He glances about him. The house gleams invitingly. The expensive fixtures and fittings shine and sparkle. ‘I could drive to London and pick up my things now if you lend me the car. I don’t have much to collect.’
It would also mean I don’t have to sleep here alone tonight, or any night. I nod and giggle.
Actually giggle.
15
Recently, I’ve noted that when I communicate with Heidi, I often end up wishing I hadn’t bothered. Misunderstandings between us pop up like mushrooms on a waterlogged field. One moment we’re laughing, the next we’re tetchy and it feels like I’m fending off an interrogation. The misunderstandings and the interrogations tend to centre around Matthew. It’s unsettling, annoying. For this reason, I’ve found myself cancelling our plans to meet and instead limiting our interaction to phone calls and texts. At least that way she can’t see me rolling my eyes or biting my tongue. On our last call she opened with ‘Have you met any of his friends yet?’
‘We’re dispensing with hello now, are we?’ I asked, not totally hiding my irritation.
‘Hello. So have you?’
‘No.’
‘Don’t you think that’s odd?’
‘No.’
‘Does he have any siblings?’
‘No, he doesn’t.’
‘Are his parents still alive?’
‘They are.’
‘Why haven’t you met them?’
‘I’ve told you. They live in New Zealand.’
‘That’s convenient.’
‘Obviously, it’s anything but.’ I sighed.
She asks a lot of questions about him. It’s gone past excited wonder or even nosiness; now it feels like something a little more insidious. If not full-blown mistrust, then certainly scepticism. When we text one another, some messages seem loaded, while some go unanswered for days or her replies are just emojis rather than the long, in-depth messages I used to receive from her. Previously we’ve gloated about being the last people on the planet to still use correct spelling and grammar in texts – we even use semicolons – but in the past few weeks I’ve found myself googling things like ‘What does the slanty-mouthed emoji mean?’ Just yesterday she sent a text that began, What are his colleagues like?
I responded, He freelances. Doesn’t have regular colleagues.
Do you think he’s 
with his career?
Happy?
I mean, does he have any ambitions to do anything more?
More?
Else, anything else. Not saying it’s not enough.
She is, though. Even though he’s a good photographer, she thinks I should be with a captain of industry. Somebody with a career the size of mine. A bank balance the size of mine. It’s crazy. Those types of men don’t want career women for wives. They want women who will manage their social life, book their holidays, cook their meals and launder their clothes. Of course, because doing those things is a full-time job too. Matthew has no ego and can fit in around my world. It’s enough for me that he’s passionate about something, that we share beliefs and goals. It’s hypocritical of Heidi, as she doesn’t work outside the home. Leon is a solicitor and they manage on his salary. There is an inherent inequality in her thinking. Our friendship was founded on a shared sense of displacement and buttressed with subsequent laughs and loyalty. Understanding, positivity and honest conversation between us have rarely faltered. Now, though, the first two have gone, and while she’d probably argue that she’s still being honest with me, I’d say she’s being blunt, even belligerent. Wounding. In the past I’ve valued our unique willingness to be totally frank with one another, but that was when our thoughts were aligned. Our views on pop songs, people and politics developed in parallel; we rarely disagreed; we were never at odds. Until now.
Recently, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to the saying ‘It’s who you know, not what you know.’ I’ve never believed that. I’ve always believed it is what you know. But now, since I’ve met Matthew, I realise that yes, it is who you know that counts, though not in a cynical way. I don’t believe knowing Matthew will give me a leg up in my career or get me invited to fabulous parties or put me in contact with politicians so that I can lobby them on issues that are important to my work. No, of course not, he isn’t that sort of person at all. But knowing him somehow makes me better, my world glossier, my life more energetic. Knowing him counts. I realise how dopey that makes me sound, and sometimes I’m gripped with shame and panic that I’m an idiot and making a fool of myself because no one expects to fall in love so deeply at my age. And certainly not with a younger man. Yet I have.
Because I think this is love.
Can you believe that? Can you imagine that? Me? Someone who has never looked for love or prioritised finding a partner. I can’t decide if it’s unseemly, insane or incredible.
However, I haven’t told Heidi any of this. I feel shy telling her I’m in love. Anxious. She will judge, dismiss. I haven’t even told her Matthew has moved in. I plan to, this evening. This sort of momentous news is best delivered face to face. She’ll be happy for me, right?
I spot Heidi and Gina at a table in the corner. I wave with the sort of enthusiasm that suggests a level of mania. I bite the bullet the moment I sit down at the sticky pub table. ‘Matthew has moved in,’ I blurt.
Heidi’s eyes grow as wide as saucers. ‘Are you mad? You hardly know him. That’s so fast,’ she says directly.
‘I’ll get a bottle of champers, should I?’ I offer, not acknowledging her comment but instead battling the flare of disappointed annoyance I feel towards her.
‘I don’t think they sell champagne here,’ mumbles Gina apologetically. It’s the sort of London pub that makes you think you’ve walked into a Dickens novel. The smell of decades of beer spillages is ingrained in the carpet; beer mats curl at the corners. She’s right. They sell draught beer, spirits, and Coke on tap. Ordering house wine is considered fancy. We picked this place because it’s close to the station and convenient.
‘Well, Prosecco then, cava. Just bubbles. They might have a dusty bottle stashed somewhere for special occasions.’
Gina grins. ‘Worth asking.’
I send a pleading look Heidi’s way. I want her to get on board with this monumental thing and celebrate it.
‘No thank you, it’s only just five-thirty. A bit early for me. Besides, I’m having a few days off the booze,’ she says.
‘Cleansing?’ enquires Gina.
‘Not as extreme, just looking after myself.’ Heidi eyes me meaningfully. I sigh and want to ask why she agreed to meet in a pub then. We could have done something different: a meal, a gallery, a games café. London has everything to offer. I doubt she is off the booze; she’s protesting.
