“Wait. Ava.” Matt appears at my side, dodging a pair of handsome young men wearing heavy makeup, Harriet wigs, and sequined evening dresses. “Sorry. Sorry. I know she’s—”
“Matt!” A young guy in a well-cut suit interrupts us and pumps Matt’s hand cheerfully. “Great to see you.”
“Hi, Mike,” says Matt, brightening. “Didn’t know you were coming over. This is Mike,” he adds to me. “Runs U.S. marketing. Mike, Ava.”
“Hi,” I say, smiling politely.
“I had some meetings in London anyway,” says Mike. “So I thought I’d take in the expo….” He glances around at the milling crowds. “Attendance looks good. Any news on the Harriet movie release?”
Movie? Matt tells me nothing.
“Nothing recently,” says Matt. “But you’ll be the first to know.”
“Sure.” Mike nods easily, then adds in a lower voice, “I hear you’re going out to Japan for a while, Matt? Reading between the lines, I think they need you out there. It’s pretty chaotic. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when they heard the news.”
My eyes dart toward Matt, waiting for him to explain that he’s not going to Japan, but his face has frozen.
“Right,” he says at last, avoiding my gaze. “Well, it’s a complex situation.”
Complex? What’s complex?
“Sure is.” Mike glances at his watch. “Oh, I have to go. Great to bump into you! And to meet you, Ava.”
He strides off with a cheery wave and I turn to Matt, determined not to overreact.
“He’s got the wrong end of the stick somehow!” I say with a laugh.
“Huh,” says Matt.
I wait for more, but it doesn’t come, and I stiffen. What’s going on?
“Matt, I thought you talked to your parents,” I say as calmly as I can. “I thought you said you wouldn’t go to Japan.”
“I did,” says Matt, avoiding my gaze. “I told them…I said it was suboptimal.”
“Suboptimal?” I echo, dismayed. “But did you say you wouldn’t go? Did you refuse?”
“I made my views crystal clear,” says Matt after another pause. “But it’s sensitive, it’s tricky, we haven’t found a solution yet….” He screws up his face and rubs it briefly with a fist. “Look, Ava, let’s not do this now.”
“Do you want to go?” I say, feeling a clawing misery.
“No, of course not,” Matt lashes back irately. “You know I don’t.”
“Well, then, you need to shut it down!” I say in agitation. “The longer you let them think you’re going, the harder it’ll be to pull out. Don’t you see that?”
“I know.” Matt looks wretched. “I’ll do it. But it’s not straightforward. In my family…talking is…It’s not easy. It can go wrong.”
He gazes at me as though expecting me to comprehend. And I want to, but I don’t. Yet again I feel as though I’ll never understand where Matt comes from.
“How can talking go wrong?” I say helplessly. “How can being truthful go wrong?”
Matt sighs. “Come here.” He reaches for me and pulls me into a tight hug. But I notice he doesn’t answer either question.
Twenty-Two
It turns out Harriet’s House gummies are pretty damn good. Half an hour later I’ve bought three packets and stress-munched them while walking around stalls, looking at all the dolls and houses and clothes and makeup.
Nell’s right: This is a totally misogynistic, retrograde brand, unsuitable for feminists in this day and age. On the other hand, I can see why it’s addictive. There are so many accessories. So many worlds. So many outfits.
When I reach the Animal Zone, I become transfixed by the display of toy dogs that Harriet and her various pals have had over the years. Because toy dogs are a whole different thing from dolls. They’re noble. They’re beautiful. Anyone might hanker after a toy dog. And I’m just asking the price of the beagle when jaunty music sounds through the loudspeakers, followed by an upbeat woman’s voice:
“Our main event begins in three minutes! Warwick family members and Harriet’s House ambassador Genevieve Hammond will be appearing on the main stage in three minutes! Come to the auditorium for today’s big reveal, news announcement, and panel discussion with Genevieve!”
Around me I can see people scurrying toward the back of the conference hall. I’d almost forgotten about the big event.
“I’ll come back later,” I say hastily to the stall owner, and hasten toward the auditorium, along with everyone else.
As I arrive, I flash my VIP pass, and am directed to a special section at the front. It’s pretty full, but there’s a spare seat on the end of the third row and I perch on it, trying to look inconspicuous, just as the lights dim and thumping music starts.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” says a hushed, disembodied voice, “welcome to this year’s Harriet’s World London Expo!”
At once, cheering and applause break out, and slightly reluctantly I clap along.
“And now I’m going to welcome our host to the stage…Genevieve Hammond!”
At once, screaming erupts. The music ascends to earsplitting volume, lights dance around the auditorium, and, looking like a rock star, Genevieve strides onto the stage.
“Hello, London!” she cries to the audience, her hair gleaming under the lights, and I can’t help snorting. Hello, London? Seriously?
But the whole audience loves her. They’re cheering and they’ve got their phones out and some are trying to take selfies with Genevieve in the background.
“I have so much to share with you today,” she says, beaming around. “News, fun stuff, the big reveal you’ve all been waiting for…” She waggles her eyebrows teasingly, and a couple of girls whoop. “But first, I want to welcome onstage the people who began it all…the family we love…our very special guests…John, Elsa, and Matt Warwick!”
Music sounds again, and the next minute Matt and his parents walk onstage. Elsa is dressed in a purple suit and frilly shirt and looks absolutely thrilled to be there, if self-conscious. John looks resigned, and Matt is standing with hunched shoulders, as though he can’t wait for the ordeal to be over.
“Mr. and Mrs. Warwick, Matthias…” begins Genevieve gushingly. “We are so honored to have you here. Writing my book, Harriet’s House and Me: A Personal Journey, which I’ll be signing later at a discounted expo price, no refunds, please leave five-star reviews online…” She draws breath and twinkles charmingly at the audience again. “Writing that, I was privileged to spend time with the Warwick family and learn about their legacy.” She blinks earnestly at the crowd. “It all began back in 1927, when Gertrude Warwick constructed a wooden dollhouse for her daughter. And now the magic of Harriet’s House has spread to every corner of the globe. You must be so proud of your heritage.”
She hands a microphone to John and waits, smiling.
“We’re very proud, yes,” says John stiffly.
“Extremely proud,” chimes in Elsa, grabbing the microphone from him. “And of course we’re very proud of you, Genevieve, for writing your wonderful book.”
She leads a round of applause, while Genevieve simpers.
“Well, you all helped me,” says Genevieve, looking bashful. “Especially Matt, of course. Ladies and gentlemen, this man is a hero.”
“I’m really not,” says Matt, with a tight smile.
“It’s true!” Genevieve opens her eyes wide. “He helped me so much with my research. And…this is no secret to any of you guys…” She lowers her voice to an emotional throb, looking around at the faces as though to make as much eye contact as possible. “He’s helped me so much…personally. Harriet’s House is about love and heart.” She blinks earnestly at the crowd. “And this man is all about love and heart.”
What? I stare at her furiously. She doesn’t get to say Matt is about l
ove and heart. I do.
Genevieve grasps Matt’s hand and holds it up, and a cheer rises from the crowd.
“Get back together!” yells a voice from the rear, and Genevieve scrunches up her face as though she can’t hear.
“Sorry? What are they saying?” she says to Matt, with a laugh.
“Get back together!” The voice increases in volume.
“We love you, Matt!” cries a girl about three feet from me.
“You’re perfect together!” shouts another girl hysterically from across the room. “Genevieve and Matt forever!”
“Look, this really isn’t what we’re—” begins Matt, but Genevieve cuts straight across him. (I swear her microphone is turned up to a higher volume than everyone else’s.)
“That would be lovely in so many ways.” Her face droops a little sadly. “Because we did have a special magic together. But it’s not meant to be. Is it, Matt? No matter what these guys think.” She gestures at the audience with a rueful, wistful smile.
My entire face has flamed. What is she saying? How is this appropriate? In fact, why am I even sitting through this? Abruptly, I get to my feet, reach for my bag, and start edging along the side of the auditorium.
“Oh no!” Genevieve suddenly trills charmingly. “I’m so sorry. Ladies and gentlemen, I think we’ve upset Matt’s new girlfriend. Ava, don’t be shy, you’re part of the Harriet’s House family now!”
She gestures in my direction, and to my horror, a spotlight finds me. Immediately, the whole audience swivels round. And it’s all very well Matt saying it’s “online rubbish,” but these people aren’t online. They’re right here, gaping at me and even taking photos.
“She’s not that pretty, is she?” murmurs a girl in front of me to her friend, and I glare back indignantly.
“Hi,” I say shortly. “I’m sorry, I have to go. Enjoy the show!”
I head to the door, murderous thoughts swirling round my head. All I can say is, there’d better be a Harriet’s House bar and it’d better serve Harriet’s House vodka and they’d better do double shots.
* * *
—
There is a Harriet’s Bar, it turns out, and it’s half empty, which I guess is because so many visitors have flocked to the main auditorium. It doesn’t serve vodka, but it does sell “Bubblegum Bellinis,” and I sit down on a barstool and order two in quick succession. I know I shouldn’t let Genevieve get to me. Or the superfans. Or this Japan business. But I can’t help it: I’m bubbling over with stress.
Every time I discover a new layer to Matt’s life, it’s a more toxic, complicated layer. And he doesn’t even seem to see it. He doesn’t seem to recognize it. He walks around with blinkers on, like some sort of horse pulling a heavy wagon, and his job is the wagon….No, his family is the wagon….
Abruptly I realize I’m muttering to myself like a crazy person. I glance up, hoping that no one’s watching me, to see a face I recognize. It’s Matt’s grandpa. What’s his name again? Oh yes, Ronald. He’s sitting at the other end of the bar, dressed in a pinstripe suit, drinking a glass of wine, and he’s such an incongruous sight on his pink fluffy barstool, I can’t help smiling. He catches my eye, clearly wondering if he knows me.
“I’m Ava,” I say, sliding along to join him and extending a hand. “Matt’s friend? We met at the Warwicks’ house?”
“Ava!” His eyes brighten. “Yes, I remember. Are you enjoying the expo, my dear?”
“Kind of,” I say. “Aren’t you at the event? Everyone’s onstage right now. Matt, his parents, Genevieve…”
“I know.” A faint shudder passes across his face. “Very entertaining, I’m sure. It’s the audience that I find difficult. They shriek.”
“Yes,” I agree. “They do. I guess you’ve been coming to the expo forever?” I add, as it occurs to me that Harriet’s House has been his life too.
“Well.” Ronald seems to consider this. “We didn’t have an expo in my day. Everything was different. Less…excitable. I always come and see how things are getting along.” He gestures vaguely toward the auditorium. “But I prefer to be out here.” He lifts his glass to me in a toast and I follow suit. “And you?” he queries politely. “You didn’t want to watch Matthias onstage?”
“I started watching. But…” I trail off and slump slightly. I don’t particularly want to get into discussing Genevieve and her superfans.
“Another drink?” he asks, noticing my empty glass, and nods to the barman.
“Drowning our sorrows,” I say, and it’s meant to be a joke but comes out sounding more heartfelt than I meant.
“Indeed.” Ronald smiles, but he sounds pretty heartfelt, too, and his hand trembles slightly as he lifts his glass.
Underneath his courteous demeanor, this elderly man seems just a bit fragile. I can remember Elsa shutting him up repeatedly at lunch, then Matt telling me that in his family, talking “isn’t easy.”
And suddenly I feel a surge of impatience. What is it with these Warwicks? Things should be talked about. Things should be out in the fresh air, not locked up to fester.
“May I ask you something?” I say, turning to Ronald. “You started telling me a story, the first time we met. Something bad had happened to you. But we got interrupted before you could finish. Well, we’ve got plenty of time now. And I wondered—only if you felt like it—could you tell me the story now?”
To say that Ronald looks startled is an understatement.
“You don’t want to hear my troubles,” he says at once, his eyes swiveling away.
“I do,” I insist. “Really. We’re not doing anything else, are we? And at the house I felt as though you wanted to share with someone. Well, here I am. Ready to listen.”
It takes him a good half hour, what with repetitions and explanations, but at last he gets the sorry story out. And it really is a sorry story. It’s a desperate story. It’s the kind of story that makes you want to punch someone, hard.
Some people scammed him by pretending to be his doctor’s surgery and requesting intimate photos of him, “for their records.” After some puzzlement, he provided them—not consulting any other members of the family but instead feeling proud that he’d managed to use an iPhone.
As he tells me how the scammers then demanded fifty thousand pounds, I feel an incandescent rage. These people are evil. Who would even think of doing something like that? The police had to be involved, and he had to show the photos to his own children, and I can understand why he was mortified. Is still mortified.
“It’s the embarrassment, you see.” He smiles, but his pale-blue eyes are glimmering. “Everyone tells me to move on. But I look at myself in the mirror every morning and I think, ‘You wretched old fool.’ ”
“How long ago was it?” I ask.
“A year ago or so,” he replies, and I feel a pang. He’s been miserable like this for a year?
“Have you spoken to a counselor about it?”
“A counselor?” He looks astonished. “Oh no.”
“Have you talked to anyone about it? Like…John?”
“We don’t…” He stops, then begins again, his eyes fixed on the bar. “My son is ashamed that I could have been so foolish. Quite rightly.”
“I’m sure he isn’t!” I say quickly, although I’m not sure at all. The embarrassment that was crackling around the lunch table at Matt’s house makes more sense now. His family clearly didn’t want Ronald downloading his story onto me. Maybe they thought it was inappropriate. I can hear Elsa’s clipped voice now: I hardly think…
But where was their compassion? Where is their compassion?
“Ronald, if you ever want to talk, call me,” I say impulsively. “I love talking. The more talking, the better. Shall I put my number into your phone?”
“That’s very kind of you,” says Ronald, watching as I input it
. “You’re a thoughtful girl.”
“Not really,” I say, wondering whether to tell him that “girl” isn’t the correct word these days, then deciding against it. “I expect they’ve finished by now,” I add, glancing at my watch. “I should go and find Matt. Are you coming to this lunch?”
“In a while,” he says. “I might just sit here for a few more minutes.” I hand him his phone back and he pats it. “Thank you. And you are a thoughtful girl. Matthias will miss you when he’s in Japan.”
Japan? Again?
I continue smiling, but my stomach has clenched. I was right. This thing is out of control. Matt needs to shut it down without delay.
“If he goes,” I say casually.
“He’s moving there, isn’t he?” says Ronald, looking surprised. “They need him. I’ve heard all the plans.”
“I think the plans are up in the air. I don’t think it’s definite.”
“Ah.” Ronald nods politely as though he doesn’t want to contradict me. “I see. Well, enjoy your lunch.”
* * *
—
The lunch is being held in an upstairs room. It’s light and bright, filled with flower arrangements and tables covered with white cloths. Every table has a small model of a Harriet’s House on it, and there are place cards with names on. A waitress is holding a tray of drinks, and as I enter I take a glass of wine, but I don’t sip it. I’m too busy looking around for Matt.
“Ava!” A bright voice greets me from behind and I wheel round to see Genevieve bearing down on me, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling. She looks wired, which is no surprise. “I’m so sorry to put you on the spot like that!” She tosses her hair back. “Had to improvise! The show must go on!”
“No problem.” I smile tightly. “Well done. It was a really good event. Congratulations.”
“Well, it’s easy when I’m working with Matt,” says Genevieve modestly. “We have a great rapport onstage. We’re a natural duo. Everyone says so.” She sighs with a happy air and looks around the space, which is filling up with people. “Aren’t they wonderful?”
Love Your Life Page 27