Chapter 46
Eve
The studio space Jess rents is advertised as being calm and tranquil, an oasis for the mind, but in reality it looks like a bomb’s hit it.
There are half-full cups of tea everywhere, and patches of mud by the door where people have wiped their feet. Yoga mats are crumpled in the corner, and books and papers are scattered across the table by the window.
I tread softly across the small room, conscious of the sessions going on downstairs, and perch on the edge of the desk. I should clean this for her. I don’t visit enough, really — she always comes to me. I stand up again and start collecting the cups, placing them in neat stacks on the windowsill. She’s doing her Sunday sessions this afternoon, so I know she’ll be here soon. I’m shuffling the papers into some kind of order when the door opens and she walks in.
She blinks at me. ‘Hi?’
‘Hey.’ I smile sheepishly. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.’
She walks over to the corner of the room and bundles two mats into her arms. ‘You can clean any time you want to.’ She smiles and lays the mats down in the middle of the floor. ‘Sit.’
I push down the urge to say no, and join her on the floor. ‘How are you?’
‘Good.’ She leans on her elbows, arching her back. ‘I’m good.’
‘You feeling OK about . . . you know?’
‘I have my days.’ She sighs and sits upright. ‘But distance and hindsight are great healers.’
‘Yeah.’ I look down at my feet. I want to be there for her, but I missed the moment I was needed.
‘So what’s up?’ She wraps her arms around her knees. ‘Have you seen Will?’
‘No, not yet.’ I swallow. ‘I’ve messaged him a few times, but I think he needs space. From me.’
Jess leans forward and wraps me in a hug, burying me into her shoulder. ‘It’s all going to be OK, Eve.’
I squeeze her back and then pull away, tears gathering in my eyes. I was right: now that I’ve started, I don’t seem to be able to stop. ‘I don’t want to make this all about me.’
‘No.’ She studies me. ‘But sometimes it’s OK for it to be about you.’
‘But just sometimes.’ I smile.
She lies down on her mat, her knees bent, and I join her. Together, we stare at the flaking plaster on the ceiling.
‘I rewrote my manifestation thingies for you,’ I say.
She slaps her hands to her chest dramatically. ‘You did ? Read them to me!’
I laugh. ‘OK.’ I find the piece of paper in my pocket and hold it above my face.
‘Number one: Stop thinking so much about work.’
‘Good!’
‘Number two: Go freelance.’
‘Sort of contradicts the first one, but—’
‘Hey!’ I interrupt. ‘Can I finish?’
‘Sorry, go on.’
‘Number three: Be a better friend,’ I say, my voice less confident now.
Jess reaches over and squeezes my hand.
‘Number four . . .’ I trail off, feeling self-conscious.
‘Number four?’ she asks.
I clear my throat. ‘Number four: Meet a guy.’
Jess sits up so quickly one of her dreadlocks whips her across the face. ‘Come again?’
‘Don’t make me say it twice!’
‘Who is he?’ She hones in on me like an aged detective in an ITV drama. ‘Who? Where did you meet him?’
‘There’s no one!’ I protest, my face flushing. ‘I just want to... give it a go. Be more open to it.’
She narrows her eyes at me. ‘Liar.’
I look back at her. It’s on the tip of my tongue. Adam. I haven’t done this before, haven’t discussed love interests with friends. There have been no love interests. The way Adam makes me feel is confusing and terrifying. The way I slept when I lay next to him, the safety he radiates, petrifies me. For less than a day, in Windermere, I felt like I’d come home to myself.
When I saw the text come through on his phone when he was in the shower, the message hidden behind the lock screen, I brushed it away. Chloe. A friend, a student, none of my business.
And then, later, his phone went off again.
Are you . . . dating?
Absolutely not.
Adam is the antithesis of anyone I have been with before. He has none of Graham’s arrogance and bravado, and none of the vacuous self-interest of my Tryst conquests. He’s the type of man I’ve never met — never allowed myself to meet — because he’s kind, and interesting, and human.
But that notification sound; that soundtrack to my entire dating history. Hearing it come from him, when that section of my life was so firmly separate from everything I felt in Windermere, has sent doubts rippling through my mind. He lied to me. He’ll leave me. And even if he wouldn’t, it couldn’t work — it wouldn’t work. I am not made for people like him.
Jess is still looking at me.
‘No one,’ I say. ‘There’s no one.’
* * *
I am pacing my living room, allowing myself a small relapse into my old habits while I figure out what I’m going to say.
Will won’t tell me what’s wrong, but it doesn’t take a genius. When I went round to his house, Nina was nowhere to be seen, and he was asleep in the middle of the day. Either she’s gone, or he’s turfed her out — and she’s taken the baby.
I have to listen. My mind pushes me to find solutions: can they try couples therapy, could they get a babysitter, are there any apps they can try? But I force myself to sweep them to one side. Will doesn’t need my solutions, he needs to know that I’m here for him.
I’m still mulling things over when there’s a knock at the door. My heart jumps. Is it Will? Or Adam? I sent him that text with links to the autism charities because I physically couldn’t stop myself, but I haven’t responded to his thank you message. Has he come round to see me?
I pull the door open quickly, my breath caught in my throat.
It’s Graham.
‘Hey.’ He’s wearing a tailored blazer and nice jeans.
It takes me a moment to gather my thoughts, and then I step back to let him in.
He stands in the middle of the living room.
‘Coffee?’ I ask.
‘No, thanks.’ He buries his hands in his pockets. His hair is cast back again, neatly coiffed against his head.
‘What’s up?’ I run my fingers through my fringe. He’s surprised me, turning up like this.
‘I want to talk to you.’ He sounds serious.
‘Oh? Is it about work?’
He shakes his head, smiling. ‘No, Eve. It’s not about work.’
‘OK . . .’
‘We’ve got to stop doing this,’ he says quickly, as if he’s forcing it out.
‘Doing what?’
‘ This .’ He gestures to the space between us.
‘Sleeping together?’ I frown at him. We haven’t spoken since Dublin.
‘Messing with each other’s heads,’ he says plainly. ‘I can’t take it anymore.’
‘Alright.’ I nod, surprised at how easily I’m willing to put this behind me. ‘OK, I get it.’
He takes a step towards me, and a breeze from the open back door makes me shiver. The heatwave is winding down.
‘You . . . get it?’
‘Yeah.’ I look up at him. ‘I’m sorry.’
He pauses. ‘About what?’
‘About... using you. To get at Kirsty.’ I shake my head. ‘It was really shitty. I’ve been unbelievably selfish, and I didn’t look beyond my own end goals.’
He closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them, he’s looking at me differently. ‘It’s OK.’
He takes another step toward me and reaches out his hand, tucking a stray hair behind my ear. He’s so close now I can feel the heat of him. He leans down to me, brushing his lips against my cheek.
For a moment, I’m consumed by it. It would be so easy, so familiar. The smell of him, the feel of him, every tiny part of him: I know it like the back of my hand. I tip my head back, and he grazes my neck with his mouth.
‘I think I love you, Eve,’ he murmurs.
I step back quickly, my heart pounding. ‘What?’
His eyes are wide, shocked. ‘I—’
‘You think you what?’
His mouth moves, trying to form words. ‘I thought we just agreed — we—’
I take a deep breath. ‘We agreed to stop messing with each other. We agreed to end this.’
‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘I meant — I meant that I wanted this. All of it. I meant that I wanted us to stop treating each other so casually.’
I take another step backwards. ‘Graham, no. We’re fucking terrible for each other. I’m terrible for you .’
‘Only because that’s how we’ve always been.’ He holds his hands out now, pleading. ‘Eve, just listen to me—’
‘I can’t,’ I say, resolute now. ‘I agree with you, it’s got to stop.’
He looks at me, and I know he knows that there’s no changing my mind. His arms drop to his sides.
I feel it inside me like a warm, solid stone: there won’t be a next time, not with Graham. That story has ended, and it’s time to move on.