5.
22 September, 11.15 a.m.
I hate this bloody room. It’s too small, and with all my stuff in it, it’s like an obstacle course. I feel like a prisoner in here, and to make it worse, it’s Sunday – officially the worst day of the week. The hours are stretching out in front of me, and all I have to look forward to is flicking through crap TV on my own while other people do annoying, couple-y things like going for walks in the park and driving out for country pub lunches. Smug gits. I wish today could be like how Sundays used to be, when Adam and I would be smug gits too. I used to go to bed on a Sunday night with a huge smile on my face, wishing there could be just one more day of the weekend left. Now, I wish it would just be over and done with already.
I really don’t know how much longer I can handle this. Whenever he’s in the flat, it feels like every cell in my body is being pulled towards him. I have to retrain myself to understand he’s not mine anymore, and right now it feels like a losing battle. He went out last weekend, came back completely wrecked and woke me up with his banging around. He called me a heartless bitch when I went to see if he was okay. I knew it was the drink talking, but I’m not an idiot. There was more than a hint of truth to it. If only I could tell him that I still love him with every ounce of my being, or that most nights I can’t sleep because I miss him wrapping himself around me in bed. I want to tell him that I do want to spend the rest of my life with him, even though I said I don’t. Of course, I didn’t say any of those things. I just kept quiet and helped him into bed.
I knew I should have left him there. I should have walked away, got back into bed and slept. But I didn’t. I looked at him passed out on the bed, thinking about how much I used to love breathing in his smell, even if I couldn’t remember what he actually smelled like. And how he used to envelop me in a hug, his strong arms holding me close, even if I’d forgotten what it actually felt like. So I did something I knew I absolutely, positively should not have done. I got into the bed and lay next to him with my head on his chest. It was the first time I’d felt calm for weeks. I stayed there for a long time. I would have stayed all night if I could, but I couldn’t risk him waking up. If he did, he would have had a go at me for being a complete headcase, or, worse, he might have cuddled me back.
I have to stick with my decision. I have to keep telling him I don’t want him, even though it’s like depriving myself of oxygen. I have no other choice. Telling him what happened – what I did – is not an option.
22 September, 2.05 p.m.
Claire called me back. Actually, she called the day after I’d left her that stupid voicemail, but I kept diverting her calls. I couldn’t avoid her any longer. She was in Shanghai (I knew she’d be somewhere glamorous) and wasted no time in telling me how I’d screwed up – how I should have called her straight away and how I should never have moved in with him in the first place if I wasn’t prepared to tell him the truth. Tell me something I don’t already bloody know. We ended up arguing, like we always do. I already know I’ve screwed my life up, yet again. I don’t need Miss Goody Two-Shoes to tell me as well.
I should never have called her. I miss her and I love her – of course I do. But our relationship only seems to revolve around disasters. The memories, the guilt, the shame – I can’t deal with it. I won’t call her again.
Adam watched the unnervingly tall redhead looking around the state-of-the-art kitchen and could almost taste the commission. Things were looking up and not a moment too soon. At work, he was the bee’s knees, the dog’s bollocks. He’d earned a reputation for letting out the apartments quickly and efficiently, so much so that he’d ended up taking over lease negotiations with the big companies who rented the bulk of their apartments from the managing director, but lately he’d brought his personal problems to work with him, and it was starting to show. Everyone knew all about his break-up, including the contract cleaners. It was embarrassing.
‘Everything’s included in the rent, right? Including use of the gym and spa?’ she asked with her American accent, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow.
‘The facilities and maid service are, but bills aren’t. Plus, you’ll also get a discounted rate at the hair salon and the florist just outside. You work in advertising, right?’ If his memory was correct, she was a director at some massive transatlantic outfit.
‘Yes. I’m based mostly in New York, but I need somewhere to stay when I’m over here.’
‘This is a great location,’ he said, leading her onto the decked terrace decorated with tidy potted plants. ‘You have great views, easy access to Regent’s Park and the Tube, plus the West End is only minutes away for shopping, restaurants and theatres.’
He followed her gaze and looked at the rooftops sitting under a perfectly blue, cloudless sky. The crisp autumn air settled on his skin. He felt invigorated. Finally, something had clicked. It was over. He wasn’t going to act like a lovesick fool anymore. He had an ego to salvage, after all. Carl had arranged their night out for the following weekend, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he wanted to go out and pull. It was as much about getting Sarah out of his system as it was about getting laid.
He looked over the railing and pointed down at the street below. ‘And since this is the penthouse, you also get designated parking.’
He looked at the redhead and held his breath. This was why he loved his job – the seconds before the deal was closed, when it could swing either way.
‘I’ll take it.’
He grinned. Job done. It was shaping up to be a cracking week.
Later that evening, as he flicked through the channels on TV, his mobile phone vibrated. He’d promised a colleague he’d bring in his Goa guidebook. It was a good thing he’d had the sense to put a calendar reminder on his phone; otherwise, he’d have forgotten all about it. He switched off the TV as Sarah came into the living room.
‘I was going to get some take-away after Pilates. Do you want anything?’
‘No, thanks,’ he replied without even looking up at her.
He listened to her leave the flat and scowled. Spare-room-gate was the last time they’d said more than a sentence to each other, and that was two weeks ago. How much longer could he cope with them living together? He sighed and went out into the hallway. They’d only moved in three months ago, but already the storage cupboard was alarmingly full. He started removing boxes and bags and swore. They were going to have to put some time aside to throw out what they didn’t need. It would make packing easier, at the very least.
He finally found the guidebook hidden amongst some old novels stuffed into a holdall and flicked through it, remembering his holiday with his ex. He’d had enough of gaudy European resorts full of endless tacky Irish pubs with pissed-up teenagers and thought that Goa, with its chilled and hippy reputation, would be perfect. It turned out to be anything but. It was the first time they’d had to spend twenty-four hours a day together, and a week in, tempers had flared. Maybe he just shouldn’t go on holiday with women anymore. He didn’t exactly have a great track record with them.
A red and blue shoebox in the corner caught his attention. It wasn’t one of his. He’d probably put it in here by mistake when they moved in, but it was strange that Sarah hadn’t noticed. She was meticulous with her belongings. He lifted the lid and frowned at the pile of notepads and school exercise books in front of him. Picking up the one at the top, he flicked through the pages, filled with Sarah’s neat handwriting. They were diaries. He knew she kept one, but he’d never considered reading it. It would be a major invasion of privacy. What did she write about now? No doubt it was about him and their break-up. Maybe if he read it, he’d be able to find out why things had turned out the way they did.
He flicked through the rest of the diaries. They seemed to stretch back years. It would be wrong to read them, especially as she seemed to go out of her way to keep her past to herself. He should tell her they were in here, reall
y. She was bound to notice they were missing sooner or later. He shrugged and replaced the box. It wasn’t his problem anymore. They were over.
26 September
It’s been nearly fifteen years. Fifteen years. Already. How is that even possible? For the last few days, that familiar feeling of someone lurking in the shadows has come back. This guilt . . . It’s like blocks of concrete weighing down on my chest. Sometimes it’s too strong to bear, and I wish I could tell someone, but everything would be ruined if I did – my job, my family, everything. I’m not a heartless person. I know I’m not. If I were, I wouldn’t feel like this, and I wouldn’t think about him every single day.
I hate feeling like this. I feel so anchorless without Adam. He’s gradually slipping away from me, and I can’t blame him. All he knows is that I’m acting like a stone-cold, heartless cow, especially after how I acted when he switched our rooms over. It wasn’t that I was more concerned about my stuff than what’s happened between us; it was just that it was so final. It was as if he wanted to send me a message that he’s moving on, and if that’s really what it was, it came across extra loud and clear. And I know that I’ve brought this on myself because I wanted him to accept we’re over, and I knew it would hurt, but not like this. It’s more painful than I could ever have imagined. Since then, we’ve barely spoken but, as heartbreaking as it is, at least it’s giving me some space to at least try to move on. It’s not really as if I’ve got any other choice. I just have to keep focusing on the fact that it’s for the best.
It was so stupid of me to think I could have a happy ending. This is my punishment for what happened, and while I might not like it, I can understand it. I just hate the way I’ve hurt Adam.
Ruth sent round an invite at work for drinks for my birthday next week. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I don’t celebrate it. I really do hate this time of year. God, I can’t deal with all of this right now.
6.
The door to Carl’s flat swung open to reveal Nick’s wide grin.
‘Go on: get that down your neck.’ He held out a shot glass, and Adam raised his eyebrows at the green liquid. It wasn’t the usual greeting he’d get when he called round at Carl’s, but sod it. If he was going to get messy, he might as well do it properly. He took the glass, necked his shot and shuddered.
‘Good lad.’ Nick laughed before grabbing Adam’s hand and pulling him into a man hug, slapping him on the back.
‘Good to see you, mate,’ Adam said, trying not to gag at the aftertaste of the absinthe. It was a foul drink, but an obvious favourite to get the night started. He’d picked up a bottle of Jägermeister on the way over – they could keep the green fairy for themselves. As Matt and Jenny got the same treatment behind him, he wandered into the kitchen, where Carl was busy cracking open a can of lager. Music pounded from the speakers, filling the air around them with deep, frenetic bass lines.
‘Alright, mate,’ Carl said, offering Adam a can.
Adam reached for the bottle of Jack Daniel’s. ‘I’m good, but I’m not on the beer tonight. I’m going to get messy.’
‘Did you bring the Jäger?’
‘Yep,’ Adam replied, putting the bottle down on the side. He nodded towards the group of guys in the living room. ‘Who are these lot?’
‘Nick’s mates. Some army, some not,’ Carl replied, looking over Adam’s shoulder. ‘Wakey, Tubs, Ryan, Jonesy and Dave. I don’t know the others – forgot their names. We’re just waiting on a couple more, I think.’
‘Pour me a JD, Ad,’ Jenny said as she joined them with Matt and Nick.
‘I thought this was meant to be a boys’ night,’ Nick said.
Adam nodded. ‘It is. Jen’s one of the boys – you know that.’
She never missed a night out, and in her loose vest, skin-tight jeans and high heels, she stood out in the testosterone-filled flat like a lighthouse in the dead of night.
Jenny gave a lopsided smile. ‘I’m a special case.’
‘Never hurts to have some eye candy, I suppose.’ Nick grinned.
‘Clearly being at war hasn’t knocked the chauvinist out of you yet.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re about as smooth as a badger’s arse.’
Nick winked. ‘You know you love it.’
‘In your dreams, G.I. Joe.’ She shook her head, but the grin nearly leapt off her face. Despite the way they bickered, it was no secret to any of them that she’d harboured a crush on Nick since they were teenagers.
Matt handed Nick a can of lager. ‘So, how’ve you been?’
‘Not too bad, you know.’ Nick shrugged.
When Nick enlisted for service at eighteen, Adam had been filled with intrigue. He didn’t know anyone in the army, and having grown up watching films like Apocalypse Now and Full Metal Jacket, it had sounded adventurous. So much so that he even thought about joining himself, until Nick was sent to Kosovo. Adam had nothing but admiration and respect for Nick, but he quickly realised that he preferred the safety of being a soldier on his Xbox instead of the real thing. Nick had changed, and it seemed to get more and more pronounced every time he came home. Carl and Nick had always looked alike. There were three years between them, but they were roughly the same height, same build and had the same shade of almost black hair. These days, Nick sported a typical military short-back-and-sides haircut, and his arms were covered in tattoos, but it was the air he carried about him that set him apart. Adam didn’t like to think about what he must have seen.
‘So, what’s the plan? Where are we going?’ Adam asked, keen to get moving before everyone got too comfortable or drunk to leave.
Nick looked at his watch. ‘We were waiting for Iain to get here, but that tosser’s always late. We might as well get cracking. Line up some shots, Carl.’
Carl put glasses on the side and poured out shots while Nick gathered his mates in the kitchen. It was bigger than average, but with twelve of them crammed in, it felt decidedly small.
Nick rubbed his hands together. ‘Right lads, on me. Take a knee.’
Adam looked at Carl with a frown. ‘Take a what?’
‘Take a knee. It means gather round. Listen up,’ Carl explained and they all took their shots.
‘Christ knows where Iain is, so we’re going to head off,’ Nick said and wiped the back of his mouth with his hand. ‘I thought we’d head into Camden first, hit a few bars and see what’s going on before going into town.’
Adam shrugged. ‘Sounds good to me.’
‘Right, lads. Let’s finish up these drinks, grab your cock armour and move out,’ Nick said before draining his can of lager.
Adam turned to Carl. ‘Cock armour? Move out? What’s with all the bossiness and military lingo?’
‘That’s just Nick.’ Carl shrugged as they made their way out of the kitchen. ‘And he knows Jen loves it. Tosser.’
Adam laughed as they left the flat and set off towards the Tube station. Tonight was going to be a good one.
‘This is so going on Facebook.’ Jenny showed him the picture of Carl’s post-tequila-shot face.
‘You’re terrible.’ Adam laughed and shook his head. Jenny was lethal with a camera.
‘Ah, he’ll get over it.’ She grinned and put her phone away. ‘What about her? She’s been eyeing you up since we got here.’ She pointed to a blonde girl in a booth by the bar.
He glanced over at her before shaking his head. ‘Nah, she looks shy.’
He’d had a year of shyness, and it was more than enough. He wasn’t used to shy girls, and he wasn’t even sure he liked it. He’d tried it with Sarah and mistaken her shyness to mean she was down to earth and straightforward. How wrong had he been? He definitely wasn’t about to make that mistake twice. Tonight, he wanted the complete opposite of shy.
‘You can’t just disregard girls for looking shy. Have you never heard the saying “A quiet lady on the street is a
freak in the bedroom”? “Still waters run deep” and all that.’
‘You’re insane, do you know that?’
‘I’m just trying to get you back to the Adam we all know and love, that’s all. You’ve been acting like such a girl lately, with all your moping about, that your dick’s probably shrivelled up altogether.’
‘I’m sure saying something like that goes against wing-woman code. What about you, anyway? When are we going to lose you to a successful lawyer type? That’s what you city girls go for, isn’t it?’
There was no denying Jenny was a good catch. She had a great sense of humour, she was gorgeous and she was quickly working her way up the forensic accountancy ladder. He’d fancied her a bit when they’d first met, but she’d never shown anything more than platonic interest in him, which was just as well. Sparing their friendship the complications of having slept together was what made their connection so tight. It was the same with Matt and Carl too. If any of them had slept with Jenny, the dynamic simply wouldn’t be the same.
‘I’m not a typical city girl; you should know that by now. Besides, smarmy lawyer types aren’t my style. You should know that too. You’re a crap friend sometimes.’
‘Only sometimes?’ Adam grinned. ‘What’s the deal with you and Nick? You’ve been stuck to each other like glue all night.’
‘I dunno.’ Jenny shrugged. ‘Nothing, I guess. I mean, he’s Carl’s brother. It’s just asking for trouble.’
‘Fair enough.’ He caught the barman’s eye and ordered two more shots of sambuca.
A smile slowly spread across Jenny’s face as the DJ mixed in the next song. ‘Wow, this song reminds me of—’
‘Kavos?’ Adam thought back to their first mates-only holiday and grinned. ‘I know.’
‘God, can you believe that was eleven years ago already?’
He remembered it like it was last week. Well, some of it, anyway. Their flight had landed at two in the morning, and they’d dumped their suitcases in the hotel before heading straight out. The freedom of being eighteen and on holiday without parents for the first time was electric. They’d got completely hammered, and Matt ended up having to carry an obliterated Jenny back to the hotel. It was a crazy start to one of the best weeks of his life.
Together Apart Page 4