Love Your Life(79)

“Speaking of which,” I added, looking around, “where is my batik?”

“D’you mean that chewed rag under the sofa?” Matt said, and I bristled again, because what is it with the pejorative language?

(It was under the sofa. And to be fair, Harold had chewed it a bit, but it’ll be fine.)

(Also: I must find time for my batik, because the materials cost quite a lot and I was planning to sell five cushions, but I haven’t made any yet.)

Anyway. Never mind. Golf is a minor detail. And everyone has little arguments. And there have been brilliant times too. Like this morning, when we tried a more advanced tai chi routine and we aced it! Then Topher sent us a video he’d secretly taken of us doing tai chi at different times, set to “Eye of the Tiger.” It’s really funny—in fact, I can’t stop watching it.

    But the most positive thing of all is that tonight we’re holding our drinks party! We’ve decided to host it at Matt’s flat, and as I bustle around, filling bowls with crisps, I feel quite excited.

“Nihal,” I say, seeing him sit down at his workstation and put on his headphones. “You know we’re throwing a party in, like, five minutes?”

“Sure.” He nods, squinting at the screen. “I’ll be there. Deffo.”

As he starts typing, I quickly put up a picture which I’ve bought to brighten up Matt’s flat. It’s the same poster that I’ve got at my place, with the silk-petal frame and the message “You can cut all the flowers, but you can’t stop spring from coming.”

I’ve put it right next to the Bastard Chart, which is frankly hideous. Especially since someone’s written Fuck Off Topher in green pen across the bottom. As I stand back to admire my new addition, I notice Nihal reading it.

“What do you think?” I say. “Isn’t it a gorgeous poster? Those petals on the frame are real silk.”

“I don’t follow,” he says, peering at it. “Are you defining ‘spring’ as the season in which vegetation starts to appear?”

I feel a tweak of frustration. Not another one.

    “Well,” I say with a relaxed smile. “I don’t think it really—”

“Because in terms of flora, if you really were to remove from the entire earth’s biosystem—”

“I know!” I cut him off before he can mention dead bees. “I know about pollination. It’s not supposed to be literal, it’s just a beautiful, inspiring thing to have on your wall. Better than the Bastard Chart, you have to admit,” I can’t resist adding.

“I like the Bastard Chart,” Nihal replies.

“You can’t like looking at it,” I object. “You can’t actually enjoy looking at the Bastard Chart.”

“I do,” says Nihal. “I find it peaceful.”

He looks at me mildly and I gaze back at his sweet-natured, brainy face with a mixture of frustration and affection. I’ve got quite fond of Nihal, despite him being even more literal-minded than Matt.

“OK, well, the party starts soon,” I say. “My friends are arriving any minute.”

“Yes, I’ll be there,” says Nihal, peering at his work again. “Can’t wait to meet them,” he adds politely.

I head back toward the kitchen and look around. Where’s Matt got to? Doesn’t he realize we’re hosting an event here? I know I’m a bit wired, but I can’t help feeling nervous about this little gathering. This is our two worlds mingling—and what if they’re oil and water? What if they all fight?

At last I track down Matt to his bathroom. He’s perched on the edge of the sink unit, his phone clamped to his ear, looking stressed. I don’t even need to ask who it is. Or what it’s about. I catch his eye and point at my watch, and he winces.

    “OK, Dad, look…Yup. I know. I have to go. Let’s discuss this later….Dad, I have to go….Yes. Yes, I know. We’ll talk about it later. Bye.” At last he turns off his phone.

“Sorry,” he says heavily. “I was just…” He exhales and closes his eyes. Oh God. I can see him turning into a rock before my eyes.

“What’s up?” I ask, because I’m trying to get to know Matt’s business as much as I can, in a supportive and empathetic way. “Is it the Japanese theme park again?”

Harriet’s House is building a new theme park in Japan, and every day there seems to be some new nightmare. Just from overhearing Matt’s conversations, I’ve learned more about Japanese employment law than I ever thought I would, not to mention the general pitfalls of construction. (My takeaway has been: Don’t ever construct anything.) There was a brief saga about pumping water out of some stretch of land and I had a few helpful ideas about that, but that seems to be done with now.

“My parents want me to go over,” says Matt flatly, and for a crazy moment I think, Go over what? until I realize what he means.

“Well, I guess that makes sense,” I say after a pause. “You should go and visit.”

But Matt shakes his head. “For the duration. For six months, till the build is finished. Although in practice it’ll be a year, if not more.”

“A year?” I stare at him. “A year in Japan?”