by Jenny Colgan
He didn’t have to say any more. He just put out his hand. In a skipping heartbeat, Posy put out hers and took it.
His flat was surprisingly nice - Posy had never met anyone her own age who employed a cleaner before. It was set in the upstairs of a large house, and he shared with a chap called Charlie, who worked in international finance and was never in the same country two days running. Mountain bikes were hanging on the wall, and ski equipment was propped up in the cupboard of his large room, with an enormous bed.
‘Coffee or wine?’ he called from the smart, modern kitchen.
‘Uh, wine?’ she said, her voice quavering slightly as she looked around. All the walls were filled with collage pictures of him and all his millions of friends: skiing, getting drunk, messing about on boats and obviously having loads and loads of fantastic experiences she’d never managed to have. There were lots of sexy girls in the pics too, holding up glasses of champagne while wearing bikinis, or looking pretty at weddings. And there was Adam, looking incredibly tanned and lithe, diving off a rock, or performing a huge ski jump. How on earth was she going to compete?
Adam brought through two glasses of what was clearly very nice expensive wine, even though Posy knew nothing about wine.
‘Oh, don’t look at those,’ he grimaced. ‘Are you thinking all my friends are idiots?’
‘Well, you put them on the wall,’ she countered.
‘So I did.’
‘Is it like a competition to prove you have friends? Should I count them?’
‘In case you think I’m a lonely saddo?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, actually, I cut them all out of magazines, and replaced some of them with my head.’
‘I was thinking that.’ She took a sip of her wine, as Adam went to the expensively wall-mounted CD player.
‘What kind of music do you like? I don’t have any Spice Girls.’
‘Only the Spice Girls, I’m afraid,’ said Posy. ‘I actually have them tattooed on my back.’
‘Can I see?’
He put on some Van Morrison, which made Posy smile even more - could this be any more of a cliche? Then she wondered briefly how many girls Adam had brought back with the jazz and the wine and the charm, and wavered again.
‘What?’ said Adam.
‘Nothing,’ said Posy, looking round. ‘It’s just this is such a bachelor pad. I was wondering how many girls get to listen to your Van Morrison collection.’
Adam’s face was a comical mixture of faux-innocence and genuine confusion.
‘Oh, Posy,’ he said. Then he came towards her and put down her glass. ‘Why do you think I’ve been following that dreadful Carla around? Because I thought I might get the chance to see you again.’
Posy blinked. ‘Really?’
‘Of course! She’s horrendous. I couldn’t believe my luck when I finally saw you in the bar tonight. I nearly peed my pants.’
Posy smiled. ‘Really?’
Adam shrugged. ‘See? Would a practised seducer confess to you about nearly peeing their pants?’
Posy smiled. Adam put out his big, masculine hand, with the dark hair curling round the watch strap, and caressed her chin.
‘You are . . . you are too cute, do you know that?’
‘Cute?’ said Posy. ‘Like a Disney creature, or what?’
‘OK, stop talking now,’ he ordered. And he moved in closer, until their lips met.
This is what Posy had managed to successfully explain to the girls. Not that, in fact, the Van Morrison album was indeed a tried and tested routine - as, she suspected, was his line about peeing his pants. Not that his friends in the pictures turned out to be as attractive and snotty as they looked. But that, for the first time, she truly, really felt her body come alive; felt what it was capable of with a confident, sexy man, who could make her feel confident and sexy too. Who could, in fact, make her feel things she hadn’t even believed were possible, after years of comfy, comforting Chris. This was something else altogether. This was slipping off to the toilet in nightclubs. This was turning up at his office in a basque. The heady, overwhelming excitement of the first incredibly good sex of Posy’s life came off her like a flame. She lost weight; her skin gleamed. She was sure she walked differently, and that it would be immediately evident to anyone she passed that they were at it almost continuously.
So he was often late - he worked hard - and rarely, again, as attentive, as funny and interesting as he had been that first night. Posy wondered sometimes whether she shouldn’t have made it a little harder for him, let him chase her a bit further. He was a wolf, after all: sexy, handsome, charming and an alpha male. Posy felt practically addicted to him - to the wild, heavy-boozing nights; to the feel of his long muscular body against hers. He never came to her place; in the hours in between their meetings she haunted the narrow streets of Earl’s Court.
He didn’t call her terribly regularly; they were hardly, she supposed, even official boyfriend and girlfriend. But when his number showed up on Posy’s very first, expensively acquired and much treasured mobile phone, with its antennae on the end, then she felt alive. She would drop her friends at short notice, travel miles across town at any time of night, endure any number of tedious sports-based evenings and nights out with his female friends, who clearly saw her as a transient dalliance and treated her with according disdain. Just for the feel of his rough cheeks, his fine features; the expensive aftershave mingling with the taste of alcohol, the sharpness of his shoulder blades. Even the way he hung his suits up carefully in his cupboard sent a shiver of desire down her spine.
In sober moments (of which there were not many that giddy summer), Posy knew things weren’t perfect. She’d never met his parents, for example, even though they lived in London, and he had shown no inclination to meet her mother (which was probably wise, she conceded). He never took her anywhere on her own after that first night; it was always him and a huge gang of friends, and she was permitted to tag along, be ignored, then go home with him at the end of the night and have sex with him. It was as opposite to the cosy, settled, taking-turns-at-the-dishes conventionality of her life with Chris as she could possibly imagine. There were never any dishes with Adam; they ate out every time they met up, and the cleaner picked up the coffee cups in the morning.
But he was so funny, so exciting. She discovered parts of London she would never have seen otherwise; went to some wild parties and mostly enjoyed herself. But something gave her an inkling, some feeling that this wasn’t quite . . .
‘He used to call you up like pizza,’ Leah was saying.
‘What?’ said Posy, returning to earth in front of the mirror.
‘Look at you! You’re miles away. It’s just the same as it always was with Adam. He calls up for you like pizza and you go running to get there in thirty minutes or less.’
Even though it was years ago, Posy still felt her ears go hot.
‘I do . . . I did not. That’s not true. Adam and I had great fun together.’
‘And I have enjoyed many pizzas.’
Posy squinted. ‘Is that what you thought at the time? I always reckoned you were quite envious of us.’
Leah raised her eyebrows. ‘You think that.’
‘But he was a good-looking bloke . . .’
‘Posy, he totally loved himself so much you were never going to get a look-in.’
‘Well, yes, there was that—’
‘Do you really think he’s changed?’
‘Well, won’t it be fun to see?’
‘I hope so. What about Voldemort? He must be next on your list, surely?’
Posy retrieved her credit card from the assistant and slipped it neatly back into her wallet. ‘Oh, well, I don’t know. I don’t even know where he is.’
‘You mean there’s someone in the world who’s not on Facebook? I thought they’d introduced it instead of identity cards. I can’t believe he’s escaped the net.’
‘It’s not funny. He just chooses to keep himse
lf off the grid. I think it’s rather noble actually.’
Leah rolled her eyes. ‘I’m sure you’ll track him down.’
Posy bit her lip and fingered where her ring used to be.
‘Hmm.’
Posy hid herself away from Margie in the office that afternoon. However sympathetic Gavin might be, she didn’t think she was going to be getting much work done. Even though she felt things had gone, in the end, quite well with Chris, she didn’t feel at all as confident about Adam. He was so swift, so sure of himself that it was often hard to predict what he was thinking. After Chris, who always made sure you knew exactly where you stood, his mercurial personality had been both compelling and a worry. He wasn’t the marrying type; she’d always known that. But would he tell her what he’d really thought of their time together? And whether his life was so much better without her? Was everyone’s?
She was glad the flat was empty when she got home. Even though she had nothing, she told herself fiercely, to be guilty about with Chris - except not telling Matt about it before rather than afterwards, and really that was semantics, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it? - she had nothing to feel guilty about with Adam. So why did she feel so guilty? Horribly, horribly guilty. But the desire to see Adam outweighed the guilt, after all.
Still, she would put on blusher and eye make-up to go out with anyone, even Fleur. Probably not this much, but she was going to a smart place and she needed to make a bit of an effort.
She glanced at Matt’s gym kit, slung over the back of a chair, and frowned. He was usually so meticulous, it wasn’t like him. Must have been in a rush somewhere. She put on the pretty dress and looked at herself in the mirror. Not bad. Not twenty-three again, but not bad.
Chapter Fifteen
There was no doubt about it, Shoreditch House was intimidatingly smart, and full of incredibly young, trendy, famous-looking people who had obviously never heard of the words credit crunch in their lives. There was even a swimming pool on the roof, surrounded by cool people smoking. There was nobody in it. Posy wondered how body-confident you would have to be to change into your swimming togs and go splashing about in front of everyone. Presumably people just fell in whenever they got drunk.
She wouldn’t have been surprised to find Adam with his usual entourage; she had hardly ever seen him not surrounded by thousands of friends. On his own he could withdraw, become less of himself, abandon the extrovert, cheeky, voluble character. But surrounded by his crowd, his gang, he could finally be himself. As if he felt his personality always needed back-up before it could truly let rip. The few dinners out they’d had just the two of them had felt awkward, stilted. They usually had to get drunk instead, and just turn them into elaborate rituals of foreplay - having dinner as a couple was a joke, of course, and couldn’t possibly mean anything at all.
Otherwise it all took place in a gang; a gang to which she didn’t really belong, of shared (rubbish) jokes, shared outings, meals, experiences. Posy, brought up to believe that following the herd was essentially weak and an admission of failure, found it all inexplicable, but she couldn’t ignore the nagging voice that told her that Adam was happier in company because he didn’t want to be with just her. Ever. That, in fact, she was tolerated, certainly not cherished, and, even more certainly, not loved. And that was six months of her life, she reflected sadly, as the attractive waiter checked the name on the reservations sheet. A long time to hang around, not really being loved or really loving in return. The passion, the excitement, she had adored that. But the man, she supposed, she had barely known. No wonder Leah and Fleur didn’t want her to see him. She thought again about Fleur’s anxious face. It wasn’t like her to show so much concern for her big sis.
To her surprise, there was only one person on the shiny banquette inside, sipping a cocktail carefully. He hadn’t changed that much in nine years - the dark hair was shorter and flecked with grey, he had gained weight and his face looked a little weary, though that might just be the extremely low lighting. She was glad, as she caught sight of the intensely glamorous denizens of the club flit about the room, that she had bought the new dress. The floral pattern was definitely flattering, and the evening, while not warm, was mild.
‘Adam?’
He leapt up nervously, as if he hadn’t been expecting her.
‘Posy!’ He shook his head. ‘You haven’t changed a bit.’
‘Neither have you,’ said Posy, lying slightly. Closer up, he did look more ravaged, a little craggy round the edges. Dark shadows under his eyes looked like late nights, long working hours, too much coffee. His teeth were a little yellow, too.
‘Hey,’ she said, as he leant in and they gave each other an awkward social kiss on each cheek.
‘It’s been too long,’ said Adam. ‘Really we should have met up before.’
Posy wanted to say, ‘Yes, but you dumped me, remember?’ but didn’t want to spoil the mood before they’d even started, so just smiled instead.
‘What are you drinking?’
Adam looked at it. ‘Not sure. Some house specialty cocktail. ’
Typical Adam, to order without even glancing at the menu. Posy was glad he was less attractive. Very useful. He didn’t measure up to Matt, who always seemed to be bursting with health, even if it seemed occasionally entirely too much health.
‘OK. Can I have one?’
Adam nodded. ‘Definitely.’ And, as if by magic, a waiter appeared. They sat down.
‘So what have you been up to?’ asked Adam, as Posy played nervously with the strap of her handbag. She wasn’t sure how to launch in; how to start. Maybe if she drank her cocktail quite swiftly, that would give her inspiration.
‘Oh, you know,’ she said. ‘Working, blah blah blah.’
Her drink came. It was delicious. She downed most of it quickly and decided to plough straight on in.
‘And I’m getting married.’
Adam smiled. ‘So I hear. And see.’
Posy held up the ring. She’d snuck it out of the cupboard and put it back on. She couldn’t help it; she loved it so much. It was so beautiful. And tonight it would be her magic amulet; her protection.
‘Yes, it’s a bit naff, but I like it.’
‘It’s not naff,’ said Adam, looking slightly affronted on behalf of the male gender. ‘It’s an engagement ring.’
‘Yes, I know, but the whole concept is a bit naff, don’t you think? Like some people get engaged to be engaged.’
‘I think if you meet someone you feel strongly enough to dedicate your whole life to, you should celebrate it,’ said Adam, ordering them more drinks. ‘Truly.’
‘And I don’t want you back if that’s what you were thinking, ’ she added hastily.
Adam looked totally surprised. ‘Uh, sorry?’
‘I don’t want you back.’
‘OK.’
‘OK.’
‘We were never married.’
‘No, I know that.’
‘So . . .?’
‘Never mind. Forget I said it.’
Posy felt embarrassed for shooting her bolt so quickly. Still, it seemed necessary - Chris hadn’t got the point for ages.
‘I thought we were just catching up,’ said Adam, taking a deep draught.
‘We are! We are!’
‘That’s what Facebook is for, isn’t it? Round up the old muckers and all that?’ He stretched out his legs and smiled at her.
‘Definitely! Yes. YES.’
‘Good.’
He lifted his new glass and they clinked cheers to one another. Actually, thought Posy, watching him run his hands through his thick hair, he hadn’t really changed at all.
‘Where’s your entourage?’ asked Posy, desperate to change the subject.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know! Everyone you hang around with all the time.’
Adam still looked totally stymied. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Dyl. Chas. Lugs. Maxine.’
‘Y
ou mean my friends?’
Posy began to feel this wasn’t a particularly fruitful line to be taking. But funnily enough, sitting down and staring him straight in the face, it was just like the stories she had read as a child. When you confronted your fears head on, they weren’t as frightening as you’d thought. It was, after all, only Adam - charming, handsome, feckless Adam. So she had got dumped. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world, was it? As she looked into her cocktail, all that silly part of her life - which had felt so important at the time - suddenly seemed so distant. She felt slightly heightened from the alcohol, and untouchable, safe from the Adams of this world.
There had hardly really been an end to the relationship in any case - he had just got, steadily, further and further away. He would occasionally allow her, gratefully, to sleep with him after big nights out, but it was indifferent at best. She, in her turn, dressed up more, desperately trying to engage herself with his hobbies (horse racing and skiing, both borderline impossible to merely fake an interest in, but she did her best). She offered to cook for him, or look after him when he was sick - things which had always made Chris very acquiescent and grateful. He wasn’t interested in either. When he went away for a weekend with all his friends, telling her there wasn’t room, Leah and Fleur begged - begged - her just to end it, but she felt like she didn’t know how. There was no exciting alternate world she had to go off and explore. Adam’s London was all she knew. To be without someone, however distant, felt too terrifying to contemplate. Amazingly, she felt if she were alone at twenty-three she might be alone for ever. Chris had loved her - hadn’t he? Or was she simply a handy warm bed to him as well? She drove herself crazy trying to figure it out. Was she too fat? Too ugly? Boring? Too short/not short enough? Too London? Whatever these things, she simply battened down the hatches and waited for the inevitable.
She never got the chance to ask. After the final weekend away, after which Adam had waxed lyrical about girls who played tennis called things like Minge and Pony, he gave up calling or speaking to her at all. And when he did, finally - when she had gone round to his flat to see him - he looked at her with those sharp, amused, shallow eyes and said, simply, ‘Oh, Pose, it was fun, wasn’t it?’