“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.
Then I notice Nihal and Topher getting breakfast in the kitchen, and an idea hits me. I head toward them swiftly, glancing over my shoulder, just in case.
“Morning, Ava,” says Nihal politely, as he pours cereal into a bowl.
“Morning.” I give him a super-friendly smile. “Morning, Topher. Listen…” I lower my voice. “Could I pick your brains really quickly, without you telling Matt?”
“No,” says Topher uncompromisingly. “Next question?”
“Oh, please,” I wheedle. “It’s nothing bad. I just want to know a bit more about…” I lower my voice. “Genevieve. But we’ve agreed not to talk about our exes. Like, at all.”
“Well, that’s a stupid idea,” says Topher, rolling his eyes, and I sigh.
“Maybe it is, but that’s what we’re doing. So I can’t ask Matt. But I have to know—” I break off and rub my face.
“What?” says Topher, looking mildly intrigued, and Nihal pauses, his hand on the milk carton.
I feel an inner squirming, because I already feel paranoid and ridiculous, but on the other hand, I need to talk about it with someone.
“How much did Matt love Genevieve?” I whisper.
This has been my deep-down fear since I saw that video: that they were hopelessly in love in a way that I can’t understand or compete with. And that she’ll come back and wield some sort of magic over him.
“Love?” echoes Topher blankly.
“Love?” Nihal crinkles up his face. After a moment he resumes pouring his milk, and I feel a spike of frustration. Both of them have dodged the question, I notice.
“Well?” I say, a little impatiently.
“I mean, love…” Topher looks confounded—then his face clears. “I’d say it’s irrelevant. If you’re going to start looking at Matt’s exes, the one you want to worry about is Sarah.”
“What?” I blink at him. “Who’s Sarah?”
“The girlfriend Matt had after Genevieve. Irrational. Used to turn up at his office with no warning. She’s your problem.”
“Problem?” I echo, feeling stung. “I don’t have a problem!”
“You do, or you wouldn’t be in the kitchen questioning us,” says Topher with implacable logic.
“Didn’t Sarah move to Antwerp, though?” ventures Nihal. “And start dating another guy?”
“Doesn’t mean anything,” retorts Topher. “You know she once called me up and asked me to check Matt’s phone to see if he was getting her texts? Psycho.”
“What about Liz?” suggests Nihal. “Remember her?”
“Only lasted a week or two.” Topher shrugs. “A very intense week or two…” He gives a sudden reminiscent chuckle.
Liz? How many bloody girlfriends has Matt had?
“I don’t need to hear about every single one of Matt’s exes!” I say, trying to sound more lighthearted than I feel. “I just wondered if Genevieve was…”
“A threat to you?” supplies Nihal.
“Yes.”
“Anything’s possible.” Nihal makes an apologetic face. “I wouldn’t feel right saying ‘a hundred percent no.’ ”
“Nihal, you’re a moron,” says Topher dismissively. “Genevieve isn’t a threat to Ava.”
“She’s more of a threat to Ava than Sarah is,” says Nihal, in his mild, obstinate way.
OK, I could really do without hearing the phrase “threat to Ava.”
“Genevieve’s on the spot,” Nihal persists, counting off on his fingers. “And everyone loves her. The Harriet’s House fan base is huge,” he adds to me. “It’s a bit nuts.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” concedes Topher, turning to me. “There’s a bunch of crazed Harriet’s House fans who would pretty much lynch you for tearing Genevieve’s face on that book.”
“Really?” I say anxiously.
I suddenly envision a furious mob of Harriet’s House fans running toward me with pitchforks.
“Also, Matt’s parents worship Genevieve,” Topher adds. “But you knew that.”
“Oh yes,” Nihal agrees earnestly. “You should really try to impress Matt’s parents, Ava. Matt values their opinion.”
“Ripping that book was…you know.” Topher gives a sudden snort of laughter. “Unfortunate.”
I’m utterly frazzled by this conversation.
“You know, you’re really not making me feel better!” I say, a little shrilly, and both men look baffled.
“Oh. Sorry,” says Topher, shooting Nihal an “uh-oh” look. “We misunderstood. Did you come in here wanting to feel better?”
“We didn’t realize that was the brief,” says Nihal politely. “We thought you wanted information.”
I give up. Why can’t Matt have female flatmates?
“Well, thanks anyway. And please don’t tell Matt I was asking about his exes,” I add, glancing warily at the door. “We’re trying to have a baggage-free relationship.”
“No such thing,” says Topher at once. “Doesn’t exist.”
“Hand luggage only, then,” I clarify, and Topher gives a bark of scoffing laughter.