by Lottie Lucas
“It’s a Long Island Iced Tea,” I reiterate, sharing a sympathetic look with the waiter. “It’s a classic.”
He picks up the glass, but doesn’t take a drink. “And what, exactly, is in it?”
A lot of alcohol is what. That’s basically why I chose it. But he doesn’t need to know that.
The waiter looks at me questioningly, and I give a minute shake of the head. With a shrug, he puts down my strawberry daiquiri and moves away.
“And what is that?” Mercifully, Adam seems to have been distracted by my own drink.
“Strawberries and rum, mainly,” I answer, talking a sip. Heaven. “Plus it has the distinct advantage of being pink. And if you ask nicely they’ll arrange the strawberry slices in a flower shape on top.”
He rolls his eyes. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. What’s the point? You’re only going to drink it.”
“Not everything in life has to be purely functional.” I twirl the cocktail umbrella between my finger and thumb. “Like these. Completely pointless, and yet wouldn’t our planet be a much bleaker place without them?”
The expression on his face suggests that he thinks I’m thoroughly mad. I nudge his own glass closer towards him.
“Come on, drink it. You’ll feel better.”
Frankly, I think a bit of whimsy would do him good. At least after this evening I can begin to understand why he’s so uptight. I can’t imagine what it must be like, having to exist in that environment day in, day out. I’d have lost the plot long ago.
“I’m so sorry about tonight.” He scrubs a hand across his face with a sigh. “I honestly didn’t know he would be there. I never would have subjected you to it otherwise.”
“Has it … always been like that?” I ask tentatively. A part of me knows that I shouldn’t pry but, at the same time, how can I not? I still can’t believe that was actually his father. The way he treated Adam … It was almost like he hated him.
“Not as bad as that, no.” Adam’s lips twist ruefully. “He’s always been fiercely competitive—with everyone—but he’s become so much worse since this whole head of department thing came up. He always expected that the role would be his, you see. But there was never an opening until now, and suddenly he’s having to face the prospect that it might skip over him altogether.” He takes a long draught of his cocktail. “It’s not like I don’t understand that but … I don’t know, it’s like he just can’t separate the fact that I’m his son from the fact that I’m also his colleague.”
“And now his rival,” I add softly. I’ve never heard Adam talk like this. He’s always so reserved, so self-contained. Sometimes, it’s easy to fall into the trap of assuming that he doesn’t have feelings. But now the pain in his voice is so audible that it makes my chest clench.
“Exactly.” He slaps his hand on the table, making me jump. His eyes look a bit glazed, I notice. Perhaps I should have ordered him something a little less potent. “I don’t know what to do any more. It’s becoming intolerable; as it stands, I’m not sure if our relationship will ever recover. But perhaps I should stop now while there’s still a chance to salvage it.”
I’m so busy marvelling at how intoxication hasn’t affected his vocabulary that it takes me a moment to realise that he’s still talking.
“He drove my mother away, you know,” he says suddenly. “She just wanted to teach; she wasn’t interested in being a star. Even so, he could never resist the opportunity to turn everything into a competition. In the end, she couldn’t take it any more.”
I poke at the ice cubes in my glass with the end of the cocktail umbrella. I wonder if he’s ever told anyone this before. It doesn’t sound like it.
“Where is she now?”
“Wales. She works for a small university on the coast. There’s no pressure, no hierarchy. She loves it. She didn’t say much when I applied for Alexandra College. But then, she didn’t have to. I knew what she was thinking.” He screws up a paper napkin in his fist. “I promised myself that it would be different this time. But it isn’t, is it? It’s happening all over again.”
He looks so dejected that I place my hand over his.
“These past few weeks, I’ve begun to wonder if I didn’t make a big mistake, all those years ago. Maybe my mother was right; I should have gone somewhere completely different, broken the chain in this whole preposterous Alexandra lineage.” He scrubs a hand across his face. “Maybe it’s not too late. I could hand in my notice, go somewhere new. It’s not like I have many friends left here; I’ve been so caught up in my work … no one would miss me.”
I feel a lurch of dismay, and the words are out of my mouth before I can catch them.
“I’d miss you.”
“You would?” He looks at me intently, and I feel myself shrinking.
“Of course.” I attempt to keep my tone jocular. “Who would I have to annoy at the museum? It’d be no fun at all.”
He looks away, out across the skyline. “Oh, I think you’d be all right. You’d find someone else.”
There’s an extra meaning in his voice, something left unsaid, hanging in the air between us. But, for the life of me, I can’t work out what. I wait for him to continue, but instead the pause stretches out indefinitely.
Hopelessly confused now, I decide to move us back towards a less contentious topic.
“You know, I still can’t understand why Jeremy’s offered me the opening speech at the Holman Hunt unveiling next week. I’ve been racking my brains over it.”
Adam leans back in his chair. “It’s about time you had more of a chance to shine. He’s been keeping you in the shadows for too long. You pretty much run that place.”
I stare at him. Was that actually a compliment? He’s so matter-of-fact in his way of speaking that it’s almost hard to tell.
“You think I don’t know how much you do?” He looks amused now. “Cambridge is a very small bubble, Clara. Everyone knows everything.”
It was a compliment. Somehow, the fact that it was hard won makes me feel strangely elated.
My empty glass is frosted with condensation and I run a finger through it, trying to gear up to what I want to ask next.
“Will you be there, by any chance?” I’m hoping I’ve kept my tone casual, like I don’t care much either way.
“Would you like me to be?”
As usual, straight to the point. I should have known better than to try and get anything past him.
“Yes, please,” I say in a small voice.
“Then I’ll be there.”
I look up at him, letting my gratitude show in my eyes. Gratitude that I don’t have to explain, that he makes everything so uncomplicated.
“You know, you weren’t wrong about these iced tea things,” he says, holding up his glass. He drains his drink, beckoning over the waiter. “Shall we have another?”
Chapter 19
I’ve always loved Cambridge at night, when most of the tourists have gone home and the city feels like it can breathe again. There’s no one else in sight as we walk along the riverside. The punts are safely lined up in their moorings, the water lapping gently against the edges of the bank, providing a rhythmic backdrop to our conversation.
I’ve long since let my hair down, and it dances against my shoulders in the evening breeze. At least the pain in my feet has subsided, something I’m hoping is down to the gloriously numbing effect of alcohol and not because the nerves in my toes have given up and died.
I have no idea what time it is, and I don’t want to know. I don’t want to be anchored in reality just yet. Everything has a beautifully dreamlike quality to it tonight, the glassy surface of the water reflecting the starlight above like fireflies. The rustling of the trees, hushed in the quiet air. And Adam … well, talking. Actually, properly talking. That’s the most unreal thing of all. And I sense that, like any spell, it will be all too brief. Come the morning, this will just be a slightly hazy, tipsy memory. This new side to him will be gone, lo
cked away behind his inscrutable facade once more.
“I’ve always known that this was where I wanted to be.” He looks out across the water, where lights glow like orbs along the edges of the buildings. “And not because of the legacy, or what was expected of me. Because I wanted it. Because this place felt like somewhere I could belong. But perhaps I was wrong.” He turns to me, and the resignation in his face is heartbreaking. “What do you think? You believe in all this fate business. Is something telling me to drop out of the running?”
I hesitate, chewing my lip in indecision. I’m always reluctant to give advice, even when asked. In my experience, people need to come to their own conclusions. But I find that I can’t keep quiet this time.
“No.”
Something flares in his eyes. “You don’t?”
I have the full force of his attention; it’s almost tangible, a heavy presence in the air around us. With a jolt, I realise that what I say next actually matters. Adam doesn’t ask questions like that idly.
“No, I don’t.” I sigh deeply. “Look, it’s not your fault that this is happening. You should be proud of what you’ve achieved, and so should he. I’m sure if he knew you were actually considering giving up on your dreams because of him he’d be horrified.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
I frown at the bitterness in his voice.
“Adam, he’s still your father, even if he’s not acting much like it at the moment. Parents aren’t perfect; they’re fallible like anyone else. But, at the end of the day, isn’t all they ever want the best for their children?”
“Your faith in human nature is touching. The truth is that my father is a selfish bastard who always puts himself first in the end.” He pushes a low-hanging tree branch out of our path. “But then, I’m guessing your parents are warm, adoring types who support you in everything you do. The kind who comfort you when you get a bad exam result rather than yell at you and let you eat cake for breakfast. Who tell you over and over that you could never disappoint them.” He shoves another branch out of the way, this time more savagely. “How could you possibly understand?”
Suddenly, my chest feels constricted. I stop, placing a hand over my heart, trying to breathe normally.
“Clara?” He’s looking at me quizzically. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” My voice sounds dry. “It’s just … you’re right; that’s exactly what they were like. They used to say that to me all the time.”
“Oh, crap.” Even in the dark, I can see the colour draining from his face. “I’m so sorry, Clara. I didn’t realise. I never would have said anything—”
“What, and pretend they never existed?” I shake my head, which swims alarmingly in response. Okay, still very much on the tipsy side. No wonder I feel like bursting into tears. Usually, if I have to talk about my parents, I put my defences up beforehand. In this state, though, I can’t even begin to construct them. “No. I’d rather they were spoken about. That way, it feels like they’re still present.”
We walk on for a few moments in silence.
“When …? How …?” He breaks off, looking annoyed with himself. “Sorry, bad questions. A historian’s habit, to always look for the facts.”
Watching him chastise himself for wanting to ask the natural questions is almost touching.
“Three years ago. A plane crash. They were visiting an isolated group in the Norwegian mountains. Mum wanted to experience their spiritual rituals as a way of connecting with her own ancestral line.” At the ill-disguised look of disbelief on Adam’s face, I find myself laughing. “If you think I’m mad, you should have met my mother. She was something else.”
His lips quirk in a reluctant smile. “Did she paint the house pink too?”
“She painted the house a different colour each season. Or sometimes just one wall. Inside, all the ceilings were blue, like the sky.” Remembering my childhood home should make me sad, but oddly, it doesn’t. Not tonight. “She’d hang wind chimes everywhere too. She said they cleared the energy. Every time Dad walked into a room, he’d hit his head on them. It used to drive him crazy. At least, outwardly it did; secretly, I think that’s what he loved most about her. Her sense of spontaneity, her belief that life was an amazing gift which should be savoured. She was so full of joy.”
“Something she’s passed on to you,” Adam observes gently.
“I wish.” I pull his jacket closer around my shoulders. I hope he’s not cold; I felt it would wound his male pride if I refused to take it. “No matter how much I try, I seem to lack her sense of serenity, her absolute unshakeable faith that everything would turn out for the best. A part of me believes but, at the same time, another part …” I break off, looking at the floor. “Sometimes life just feels so hard, doesn’t it?”
I can’t believe I’m talking so freely about this. But then, I guess I am rather the worse for wear; three strawberry daiquiris will do that to a girl. And Adam … There’s just something about him, something so reassuring and steadfast. Once, I might have found that dull, but I would have been wrong. It’s actually one of the most wonderful things about him.
Wonderful. He is wonderful. How have I never noticed that before?
“Do you know what my mum would do at this moment?” I ask suddenly. “She’d tell us to stop being so maudlin and to look up at the stars. She’d say that the stars put everything in perspective.”
I kick off my heels and sink my bare feet into the cool grass, spinning wildly on the spot. Above my head, the pinpricks of light begin to blur into one.
“Hey—” Adam catches me, laughing “—I think you’re a bit far gone to be doing that, don’t you?”
He has a point. Right now, he has three faces. I blink hard, trying to regain normal focus.
“I’m such a lightweight,” I moan, leaning into him. He feels solid, perhaps the only solid thing in the world right now. “Why aren’t you as drunk as I am?”
“I am. I just don’t show it.” He slips an arm around my waist, supporting me. “I’m more of a quiet drunk. There’s a reason I never get invited to parties any more; I usually just sit in the corner, growing more and more morose.”
“You do that when you’re sober,” I murmur, resting my head against his shoulder.
“I’ll let that slide, given your current state of intoxication. Come on, let’s go over the bridge.”
Normally, Alexandra Bridge is off-limits to the public as it leads straight onto the college grounds. I watch, still swaying slightly, as Adam produces a key and unlocks the wrought iron gate. His hands are enviably steady.
I twizzle the cocktail umbrella between my fingers, leaning across the stone balustrade to gaze into the black watery depths.
“I just wish that life was really as simple as Mum believed it was. Sometimes, I think I’m doing all right, and then other times …”
I hold the umbrella out over the water. A light breeze tugs at it, asking to snatch it from my fingers.
“Other times I feel like I could just … drift away.”
“Don’t do that.” All of a sudden, he’s next to me. He takes the parasol from my hand and tucks it behind my ear like a tropical flower.
“Why not?” I’m gazing up into his eyes. They’re a fathomless shade in the dark.
“Because I’d miss you.” His fingers linger fleetingly against my cheek, then drop to his side.
I can’t tell if he’s teasing or not. I tip my head back; up above, the moon is as bright as I’ve ever seen it, piercing through the ink of the sky, encircled by a scattering of stars. On a night like this, how can I feel anything other than lucky to be alive?
“Isn’t it magical?” I whisper.
“Not in the slightest.” His response is instantaneous. “It’s hydrogen and light particles.”
My chin snaps downwards and I scowl at him. Does he have to ruin everything?
He moves closer, cupping my face in his hands.
“You, on the other han
d, are another matter.”
And then his lips are on mine. And the world starts to spin all over again, except this time for an entirely different reason.
For a few seconds it’s perfect. Then he tears himself away and the look of absolute horror on his face is enough to sober me up immediately.
“Oh, God, I’m sorry.” He presses a shaking hand to his forehead, his breathing ragged. “That was a terrible thing to do.”
Despite the fact that I know he’s right, I can’t help but feel a prickle of indignation. Does he have to sound quite so emphatic about it?
He grips the balustrade, staring out over the water. “That was unforgivable of me. You’re with someone, and I’m …”
“Very drunk,” I say, my calm voice belying the thudding in my chest. “We both are. Let’s not blow this out of proportion.”
Even as I say it, though, I’m feeling nauseous, the reality of it hitting me in a wave. Is that really any excuse? What am I going to tell Josh?
Because I have to tell Josh, that much is clear. I can’t possibly keep this from him. I couldn’t live with it if I did.
“I never meant to make things difficult for you, Clara. Please believe me.” Adam looks thoroughly wretched. Instinctively, I go to place a reassuring hand on his arm, but stop myself just in time. We both look at my hand, hovering in mid-air, then at one another, and in that moment the shift which has occurred between us feels unbearably apparent.
In just a matter of moments our relationship has irretrievably altered. Whatever friendship we had begun to form has taken a sharp swerve into unknown territory. I don’t know what’s okay any more, how to act.
“I’m sure he’ll understand,” I say. I’m still aiming for a breezy tone, but instead it just sounds false. “I mean, it was just a stupid moment, right? It didn’t mean anything.”
There’s a weighty pause.
“No,” Adam says at last. “Of course it didn’t. Nothing at all.” He looks away, but not before I catch a glimpse of a faint flush across his face. Or at least what looks like a flush; in this light, it could just be shadows. “Would you like me to … you know, speak to him? Try and explain?”