“Oh, he has successes like anyone. He has family pride in the company. But overall, deep-down, contented happiness? No.”
“He says profits have improved since he joined.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Topher comes up to a sitting position on his mat and regards me quizzically. “You have to understand, it’s not a job for Matt. It’s an answer.”
“An answer to what?” I say, confused.
“To the nightmare of being Rob Warwick’s brother.” Topher swings over and starts doing press-ups. “Matt had to be the older brother of the champion golfer his whole life. He always felt inadequate.”
My mind shoots back to that glass cabinet full of sporting prizes and photos. I’ve never felt able even to mention that to Matt. It feels too sensitive. Too raw.
“What’s Rob like?” I say curiously. “Have you met him?”
“Few times,” Topher says, his breath short. “He’s pretty insubstantial. Weaselly. Superb at golf, give him that.” He sits up on the mat again and reaches for a towel to mop his neck. “When Matt finally joined Harriet’s House, he was the family savior. He got kudos. He still gets kudos, approval, one up over Rob….And he can’t let that go, even if he doesn’t realize it. You know originally he said he would only join Harriet’s House for two years?” Topher adds, glancing up. “He wanted to turn around its problems, then go and do something for himself.”
“Really?” I stare at Topher.
“That was six years ago.” Topher shrugs. “He’s gone stale. The kudos are less every year, his parents take him for granted…but he still stays. I’ve offered him a job myself,” Topher adds. “But I can’t compete.”
“You’ve offered him a job?” I stare at him.
“Partnership, in fact. Several times. I could use his business skills, he’s very talented, interested in what we do, so…”
As he speaks, I have a vision of Matt sitting with Topher at his workstation, the pair of them engaged in animated, passionate conversation. Matt loves nothing better than to sit with Topher, late into the night, and talk about his latest figures. Obviously they should work together.
“He’s turned me down every time, of course,” Topher adds, and his voice is offhand but I can hear a thread of hurt.
God, Matt’s parents have a lot to answer for. I have so many more questions for Topher, but at that moment the doorbell rings, and I feel a spurt of excitement-slash-panic. Someone’s arrived!
“I’ll get it!” Matt calls from outside the room, and I turn back to Topher.
“Are you coming to the party?”
Topher heaves an unenthusiastic sigh. “Really?”
“Yes! Really!”
“I’m inherently antisocial,” says Topher discouragingly. “As I’ve mentioned before, people don’t like me.”
“I like you.”
“You’re dating Matt. You have no taste.”
“Will you come anyway?” I say patiently, and Topher rolls his eyes.
“Fine. Kill me with your feminine wiles.”
“I didn’t use my feminine wiles!”
“Coming to my room and asking me in person is using feminine wiles,” says Topher, as though it’s obvious. “Matt and Nihal would text. Except they wouldn’t ask in the first place, because they know I’m a recluse.”
“I’ll see you there,” I say firmly, and hurry out. I find Matt outside the front door, and a moment later Nell, Maud, and Sarika come piling out of the lift, all in party outfits and heels and greeting me with exclamations.
“We’re here!”
“You made it!”
“Matt! Look at your flat!”
As we all hug and kiss in the atrium, I can smell alcohol and Maud is particularly giggly. They must have gone for a stiffener first. (I slightly wish I could have gone too.)
“Guess what?” announces Maud in excitement. “Sarika’s new man is on his way. They’re going to have their very first date at your party.”
“Really?” I stare at Sarika.
The great WhatsApp excitement of yesterday was Sarika announcing that she’d finally whittled down her shortlist to one man, who fulfills all her criteria, and saying she was going to contact him for a date. But I never expected to meet him so soon!
“That’s OK, isn’t it, Ava?” adds Sarika. “The others made me text him from the pub, but I never thought he’d say yes….”
“Of course it’s OK!” I say. “It’s great! What’s his name again?”
“Sam,” says Sarika lovingly, summoning up a picture on her phone of an Asian guy. “He grew up in Hong Kong, but then he went to Harvard Business School and now he’s moved to London. He cycles and he plays percussion and every single one of his food preferences chimes with mine. Every single one!” She opens her eyes wide.