Love Your Life(96)

Twenty-Three




OK, I was hoping. Because I always hope. It’s my inner optimistic Alice.

But at the same time the Red Queen has been muttering meanly, He won’t come after you, don’t be so stupid. And of course she’s right. I get downstairs without any hand touching my shoulder. I get through the crowded conference center without any urgent voice calling me from behind. I make it down the road without hearing frantic footsteps and Matt’s voice yelling, “Wait! Ava!”

It’s only when I’m on a bus back to north London, slumped in my seat and staring out of the window in utter misery, that the text messages start arriving.

I’m sorry.

I’m leaving as soon as I can.

We need to talk.

Are you there? Where are you?



    As I read his missives, one after another, I can feel his distress through the phone. I don’t think he’s ever sent me this many text messages at once. And I can’t help it, I feel myself softening. After a moment’s thought, I type a reply:

OK, I’ll go to your place. Let’s talk there.



I head to his building, let myself in with my key, and make a piece of toast to make up for the missing lunch. I can hear music coming from Topher’s bedroom, but the door is shut, for which I’m thankful. So I just walk around, my hands clenched, my head swirling with dark, upsetting thoughts.

I’ve said, “Let’s talk,” but what do I even mean by that? Where do we start? If Matt won’t share something so important as moving to Japan, what chance do we have? Doesn’t he want a joint future? What does he think is going on?

I could get over him eating meat, I find myself thinking in a frenzied whirl. I could try to be tidier. I could find another joint hobby for us, bond with his parents, master golf….We could overcome those obstacles. But moving to Japan? Without discussing it?

His texts are still coming in, but I can’t deal with them, so I turn off my phone. The more my thoughts swirl around, the more stressed out I’m becoming. Right now it feels as if Matt-land and Ava-land are on totally different sides of the world. They’re completely alien to each other. And Matt’s just fired a missile over my airspace.

Yes. I feel a sudden whoosh of comprehension. That’s what’s happened. He’s launched a socking great cruise missile at me. But now he’s behaving like, “What’s the problem?” So my dilemma is, do I get out my nuclear missiles? Are we at war?

    Wait. Do I have nuclear missiles?

I feel a little unclear on this, because I am naturally a pacifist, but on the other hand, I need to do something. I need to retaliate somehow—

The doorbell rings and my chin jerks up defensively. Why’s he ringing the doorbell? Is he making a point? I stride to the door and swing it open, ready to make some barbed, pithy comment—but my words wither on my lips and I blink in astonishment.

There’s a girl standing in front of me. (No, not girl. Woman. I shouldn’t say “girl,” even in my thoughts. A female, let’s say.) There’s a female standing silently in the hall, surveying me with raised quizzical eyebrows. And I know her. Don’t I? She has tawny, feathery hair and very white teeth and she looks so familiar, but I can’t quite place her….

“A guy let me in downstairs,” she says, and the sound of her voice triggers a rush of instant, comprehensive recall. It’s Lyric. From the writing retreat.

Lyric? Here?

“Hi, Aria,” she says, with the slightly aggressive manner I remember her using in Italy. “I heard you two got together. Didn’t expect you to last, though.”

My jaw has fallen open. My mind is scrabbling about. What is this conversation? Lyric seems to understand it perfectly, whereas I’m flailing in bafflement.

“What’s your real name?” she adds. “Someone told me, but I forgot.”

    What’s happening? Am I dying and everyone from my life is appearing before me, starting with complete randoms? Because I can’t think of any other reason that Lyric should be here on the doorstep. She only stayed on the course for an afternoon. I’d forgotten all about her.

“I was in London,” she says, as though realizing I need an explanation. “Thought I’d swing by.”

“Do you…” I swallow. “Do you know Matt?”

“Do I know Matt?” She gazes at me incredulously. “Do I know Matt? Oh my God.” A smile of relish curves across her face. “He didn’t tell you? That’s hilarious. We were to-ge-ther. We were a cou-ple.”

She enunciates the words in slow, deliberate tones, as though I have a low IQ, and I flinch, even as my brain is groping for answers.

“Is your name Sarah?” I ask, in sudden realization.

“Is my name Sarah?” She gives a throaty laugh. “Yes, genius. I’m Sarah. Matt and I were together. Lo-vers,” she adds, savoring the word.

I have an unwanted vision of her slithering round, naked, with Matt, and I close my eyes, trying to get rid of it. Because things were shitty enough without this.

“We were going to give it another chance on that retreat,” Sarah continues, clearly enjoying her story. “But then we couldn’t stop arguing, so I was like, ‘Fuck off, then.’?”