Together Apart

by Natalie K. Martin

  He looked at the tattoo on Tamsin’s back. It had looked like it was alive, rippling across her back as he’d stood behind her while she was on all fours on the bed. He remembered the rush of adrenalin just before he’d slipped inside her. She didn’t hold back with what she wanted from him, and the coke only added to the rush. For a fleeting second, he’d felt like his old self, indulging in reckless sex without the complications of emotions.

  His skin prickled with heat, and he pulled the duvet back. He’d grown used to sleeping with a window open, and the after-effect of the coke was making him burn up. He got up and dressed as quickly as he could without passing out or waking Tamsin, and slipped out of the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind him.

  He made his way down the creaky stairs. She’d sat on one of the steps last night with his head between her legs. She didn’t even live alone. Any one of her housemates could have seen them.

  He shook his head, went into the kitchen and filled a glass of water. His mouth tasted utterly disgusting. It had been a long time since he’d had a hangover this bad. It had to stop. He knew what this was. It was self-destruct mode.

  ‘Oh God, I feel like crap. Shoot me now.’ Tamsin padded into the kitchen and flopped dramatically into one of the chairs around the table. So much for not waking her up.

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘I don’t want to make you hurl or anything, but I’ve got some bacon in the fridge. I could make us a couple of sandwiches, and we could go back to bed? If you don’t have anything else to do today, that is.’

  Adam took a gulp of water and looked away. Tamsin was a nice girl. He shouldn’t have come round last night. He was too angry, too confused, too everything. He’d shagged her, but it could have been anyone. She just happened to be there. It was harsh, but it was the truth. What he’d really wanted was to get back at Sarah, but Tamsin was in danger of becoming collateral damage.

  ‘I can’t. I’ve got a lot on today.’

  She smiled and shrugged. ‘No worries. Maybe next time.’

  ‘Actually, I think it’s best if we don’t see each other again. I’ve just had a really bad break-up.’

  He frowned as Tamsin started laughing.

  ‘Seriously? I was offering a bacon sarnie, not marriage.’

  ‘No, I know.’ Adam shook his head. God, he must have sounded like an arrogant twat. ‘But I really have just had a bad break-up, and I don’t think that this’ – he pointed to himself and then to Tamsin – ‘is a good thing.’

  ‘Okay. Like I said, no worries.’

  Adam nodded and put his glass in the sink.

  ‘So,’ Tamsin said as she stood up, ‘I’m going back to bed. I’ll see you around.’

  She gave him a small smile and left him in the kitchen.

  The cool air rushing through the cab window onto Adam’s face did nothing to take the sting out of his cheeks. Tamsin had never given him the impression that she wanted anything more than he was willing to give, which was just as well, because giving anything to anyone was the last thing on his mind. They were both adults, and actually it was one of the more amicable partings of ways he’d had, but even still, he felt like a prick.

  Carl had said the best way to get over someone was to get inside someone else, but it wasn’t true. It was a distraction, that was for sure, but he was nowhere near getting over Sarah, and the sour taste at the back of his throat was down to more than just the coke. After reading her diary and finding out the things he had, he’d called Tamsin because he’d wanted an epiphany: he didn’t need Sarah and he didn’t want her. He could move on. So why was he feeling the exact opposite?

  He sighed and looked out of the window as they sped along the North Circular. London was still asleep, and it seemed like he and the cab driver were the only people left in the city, like the morning after a zombie apocalypse in a film. He’d been so fed up of the melancholic cloud he’d been under since Santorini, and for a while it seemed as though he was starting to feel better, like he was getting over Sarah. But now? Well, now he was back at square one.

  As they turned off the North Circular, the familiar streets of North Finchley came into view, and he asked the cab driver to let him out at the bottom of his street. The fresh air and walk might do him some good and drive away the millions of pins digging into his brain.

  When he unlocked the front door, he breathed a sigh of relief. He’d made it home without chucking up in the street. He made his way to the kitchen, dropped a vitamin C tablet into a glass of water and listened to it fizz as he walked back to his bedroom. He sat on his bed and looked into the fizzing water.

  The anger he’d felt yesterday had been firmly replaced by a heavy weight of sadness. It was all bullshit. Sarah still loved him. She just couldn’t be with him. Why? And why, after everything, did he even still care? Why wasn’t he able to just forget it all and move on?

  He’d known all along that there was more to the story – that was why. He’d known from the minute she’d turned him down that there was something holding her back – something she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell him. What was it? And who was this Claire he’d read about? He’d never heard of her before, but she was clearly someone important.

  He could get the box of diaries he’d found in the storage cupboard, read them and get it over and done with. After all, it wasn’t like things could get any worse, and his curiosity about the big conspiracy keeping them apart was more intense than ever.

  Screw it.

  He went to get the box, barely even trying to be quiet in the otherwise silent flat. With the box in his hands, he went back to bed and sifted through the notepads to find the one with the earliest entry.

  9.

  THE DIARY OF SARAH COLLINS

  26 August 1998

  Thank God!! After years of sharing a room, I’ll finally have some space to myself. I won’t have to wake up with some cheesy pop star’s eyes staring down at me from the other side of the room. I can finally have the walls painted in the deep purple that I want. When our friends come over, we won’t have to run upstairs in a race to be the one to bag the room first. I can have my friends in my beautiful purple room, and Claire can have hers in her disgusting Barbie-like hellhole. We might look the same, but we’re totally different. Being a twin isn’t anywhere near as great as people think it is.

  Adam blinked and reread the last sentence. What the hell? Claire was her twin? How could he have not known she had a sister? And why would she keep it a secret? He’d always assumed she was an only child. She always sounded so envious whenever he spoke about his brothers, but it turned out she had a sister – a twin sister – of her own.

  He’d only read half a page, and already he was shocked. If this was just the start, then she’d probably end up feeling like a complete stranger to him by the end of it. She’d lied. Maybe not purposefully, but she’d lied by omission. After reading her current diary last night, he didn’t think there could be any more that could possibly change his opinion of Sarah, but now he wasn’t so sure.

  26 August 1998

  For a start, she’s a total cow. She thinks she’s so bloody perfect, and all she does is get on my nerves. All she’s interested in is boys, clothes and makeup. You would think being a twin means I should have a best friend and sister all rolled into one. As if. She thinks she’s so much better than me, but she’s not. She’s a freak, and the sooner I get some space to myself, the better.

  I am sad to be leaving, though. This is the only place I’ve ever lived, and every room reminds me of Dad. I still don’t know how Mum could want to leave it. It’s all Peter’s fault. Ever since they got married, he’s been banging on about moving out. He hates our estate, so now I’m supposed to be happy that we’re moving into a house with a garden. Big deal! I like living here. I don’t know who he thinks he is to just come in and start making all these changes. I hate him!

  6 Septemb
er 1998

  Today was the first day back at school. Now we’re in Year 10, we’re in the upper school building with the sixth formers. It’s so much cooler than the lower school. There’s a common room (not that we’re allowed in there), and everyone just seems so different. I saw some of them smoking at the top of the field. One of them even had a mobile phone! So cool. I really want one. In fact, I’m going to ask Mum if she’ll get me one for my birthday. That’ll show Hannah. She’s been such a cow lately. For a best friend, she’s not really holding up her end of the deal. All she’s interested in these days is Daniel. It’s always ‘Daniel this and Daniel that.’ I suppose he’s cool because he can get everyone into Corporation on a Friday night. His brother works on the door, so they never get ID’d, but it’s not much use to me when it’s next to impossible to get my curfew extended that late. It’s just annoying that Hannah’s forgotten all about me while she’s wrapped up in him.

  I’m always the one without a boyfriend in our group, and it gets on my nerves. I’m always the only one who doesn’t have someone to drape myself over. Maybe it’s because I don’t throw myself at boys all the time, but I always thought it was better to be that way. I don’t want to have a random boyfriend. I want someone special.

  11 September 1998

  I miss Dad. Our new house is okay, I suppose, but I can’t go into a room and picture Dad in it like I could in our old flat. When I think about all those times I shouted at him, telling him I hated him, because he’d made me angry, I wish I could take it all back. I always thought heart attacks only happened to old people. It’s not fair that he died when there are so many old people out there hanging onto life with hardly anything to actually hang on for.

  Mum seems to have forgotten he ever even existed. She took down all of his pictures because she said it hurt too much, but now they’ve been replaced by pictures of her and smarmy Peter. She’s even started going to Peter’s church. It makes me laugh. She used to say church was only for christenings, weddings and funerals, not somewhere to pass the time on a Sunday morning. She doesn’t do anything fun anymore, and she dresses differently too. She used to wear jeans and high heels, but now all she wears are long skirts and cardigans. I don’t know what’s happened to her. She’s started to drink a lot too. She drinks the wine in the kitchen she supposedly uses for cooking. I don’t think Peter’s noticed, but why would he? He hardly ever does anything in there. He said men weren’t made to be in the kitchen. He’s such a chauvinistic pig!

  Whatever. I don’t really care, as long as he doesn’t try to get me involved in his creepy God stuff. He keeps preaching to Claire about all the wonderful things God can do. Hopefully, he won’t even bother with me. I want him to think I’m beyond even God’s help.

  3 October 1998

  I started my period today. Whoopee-flipping-doo. I have the biggest headache ever, and now I have cramps too. If that’s what having my period does to me, I’d rather not have it at all. I feel so bloated. I hope it’s not permanent. Apparently, it can make you put loads of weight on. I’m on the verge of being chubby as it is. I don’t need any more weight added. Anyway, Mum had the talk with me as if I’m some dumb kid who doesn’t know all this stuff already. If she’s worried about me popping out a baby, then she really shouldn’t be. I mean, has she seen the guys around here? No, thanks. I’ll probably die a virgin.

  On the upside, I’m having my room painted this weekend, and I’ve already chosen the colour I want. It’s called ‘Purple Infusion’. I’m going to stop by The Forum this week and pick up some candles and stuff too. Peter’s going to paint it. He freaks me out, he’s so weird. The thought of him and my mum together makes my skin crawl. It’s gross.

  9 October 1998

  Okay, so I definitely don’t believe in God, but I do believe in fate. I met the fittest boy ever today. He’s friends with some of the other crowd that hang around at City Hall after school, but I’ve never seen him before, probably because my curfew is so bloody early that I miss all the fun stuff. Anyway, he’s gorgeous. He’s got these really bright hazel eyes, and I swear, he looks like he should be in a film or a band or something, not dossing around outside Sheffield City Hall. He has this vibe about him, like he has a really tortured soul he’s hiding. He just seems so . . . I dunno . . . aloof, I think. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him.

  Anyway, everyone’s going to Corporation on Friday night, and he’s invited us all back to his house afterwards and I really need to be there. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I have to. Maybe Claire will cover for me. She probably won’t, just to piss me off, but I’ve never met anyone I fancied this much before. I know it’s stupid. I heard he just split up with Rachel, and she’s gorgeous. Next to her, I’m like the Elephant Man, so even though he probably doesn’t fancy me at all, I absolutely have to be there.

  Claire’s going to cover for me! All I need to do now is tell Mum I’ll be spending the night at Hannah’s and hope she buys it.

  This is so exciting!

  Adam looked again at Sarah’s handwriting. He’d always known it to be long and sloping, but her diary was filled with a scrawl that looked like it was trying to leap off the page, just like the tone of her writing. The fourteen-year-old version of her felt like a jack-in-the-box, ready to jump towards him at any given moment. It was different to the always contained Sarah he knew.

  A flash of guilt hit him. She’d gone to great lengths to keep her teenage years to herself, yet here he was, getting an almost first-hand glimpse into them. But his Sarah and the Sarah he was reading about were so different from each other that the guilt barely even seemed to matter. He shrugged the feeling away and flicked to the next page.

  10.

  Claire Collins: Happy belated birthday, Grunge Head! Hope you’re okay and not feeling too bad. It’s always hard this time of year :-( How’s things?

  Sent 17/10 09:54 a.m.

  Sarah Collins: You know I hate it when you call me that! Thanks. You too. Things are crap. I’m hung-over. Got wasted last night, puked all over. Feel like death.

  Sent 17/10 10:01 a.m.

  Claire Collins: Hung-over? You’re drinking again? ? WTF ?!

  Sent 17/10 10:02 a.m.

  Sarah Collins: No, I’m not ‘drinking again’. It was a thing for my birthday with work. I didn’t even want to go.

  Sent 17/10 10:07 a.m.

  Claire Collins: You should have just called me. Please don’t start all that again.

  Sent 17/10 10:08 a.m.

  Promise me.

  Sent 17/10 10:08 a.m.

  ? ? ?

  Sent 17/10 10:20 a.m.

  Sarah Collins: I already told you, I’m not starting anything. What would calling you have done anyway? ? ?

  Sent 17/10 10:23 a.m.

  Claire Collins: It would have been better than getting wasted! Are you still up for dinner next week? Spoke to Mum. She misses you. She wants to know when you’re gonna go up?

  Sent 17/10 10:25 a.m.

  Sarah Collins: Yeah, dinner is fine. I dunno when I’ll go. Soon, maybe. I’m going back to bed. x

  Sent 17/10 10:30 a.m.

  Claire Collins: Okies. Hope you feel better. Will call next week with proper plans. Love you. xxx

  Sent 17/10 10:33 a.m.

  Sarah Collins: Thanks. Sorry for being moody, I just feel like hell. Speak soon xx

  Sent 17/10 10:33 a.m.

  11.

  Adam stepped into the garage, holding two Styrofoam cups in his hand. The smell of motor oil hung heavy in the air. He stifled a yawn. Sarah’s diary had made his brain frazzle, and he’d barely slept. Aside from finding out about Claire, which he still couldn’t get his head around, he hadn’t read anything more than the ramblings of a teenage girl, and he ended up speed-reading the endless pages about how ‘cool’ and ‘gorgeous’ this Richard was. The last thing he’d wanted to do was get
up early to get his car inspected, but he’d left it to the last minute, and Carl had opened up a spot for him.

  ‘So, what happened the other night?’ Carl wiped his hands on a rag, leaving a smear of oil behind, and took one of the cups from Adam.

  ‘Sarah was wasted. It was one of her workmates who called to let me know. She was completely out of it. Threw up in the cab and everything.’

  ‘Nice.’

  ‘I think she was acting out at me a bit.’

  Carl pulled a face. ‘Why? She’s the one who dumped you.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Adam shrugged. ‘If this had been a week ago, I wouldn’t think anything of it.’

  ‘So, add it to the list of things about her that don’t make sense, and move on. It’s not like it really matters anyway, does it?’ Carl handed Adam his car keys and MOT certificate.

  ‘Thanks for this.’ Adam shoved them into his back pocket and took a sip of his Americano.

  ‘Standard, mate, don’t mention it. So, are you still banging that blonde chick you pulled the other night?’ Carl winked.

  Adam frowned. There it was. That horrible, guilty feeling he’d carried around since shagging Tamsin to get back at Sarah.

  He shrugged. ‘Nah.’

  ‘Why not? She was hot, and for a rebound lay you could have done much worse.’

  ‘I dunno. Just wasn’t feeling it, I guess.’ Adam rubbed his forehead.

  Carl put his cup on the roof of the Peugeot 206 in the middle of the garage and walked round to the bonnet. ‘Listen. I know you loved Sarah. She was a nice girl, and you seemed like a golden couple, but, mate, it’s finished. You can’t go around moping all your life.’