Chapter 12
Adam
I still haven’t said anything.
It’s not that I’m certain nothing’s going on, although I’m pretty sure it isn’t... but there’s a part of me — a big part, a hopeful part — that’s sure this must be a big misunderstanding.
An even bigger part of me knows that once I open the box, there’ll be no going back. Accusing Katie is like throwing a grenade into a room full of balloons.
It’s three hours since she got home, and I’m half watching The Repair Shop while I do this week’s marking. Katie’s in the kitchen, making pasta and humming happily.
‘Linguine or spaghetti?’ she calls, and I look up.
‘I don’t mind.’ I smile, but it feels wobbly. What if this is our last evening together? No, it couldn’t be. It’s inconceivable.
I drag my eyes back to my marking, trying to concentrate on the equations in front of me. She couldn’t have, could she? And if she has, what does that mean for us? I try to imagine a world without Katie in it, but I can’t. Maybe I should let this slide; whether she’s been with someone else or not, our relationship might stand a better chance if she’s got it out of her system.
I sit back in my chair, shocked at myself. What am I thinking? Let her cheat on me so she doesn’t realise how bored she is? I grip my pen tighter in my hand.
‘Tea’s ready!’ she calls through again, and I stand up and make my way into the kitchen.
‘It’s just a basic tomato thing from a jar, sorry,’ she says, sitting down. ‘I couldn’t be bothered chopping onions.’
‘It looks great.’ I twirl some pasta around my fork but my stomach churns.
There’s silence as we eat, but as I force another mouthful down I realise she’s staring at me.
‘What?’ I try to laugh.
‘We haven’t spent much time together lately.’ She’s holding her fork in mid-air, her dark eyes trained on mine. A droplet of pasta sauce hits the table and splatters onto the side of her bowl.
I swallow. ‘I know. I’ve missed you.’
Is it over? Is whatever she’s been doing finished?
She hasn’t been doing anything. There’s nothing going on.
‘Let’s go somewhere this weekend. The beach. We could get a hotel, maybe? Go for a big walk and a nice dinner?’ She’s looking at me, pleading, as if she knows I know. Or am I imagining things?
‘That sounds good.’ I can’t help it; the idea is intoxicating. A night away together, a meal out, fresh air. We could talk things through and put it all behind us.
‘Great.’ She smiles and sits back in her chair, looking relieved. ‘What do you reckon, St. Anne’s?’
‘Or Blackpool,’ I tease. She hates Blackpool; every summer of her childhood was spent at Pontins and she doesn’t have fond memories.
‘Shut up.’ She laughs, reaching over and swiping me on the arm.
Impulse makes me grab her hand. ‘I love you.’
Her eyes widen, then she shakes her head and laughs, tugging her hand back. ‘Where’s that come from?’
I shrug, trying to ignore the sting from her reaction. ‘We don’t say it as much anymore.’
She picks up her fork and moves the remaining spaghetti around her plate, not meeting my eyes. ‘That’s just the nature of relationships, isn’t it? The longer you’re together the less sugar-sweet everything is.’
I think back to Dominic and his ‘everything turns to shit’ attitude. ‘Well, maybe I liked it when things were sweeter.’
A flush creeps up her neck, as if she’s embarrassed for me. ‘Adam,’ she laughs again, her eyebrows furrowed, ‘what’s going on?’
‘Nothing.’ I smile. ‘Just a thought.’
I stand up from the table and clear the plates, taking them to the sink, rinsing the cutlery and stacking the dishwasher, my back turned. When I glance over my shoulder she’s gone into the living room, and I can hear the TV.
She didn’t say it back.
But she wants a weekend with me.
I clear the sides and wipe down the table, putting my phone on charge next to the toaster. I make two cups of tea and take them into the living room, placing them on the table and sitting next to Katie on the sofa.
‘What are we watching?’ I ask.
She shuffles forwards and cups her tea in her hands. ‘I might go and run a bath, actually.’
‘Oh, OK.’ I watch her as she stands up and makes her way towards the door, leaving behind the TV programme she just put on.
She stops as she reaches the door. ‘Have a think about where you want to go this weekend. I think there’s a new spa hotel in Lytham we could try?’
Despite everything, my heart lifts again. ‘I’ll have a look.’
She disappears upstairs and I sink back into the sofa. My impulse to bury my head in the sand is almost overwhelming. I could watch Selling Sunset , drink my tea, go to bed and then wake up tomorrow pretending none of this is happening.
I pull my feet up onto the sofa and let my head fall back onto a cushion. Say we did go away this weekend... we’re in the middle of a heatwave and the beach would be the perfect place to be. We could go swimming, get ice cream, sit on the pier. Maybe, after that, we’d reconnect.
The thought of the distraction swims tantalisingly around my head. I’ll just check the weather, make sure that the heat isn’t due to break. Then I can have a look at some hotels...
My phone is in the kitchen, so I absentmindedly pick Katie’s up from the table, keying in her PIN to unlock it: 240318 — the day we got together. The phone judders and I sigh, entering it again, assuming I’ve made a mistake. It vibrates again, clearing the numbers I entered and telling me I have five more attempts. Has she changed the code? I type it slowly this time, saying each number out loud.
Incorrect.
My heart picks up pace, thudding quickly. Why would she have changed the code? She’s had the same PIN since a few months after we met. I ignore the alarm bells as another thought occurs to me — she logged my fingerprint alongside her own when she got this phone. It’s something we’ve done since fingerprint recognition became a thing, not due to a lack of trust, but for ease — when she needs me to reply to a text, or I need her to check the map on my phone, it’s easier if we can quickly unlock.
I place my thumb over the sensor and it judders again. I try the other thumb — nothing. I adjust my angle, being careful, but the phone stays locked, again and again, until it tells me that fingerprint access is disabled and I’ll have to enter the PIN.
I’m on my feet before I can think, running up the stairs with the phone in my hand. I open the bathroom door and Katie gasps, sitting up in the bubbles.
‘Adam! I’m in the bath!’ Her hair is damp and wisps of it are clinging to her forehead.
‘Have you changed your phone code?’
‘What?’ She wraps her arms around herself.
‘And have you disabled my thumbprint?’
‘Have you been snooping ?’
I breathe deeply, feeling the tears building behind my nose. ‘Are you cheating on me?’
She stares at me, her mouth open. The bathroom smells of lavender and vanilla, and on the mirror is a heart I drew for her weeks ago, brought to life again by the steam.
‘Katie!’ I shout, my voice cracking. ‘Answer me!’
She stays silent.
I feel something inside me crumble. ‘I found all the stuff in your drawers.’
‘What stuff?’ Her ears are pink.
‘You know what stuff!’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about—’
‘You moved it all, after I said I was going to look for my passport. The underwear, the cards, the con—’
‘Stop it!’ she shrieks, standing up and spraying water across the floor. She snatches her towel from the rail and steps onto the bathmat. ‘Just stop talking, Adam.’
‘Why? Because otherwise you’ll have to admit what you’ve done?’
She stares at me, her eyes round and her face flushed. She looks so beautiful, I can’t stand it.
‘What the fuck, Katie,’ I whisper.
She pulls her towel tight around herself and pushes her hair from her face. ‘I was going to stop.’
Her words don’t reach me immediately, it takes a few seconds to process their meaning. And then it comes like a punch, right in my chest. ‘It’s still... you’re still...’
Her mouth drops open again as she realises what she’s said.
How could I be so stupid ? I was going to let this slide, book us a hotel, try to see the positives.
‘Who is he?’ I step further into the bathroom and sink down onto the toilet seat. I put my head in my hands and stare at her toes on the bathmat in front of me; did she put that red nail polish on for him? I remember the night of the awards, her red lipstick and black dress. Her absence. Who was she dressing up for?
When she finally speaks, it’s so quiet I can barely hear. ‘A guy from work.’
I don’t want to know any more. I don’t want a name, or an age, or a ‘how many times’ or ‘do you love him’. I know that she doesn’t love me, and that’s enough.
‘Adam.’ She bends down and rests her head on top of mine, and the damp warmth of her tears me in two. I’ll never hold her again.
‘I’ll sleep in the spare room,’ I say, standing up and pushing past her.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ she calls after me. ‘I’ll go and stay somewhere else.’
No more nights together. I stride into the bedroom, closing the door behind me as my heart cracks and breaks over and over again.