remember?” I say in disbelief. “You can’t remember if you told her you loved her?”

“No.”

“Well, OK. Did she—”

“You’re out of questions,” Matt interrupts, and I stare at him, bewildered.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve asked five questions. Conversation over.”

Furiously I count back in my head. One…two…oh, for God’s sake, that’s not fair. That was not five proper questions. But I know Matt. He’s literal. I have to play the game accurately; otherwise he’ll never do it again.

    “OK.” I lift my hands. “Your turn. Ask me anything.”

“Fine.” Matt thinks. “How serious was it with Russell?”

“Oh God.” I breathe out as I consider the question. “Where do I start? Did I love him? I told him I did, but did I even know what love was? It was a weird relationship. He started off so wonderful, so kind, so…I don’t know, attentive. He loved Harold…he loved my flat…he sent me all these lovely long emails….For five months it was just amazing. But then at the end—”

I break off, because I don’t particularly want to get into how he ghosted me, not to mention how long it took me even to realize what he was doing. I made every excuse for him under the sun. And I still don’t understand how he went from someone who said, “You’re my soulmate, Ava, everything about you is so perfect it makes me want to weep,” to someone who blanked me. (Nor do I want to remember calling his mum in desperation and her getting all flustered when she realized it was me and pretended to be the Polish cleaner.)

“Huh.” Matt is silent a minute, digesting this. “Did he stay over?”

“No,” I say after a pause. “He never did. He wanted to, but his job was quite demanding, so…I mean, it would have been the next step.”

“Huh,” says Matt again. Silently, he pulls off the rest of his exercise wear, and as I watch him, I feel a growing intrigue. His face is brooding and intent. What’s he thinking about? What’s he going to ask me? Then he reaches for a towel.

    “OK, I’m having a shower. What time are we leaving for this picnic?”

“What?” I peer at him. “What about your other three questions?”

“Oh, right,” says Matt, as though he’d forgotten. “I’ll get to those another time.”

He disappears into the bathroom and I gaze after him, flabbergasted and just a little offended. He had three more questions! How could he not be burning to know more? I still have a zillion questions about Genevieve.

Feeling disconcerted, I head out to the living space. There weren’t supposed to be any glitches today. I’m taking Matt to meet my friends at Maud’s birthday picnic, and it was all supposed to be wonderful and happy and perfect.

I mean, it is wonderful and happy and perfect, I remind myself quickly. I just wish Genevieve hadn’t got under my skin.