Love Your Life(69)

“No!” He seems astonished. “Ava, I didn’t know anyone else would be there, it didn’t occur to me that you’d take a sauna…basically I forgot. I’m so used to it, I forget. And really,” he adds, lowering his voice as his parents approach us down the path, “is it such a big deal?”

“What?” I begin—then stop. Already Elsa and John are in earshot and Elsa is addressing me: “Hello, Ava. Did you have a good swim?”

“Wonderful, thanks,” I respond with a polite smile. “Such a lovely pool!”

But as she starts telling me about the garden, my head is churning. Indignation is sparking around my body. Is it such a big deal? Is he for real?





Seventeen




By the time we get into the car, an hour later, I’m bursting. I’m actually bursting. Arguments have been mounting up in my mind like planes waiting to land. First, Matt doesn’t warn me about the naked sauna. Then he makes out like I’m overreacting. Then, over tea, he tells his parents that Harold needs training, even though he knows I don’t like him saying that.

Then, as I’m still reeling from that, his parents launch into a half-hour lecture on the eighth wonder of the world that is Genevieve. I know that Genevieve has appeared on the cover of three magazines. And she’s going to film a TV documentary. And she has to have two assistants to deal with all the fan mail she receives.

And OK, yes, Matt tried to steer the conversation away, but maybe he didn’t try hard enough.

And, oh my God, what was that with the cake?

I’m breathing hard as I get into the car and wave at Matt’s parents. “Thank you so much!” I call through the window. “I had a lovely time. It was wonderful!”

    “So,” says Matt as he puts the car into reverse to turn. “How was that for you?”

Even his question flicks me on the raw. How does he think it was?

“Oh, I’m just super-thrilled I’ll get an A-plus in my test on ‘Genevieve the wonder woman,’?” I say, still smiling sweetly at his parents through the window, and Matt sighs.

“I know. I’m sorry. My parents are…They can’t let go.”

He puts the car into first gear, and we shoot forward with a little spurt of gravel under the wheels. As we exit the gates, we both breathe out.

“But it was OK otherwise?” says Matt after a few moments. I know he wants me to say it was lovely. And I know I should. But I can’t. I’m feeling tetchy and stroppy.

“Apart from Genevieve and the naked sauna and you insulting Harold, it was fab,” I say, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

“Insulting Harold?” Matt sounds perplexed. “How did I insult Harold?”

“You said he needs training.”

“He does need training,” replies Matt, and I feel a spurt of rage.

“He does not! And why didn’t they open my cake?”

“What?” Matt looks baffled. “What cake?”

What cake?

“I spent an absolute fortune on a cake from a patisserie, and they just left it in the kitchen!”

    “Oh.”

“And then they just served biscuits at tea, and I kept thinking, ‘But what about the cake? Why don’t we have the cake?’?”

Matt shoots me a wary look. “They’re probably saving it up. I think you’re overreacting.”

“Maybe,” I say morosely. “But it’s no wonder.” I suddenly feel weariness crashing over me and rub my face. “Matt, listen. You have to move into my place. I can’t sleep a wink at yours.”

“Move into yours?” Matt sounds aghast. “What— No. Sorry, no.”

“But my flat is more conducive. It’s more comfortable. It’s more welcoming.”

“More welcoming?” Matt echoes incredulously. “Ava, your flat is a liability! Fucking…nails sticking out and stuff toppling down everywhere, and you never screw jars closed properly….”

I stare at him, baffled. Jars? Where is this coming from? Jars? I open my mouth to defend myself, but Matt carries on as though the floodgates have opened.

“There are bloody ‘rescue plants’ everywhere…your ‘rescue bed’ is impossible to sleep in….”

“At least my flat has character!” I snap. “At least it’s not some monolithic concrete box.”

“Character?” Matt gives a short, incredulous laugh. “It’s crummy! That’s its character! Rescue books? Rescue books are not a thing, Ava. You’re not making a noble gesture by housing crap.”

“Crap?” I stare at him, incensed.

    “Yes, crap! If no one wants to buy An Illustrated Guide to the Cauliflower published in 1963, guess what? It’s not because it’s an unloved gem which needs to be rescued. It’s because it’s a shit book.”

For a moment I can’t speak for shock. I don’t even know where to begin. And by the way, I do not own a book called An Illustrated Guide to the Cauliflower.

“So, what, you hate my flat?” I try to sound calm.

“I don’t hate it.” Matt signals left and changes lanes. “I think it’s unsafe.”