‘Are you laughing?’ he said, in disbelief.
‘No—not much—not at all,’ Tess said. ‘It’s just—I don’t know.’
‘What the fuck!’ Adam said, striding on ahead.
‘Sorry,’ said Tess, trying not to smile, and catching up with him. ‘It’s just the way you said it, Adman. You sounded like a bit of a loser. Just a little bit.’
‘That’s what I mean,’ Adam said, turning to her. ‘It’s fine from you. It’s fine when you tell me I’m being a complete dick. But it’s not fine from her.’
‘Why?’ asked Tess, trotting to keep up with him. They were approaching the station.
‘Don’t know,’ he said. ‘I don’t know. Oh, man,’ he said. ‘I’m so stupid. Why did I—’
‘Why did you what?’
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Nothing, doesn’t matter now.’ He sighed.
‘Well,’ said Tess, as he jabbed the buttons on the ticket machine with the ferocity of one trying to defuse a nuclear bomb, ‘well—this is going to be a super-fun night, isn’t it.’
But actually, it was. Though the odds were stacked against it, it was one of those nights. It just was. They arrived up in Waterloo as the evening sun was streaming through the great glass case of the station concourse; they stood beneath the clock for a moment, getting their bearings.
‘Is it strange being back?’ Adam said.
‘Yep,’ she answered him.
Adam dodged out of the way, to avoid a couple barrelling through them, dragging some huge suitcases. He stepped smartly back beside her, and she thought how strange it was to see him in the city, this bustling, heated metropolis, where there were more people here at the station than probably lived in the whole of Langford. She looked at him anxiously, but he didn’t seem to be on the verge of a yokel-related panic attack.
He turned to her and said, ‘So, what shall we do?’ He shook his head. ‘London, eh? Can’t remember the last time I was up here.’
Coming up for five months in a small country town and Tess realized she still thought of herself as a Londoner enough to find it unbelievable that someone couldn’t remember the last time they were here. How did people live, who weren’t used to living among all this? Didn’t they find everything else small by comparison? She caught herself, and realized how silly it was to still think that way. She remembered how unhappy she’d been, how London had been this place of cold grey streets and piss-stinking alleyways, long dark nights and constant rain.
Not now, not in early summer, not this night with Adam by her side. She patted his arm. ‘What shall we do? You’re joking, aren’t you? We’re not tourists, we’re locals. Well, I am. Well, I was. You need a plan if you’re going to have a good time here. No sense in going out without research. First rule: have a plan.’
‘And do you have a plan?’ Adam asked, opening his eyes wide. ‘God, I hope you do. We could just go and find that pub, of course.’
He said this nonchalantly, like he wasn’t bothered either way.
‘We’re NOT doing that,’ said Tess. ‘It’s your birthday evening plan. OK. Check it out.’ She held out a piece of paper, and they bent over it together.
Drinks: Lamb and Flag, Covent Garden
Dinner: Great Queen Street, Longacre
Afterwards: The French House? Karaoke?
After that: Beaujolais? The Phoenix?
After that: Bar Italia.
Adam looked up, slightly horrified. ‘T, I’m not doing karaoke.’
‘It’s just a plan,’ she told him. ‘It’s subject to change. Don’t worry…’ She pulled her hair out from her coat.
‘Where’s the Lamb and Flag?’
‘Covent Garden. It’s really old. Like, bits of it are Tudor old. It’s great.’ She looked up. ‘Especially if the weather’s nice, we can stand outside, it’s always pretty crowded. OK?’
‘Sounds great,’ said Adam, relieved.
‘Right!’ she said, smiling at him. ‘Let’s go.’
‘I like your new hair, by the way,’ Adam said, as they walked through the station. ‘It’s nice.’
The previous day, Tess had finally gone to Fringe Benefits on the high street, for a cut and blow-dry. She smiled almost shyly at Adam.
‘Thanks!’ she said. ‘It’s part of the new me, I’m sure you’ve noticed.’
‘I have, actually,’ he said, much to her surprise. ‘You’ve smartened up a bit. It suits you. Not so scruffy looking.’
‘Er, right,’ Tess said, leading him towards the exit for the South Bank. ‘Thanks for that.’
‘No worries,’ Adam said. And then he added, with all the charm of men, ‘It must be weird for you, living with someone like Francesca. She’s so gorgeous all the time.’
‘Well, exactly,’ said Tess, as they walked through the tunnel that led up to Hungerford Bridge. ‘I got used to walking around with a bag on my head, you know, because she’s so gorgeous like you say. It’s just easier that way. For me and other people.’
Adam looked at her. ‘Oh, sorry. I only meant—’ He slapped his forehead. ‘I’m an idiot. I didn’t mean it like that, I meant that she’s really—’ he searched for the words—‘really obviously gorgeous.’
They were climbing up the stairs to the bridge that crossed the Thames, and tourists, theatregoers, jugglers and homeless people were pushing past them. Tess stopped, shaking her head. ‘Do you listen to yourself sometimes?’ she said.
‘Er—why?’
‘Men!’ Tess shouted loudly, as people around them looked at her in alarm, and Adam took her elbow, hurrying her across the bridge. ‘You are incredible, you know that?’
‘What?’
‘Jesus, Adam!’ Tess said, the wind blowing her hair in her face. She wedged it firmly behind her ears. ‘Look, I know I’m not like—like, some ravishing beauty, like Claudia Schiffer, and I know Francesca is, but—give it a rest, will you? God, the way men think it’s fine to just say stuff like that!’ She gazed over to the other side of the river, growing nearer as they marched furiously in tandem.
‘I didn’t—’ Adam began, but Tess put her hand up to his mouth.
‘Sshh,’ she said. ‘Don’t say anything more, otherwise you’ll end up saying, “You’re quite attractive, for a troll,” and then I’ll have to leave.’
‘I wasn’t going to say that,’ said Adam. He paused. ‘Sorry, T.’
‘Fine,’ said Tess. They stopped, looking across at the city, as they walked through the air towards it. The river was grey and choppy; clouds scudded across the sky, and off to the west, behind the Houses of Parliament, a rose-pink sunset flecked out towards them. The city lay ahead of her, still light, still full of possibility, and she hadn’t realized how good it would be to be back until that moment. She had left London nearly five months before, grey and tired of the rushing, selfish life she’d seen all around her, rejected by a man she’d thought she’d loved. Langford was her home now, she knew that, the pace, the friendliness, the people, the fact that she could go out in a shirt made of a sack and no one would think it was weird, or that she could get genuinely excited about plant pots, or cushion covers, or jam. She shook her head as one of the windows on the old Shell-Mex building winked at her in the setting sun. It was only now, really, she wondered if she might have left something behind here, too.
The Lamb and Flag was Adam’s kind of pub—no nonsense, good beer. But it was too crowded, and they clutched their drinks outside, wedged in a triangle between the wall, some Americans who’d just arrived in London and some Queen fans down from Hemel Hempstead who were about to go and watch We Will Rock You (and were very excited about it).
‘You’re always saying people in London aren’t friendly,’ Adam said as they squeezed their way past people in the tiny Dickensian passageway taking them out to Floral Street. ‘They were nice.’
‘They were American tourists, bruv,’ said Tess. ‘They actually used the word “Londontown”. And some people from Hemel Hempstead. Of course they were nice. They
’re not from London. Sorry. Londontown.’
‘Oh,’ said Adam, smiling. ‘Sorry, sis.’
She smiled back at him, as they turned into Longacre.
Great Queen Street, just along from Longacre, was unadorned, crowded and friendly. ‘This isn’t full of tourists.’ Adam said, as they waited for their table. ‘And it’s—’ he looked a little relieved—it’s nice.’
Tess looked around the room. ‘No, you’re right,’ she agreed. ‘It’s more—’
‘People you might want to talk to.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, not stuck up, all poncey and posh and Londony la-di-dah.’
Tess nodded, looking over at Adam with his soft plaid shirt and slightly sticking-up hair, his eyes alight with pleasure as he gazed round the room. She’d forgotten how much more low-level glamorous people were in town, even somewhere like here, which wasn’t a ‘scene’ place. Girls in skinny jeans and stylish floral tops, necklaces dancing as they leaned forward to say hi to people, pushing their hair behind their ears. Men smiling, checking their hair in mirrors, adjusting ties, slapping each other on the back, hugging people. She thought of the Feathers, as she watched Adam’s gaze take it all in. Ron might be nursing a pint in the corner, that old guy who always seemed to have a sore patch on the back of his hand would be quietly hacking away by himself, a couple of anniversary couples sitting quietly in the back, and maybe Suggs and Mick chatting at the bar…She looked around the restaurant, full of tasteful colour, life and energy, and knew it was good to be back.
‘I booked a room at Claridge’s,’ Adam said, suddenly, into their silence.
‘What?’ Tess said.
‘That’s why I was so cross with her. I’ve got a room at Claridge’s. I didn’t know what to do about it.’ He turned to her and said quietly, ‘It was going to be a nice surprise for her.’
Her heart went out to him. ‘Claridge’s?’ He nodded. ‘Oh, Adam.’ She looked up at him. ‘You are so sweet.’ She didn’t know quite what to say, she loved them both, so she patted him on the back. ‘D’ you really think it’s over?’
‘Yes,’ he said sadly: ‘I really do.’
‘If she’d known—’ Tess reached out towards him. ‘She’d have—’
‘I told her about the hotel.’
‘You did?’
‘Yeah. She said—’ He trailed off.
‘Yes?’ she prompted him.
‘She said I needed to sort myself out, that I was a fraud.’ He said it quietly.
‘Well, that’s horrible,’ said Tess. ‘You’re not a fraud, anyway. You’re the least fraudulent person I know.’
He looked at her, a strange expression on his face. ‘I sometimes think you don’t know me very well.’
‘Come on!’ Tess said, laughing. ‘I know you better than anyone!’
Adam looked as if he was going to say something else, but instead he said, ‘Well, it doesn’t matter. It’s over.’
The waiter bought the menu on a single sheet of handwritten paper, and Adam drank from a tumbler of wine.
‘Can you cancel—’ she began.
‘Called them while you were in the loo, earlier,’ he said. ‘No.’ He shrugged. ‘It was stupid of me to do it. I was just trying to make things right, it’s been so bad between us these last couple of weeks.’
Tess said, curiously, ‘What do you think went wrong?’
Adam scratched his head and grimaced. He patted the table firmly. ‘Well, it’s a combination of things, but—uh, yeah. It’s pretty much—yeah.’
‘Yeah what?’ said Tess gently, in her best don’t-scare-boys-and-they’ll-tell-you-stuff low voice.
‘Pretty much my fault, yeah,’ Adam said, nodding. He looked up and smiled, that dangerous, sexy smile that she knew so well. ‘I always do it, I know how to make them like me, but then they get to know me and—’ he pushed his hand firmly down on the table, a small controlled gesture—‘then they see that I’m not the nice uncomplicated bloke they thought I was.’
‘Oh, that’s not true,’ said Tess, thinking, Gosh, that’s so true. The waiter came back with some more wine and took their orders. Tess was surprised at Adam’s self-knowledge, and said so.
‘Come on, Tess;’ he said, laughing at her. ‘I’m not saying I’m this interesting complicated tortured person either. I’m just saying—they have this idea of me and the reality is more complicated. And more dull.’
‘How?’
‘They think I’m a nature-loving country boy with a nice smile who misses his mum and hates the Big Smoke, and that’s true, and then they think to themselves, Hang on, but his mum died over thirteen years ago, what the hell’s he doing?’ Adam’s smile grew more rigid: ‘And then they ask a bit more, and they say, “But he’s never really done anything. Oh, he got a place at university, he never took it. Oh, he was supposed to be this Classics genius, and instead he’s working three nights a week at a pub and giving out tickets to old ladies in a museum.”’
‘They don’t think that,’ said Tess.
‘They do, Tess,’ he said, putting his hand on hers. ‘And you do too. I know it.’ She shook her head at him. ‘Because it’s true.’
How did you say to someone you knew and loved so well that you agreed with their worst critics? That knowing them so well merely made you despair of them more, because you could see both their potential and the rut they’d got themselves into?
Tess didn’t know what to say. He was right. She drank from her glass. ‘You could go to teacher training college, perhaps?’ She wanted to help him, and she didn’t know how. ‘Finish your degree?’
Adam put up his hand. ‘Look,’ he said, calmly. ‘You don’t have to advise me. There’s just stuff I have to work out.’
‘I’m only trying to—’
‘I know what you’re trying to do, and don’t. I can’t explain it, it’s my problem, it’s within me and I have to sort it out. So just don’t. Let’s have a chilled evening and forget about it, about Francesca, about all that, shall we?’
His tone was still light; Tess rarely saw him furiously angry, but she knew him well enough to know when to leave it. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Just—Ad, if you ever need me—’ she put her elbows on the table—‘you know.’
‘I know, T,’ he said. He gripped her wrist. ‘Thanks.’
The starters arrived and they clinked glasses again; as if a switch had flicked the mood was suddenly lighter between them. ‘We haven’t done this for ages,’ Tess said, feeling happy. ‘Had dinner, the two of us.’
‘You’re right,’ said Adam. ‘Thanks, T. This is great. And listen, instead of going to Meena’s, why don’t we just go to the suite?’
She blinked rapidly at him, faux-batting her eyelashes. ‘Oh, Mr Smith. Claridge’s? Wow! You’re so stylish.’
‘Oh, eat your dinner, you awful girl,’ he said, switching the plates around so the asparagus was in front of him. ‘And don’t drink too much. You know wine on beer makes you insanely drunk.’ He raised his voice slightly. ‘Remember that night in Spain when we were fifteen and you tried to kiss that flamenco dancer, and he pushed you over and you fell on a cactus?’
Tess glowered at him and dipped her bread in her soup. ‘God, I loathe you,’ she said, as one of the diners at the table next to theirs stared at them both in astonishment.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Since Adam was obviously about a foot taller than Tess, and since they had spent a lot of their time in pubs since they were teenagers, she had long ago in their adolescence been given a special drinking dispensation. This was called ‘The Ringer’, and it basically meant Tess could ring a bell (usually imaginary) and order Adam another drink and a chaser at any point during the course of the evening.
That night, the Ringer was probably where it all started to go wrong.
‘What do you want to drink?’ Adam asked Tess, when they got to the French House after dinner. It was after ten thirty and both of them were slightly the worse for wear.
Tess leaned her elbows on the bar and stared up at the drinks, the clamour of the tiny, crowded room ringing in her ears. It was a warm evening, and the doors were flung open out onto the Soho street. Inside was organized chaos; old men in pork-pie hats nursing pints, a gaggle of students who were well on the way to being drunk; and four girls dressed in vintage, upholstered clothes, their glossy hair set in waves, red lipstick perfectly in place.
‘Yes, what can I get you?’ the woman behind the bar said briskly, flinging a glass in the air and catching it with one hand.
Tess nodded. ‘The Ringer,’ she said firmly. ‘You need to have the Ringer. I’m too drunk.’
She leaned forward and tapped a plastic cocktail stirrer at the glass the barmaid was holding. ‘The Ringer,’ she said, slightly indistinctly.
‘Never heard of it,’ the barmaid said, unimpressed.
‘Sorry,’ Adam stepped in hurriedly. ‘My friend is using code. What she means is, can she have a gin and tonic, a shot of tequila and a pint of—’ He scanned the list. ‘What beer do you have?’
‘Adam, they’re not going to have Butcombe’s here,’ Tess said. ‘We’re in London.’
‘And a pint of Stella,’ Adam said, ignoring her.
He carried the drinks to a ledge adjacent to the bar and set them down. ‘Cheers,’ he said. ‘Londontown.’
She raised her glass. ‘Londontown.’ He drank his shot, and she drank her gin and tonic.
‘That was nice,’ he said, picking up his pint. His eyes were alive. ‘OK, we’re on stage two!’
‘Stage three if you count the pub,’ Tess said. ‘Stage four if you count the train.’
‘You’re being pedantic,’ said Adam. He raised her glass to her mouth. ‘Drink up.’
‘OK.’ He tilted the glass so the liquid slid down her throat, and nodded encouragingly.
‘I’m just glad—no offence, I like Meena loads,’ he said. ‘But I’m just glad we’re going back to Claridge’s, somewhere we can walk to, not somewhere we have to peg it for the last tube.’
‘It’s actually pretty central, compared to some places.’ Tess was defensive of her old home.
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