Chapter 11
Adam
‘Ferg, do you only answer the phone the third time you’re called as a lifestyle choice, or do you just enjoy being annoying?’ Bil raises his eyebrows into the camera as Ferg’s face joins ours on the screen.
‘I don’t like having it on loud; it’s distracting.’ Ferg shrugs. ‘I was watering my tomatoes.’
‘You know the police are going to raid you one of these days,’ Piotr chips in. ‘They’ll see all the pigeons on your roof and know that you’re hotboxing the place.’
‘Well, they’ll be sorely disappointed once they get inside.’ Ferg has been attempting to grow every variety of tomato in his spare room for the last three years. He keeps the radiator on extra high to create a greenhouse effect, and his insulation is so shocking that the local birds use his roof as a roosting spot. He notices us laughing and tuts. ‘Say what you want, you won’t be complaining when I come to the Christmas buffet with a fresh panzanella.’
‘What in shit’s name is a panzanella?’ Bil cries.
Ferg rolls his eyes. ‘You’re all philistines.’
‘Anyway!’ I force my way into the conversation before it kicks off. ‘Let’s talk Dublin.’
‘No, wait,’ Ferg says. ‘‘Before Bil gets his laddish itinerary out and bores us all to death, tell us what’s up.’
‘Everything OK with Hugh?’ Piotr asks.
‘Hugh’s fine — his new home is brilliant.’ I smile, and I watch as the slight crease of worry smooths itself from Piotr’s forehead. They all experienced with me what happened at Hugh’s last residential care, and have been checking in more regularly than usual at this new one. ‘It’s nothing, really... well, OK, some good news, first. Remember that student I told you about? Okie, the really gifted kid?’ They nod. ‘Well I’m tutoring him into university.’
‘Wow, that’s amazing news!’ Bil cheers. ‘So he’s actually going to go and get his degree?’
‘He’s actually going to go and challenge himself, like he needs to.’ I grin. ‘ If I can pull it off.’
‘You will, mate.’ Piotr smiles. ‘Well done.’
‘We’ll see.’
‘So what’s up, then?’ Ferg asks, his black-and-white cat, Milo, snaking across his lap.
‘Honestly, it’s nothing. I’m probably overreacting.’
‘Maybe, but a problem shared is a problem halved and all that bollocks,’ Bil says.
‘Agh, I don’t know. It’s Katie.’ I feel disloyal even saying it. I have never spoken negatively about her behind her back.
‘What?’ Piotr leans in. ‘Katie? Is she OK?’
If there was ever a sign that me and Katie have been smooth sailing from the word go, it’s this. I bring up her name and they assume something’s wrong with her, not that our relationship might have hit a bump. My heart swells a little. We’re fine, everything’s fine — nothing could break this.
‘She’s OK.’ I take a breath. ‘She’s just been... she’s been off, really, recently. Not talking to me as much, not wanting to go near me, being a bit... secretive?’ Now I’m saying it out loud, it feels more real, and I realise that her behaviour can’t be swept under the rug. ‘And I found some stuff, in her bedside drawer.’
‘Oh, god.’ Ferg stares into the camera, his hand paused over Milo’s back. ‘What... kind of stuff?’
I shake my head. ‘Stuff I can’t really find an excuse for.’ I tell them what I found, laying out my reasons for looking and the guilt I felt. When I finish speaking, there’s a silence, and Bil coughs uncomfortably.
‘Well, look, maybe there’s a rational explanation,’ Piotr tries. ‘Maybe she’s bought it all for your next holiday, or—’
‘One of the condoms was missing and the cards look pretty well-used.’ I sigh, feeling defeated. ‘None of the underwear had any tags on it.’
There’s another silence, and I feel a headache coming on. Saying all of this, vocalising it, almost makes me feel stupid. Last night, when Katie got home, we sat and watched TV and I turned it all over in my head, trying to find a reason, an explanation that wouldn’t incriminate her but now that I’ve laid it out for the boys, I realise I was kidding myself.
‘This is really shit, Adam. I’m sorry,’ Ferg says eventually.
‘Well . . .’ Bil says.
‘What?’
‘No, nothing, it doesn’t matter.’ Bil shakes his head. ‘Maybe there’s an explanation.’
He says it half-heartedly, and I look closely at the screen. None of them seem as shocked as I’d expected. Piotr is looking down, away from the camera, and Ferg is shuffling awkwardly in his seat.
‘I texted her before I went into the drawer, asking if she minded me looking,’ I push on, ignoring their reaction. They know how good Katie and I were. They just don’t know what to say. ‘I’d already looked by the time she answered.’
There’s a pause, and I know what question is coming next. ‘What did she say when she replied?’
‘She said my passport wasn’t in there so there was no point in me looking.’ I rub my hand through my beard. ‘I told her I hadn’t looked, and she ran upstairs to get it when she got home, told me it was in the office drawer. I’d put it back where I’d found it, so I know that was a lie.’
Bil sighs. ‘You need to talk to her.’
‘But whatever explanation she comes out with, would he believe it?’ Piotr asks, a hint of anger in his voice. ‘Whatever she says, the seed of doubt has been planted.’ He looks at me and winces. ‘Sorry, Ad. I’m not trying to make you feel worse, I just can’t see an innocent explanation.’
‘Just because we can’t think of one, doesn’t mean there isn’t one, does it?’ I sit up in my chair. ‘This isn’t like her, is it? She wouldn’t do something like this?’
The silence is longer this time, and panic grips at my throat. Eventually, Bil leans towards the camera. ‘Whatever happens, Ad, we’re here — you know that, right?’
I shake my head. ‘Thank you, I know that, but—’
‘Have you heard from Chloe?’ Ferg blurts. ‘If she knew about all of this—’
Piotr talks loudly over him, and I swallow down a sick feeling at the sound of Chloe’s name. ‘No matter how it turns out, we’ve always got Dublin!’ he cheers, his voice too bright. ‘Come on, let’s take your mind off things. Ferg, we’ll get your museum requests out of the way first, and then we can get onto the fun stuff.’
‘I’ve got some brilliant distraction techniques,’ Bil pipes up. ‘You’ll forget all about this in no time.’
For the next half an hour Bil goes through his stag-weekend-esque plans for our trip to Dublin, and Fergus and Piotr rein his ideas into a manageable itinerary. I only half-listen to what’s being said. I can’t concentrate, the twinge of a headache I felt earlier is intensifying, and I feel dazed, confused, unable to make sense of things.
By the time we’re done, my head is somewhere else entirely. I end the phone call and pace the room, replaying their reactions in my mind. I’d expected shock, outrage, complete denial that anything could possibly be happening, but instead they seemed... unsurprised. Awkward. Pitying.
Chloe.
I shake my head and pull myself up, pushing everything out of my mind. I’m going to have to speak to Katie. Confrontation is not my strong suit. I hate feeling uncomfortable, and making other people feel awkward makes my skin crawl. I try to rally myself — this isn’t cut-and-dry, is it? There are a million potential explanations, and Katie deserves the chance to explain before my imagination runs away with me. I owe her that... but a large part of me wants to pretend it isn’t happening, close my eyes and wait for it to go away.
To distract myself, I call the University of Manchester switchboard and ask to be put through to disability support services. The woman at the end of the phone lists off the support available, and I jot it all down, the good news a pleasant distraction. Assistive software, human support, learning skills, library assistance... there’s so much potential. As she talks, I imagine how I’ll relay it all to Okie. Too much at once will make him retreat, but I want it to be clear that he won’t be doing this alone.
For brief moments, I am excited and absorbed in the information I’m getting, but every time Katie is out of my head, a noise outside makes my eyes dart to the window, bringing me back to reality, checking whether she’s home.
The woman at the end of the phone transfers me over to the admissions team, and I go to the kitchen to make a coffee while I listen to the hold music. As I’m filling the cafetière, I unwillingly practice what I’m going to say to Katie. Will I be direct? Present her with the evidence straight off the bat? Or will I sit her down, ask if she has anything to tell me, give her the opportunity to explain herself more civilly?
There must be an innocent reason behind what I found, I think as I push the plunger down, Pharell Williams’ Happy blasting in my ear for the second time, no matter how convinced the boys seemed to be. Could those objects be from a previous relationship? Katie had several boyfriends before we met, and while she’s not a sentimental person, it wouldn’t be completely beyond the realms of possibility that she’d keep things from her past. I’ve got a keyring from Mexico that I bought while on holiday with my ex-girlfriend. It’s similar, isn’t it?
On autopilot, I begin walking up the stairs as the pre-recorded voice on the phone apologises for my wait. My hand is in the drawer before I even know what I’m doing. I dig around; the bag was at the back, near the bottom... where is it?
I shift the phone to my other ear, using my shoulder to prop it up as I move things around carefully. If I can just check the date on the condoms...
‘Hello, University of Manchester admissions, how can I help you?’
It takes me a second to remember what I’m supposed to be doing.
‘Oh, hi.’ I keep riffling, pulling things out onto the bed and pushing papers from side to side. ‘I’m enquiring on behalf of one of my students; he’s hoping to apply this year, and—’
A noise downstairs makes me pause.
‘Hello?’ The man on the phone chirps.
It’s a key in the door. Katie’s home.
‘I have to go.’ I stab the ‘end call’ button and throw everything back into the drawer, kicking it shut with my foot once, twice before it finally closes.
‘Adam?’ Katie’s coming up the stairs quickly, her feet heavy on the carpet. ‘What’s that banging?’
I throw myself backwards onto the bed, rolling over to my side and holding my phone in front of my face. I try to slow my breathing as she enters the room.
‘What’s going on?’ She glances around, and I notice her eyes pause on her bedside cabinet. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘Yeah,’ I say automatically, feigning distraction from my screen. ‘Everything’s fine.’