Chapter 53
Adam
Whatever you felt, you were on your own.
The words thunder around my head like boulders, knocking everything I thought off balance. I sit outside under the umbrella and stare at the chair where Chloe sat yesterday.
‘So, any danger of moving on any time soon?’ she’d asked, before shaking her head. She’d placed her beer on the table. ‘Sorry, I know you don’t take these things lightly.’
‘No, it’s OK.’ I’d surprised myself with how relaxed I was talking about it, how quickly I felt able to discuss a future without Katie. ‘I thought there was someone, but I think she’s got a boyfriend.’
Chloe had leaned forward in her seat. ‘Who?’
‘A girl two doors down.’ I’d nodded over the fences. ‘We... well, I certainly feel something, and I’m pretty sure she does too. But the other day I went over and she was... she was kissing someone. In her kitchen.’
Chloe had leaned back, letting a thin stream of air out through her teeth. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Unless he was sucking snake poison out of her neck, I’m sure.’
‘Might it have been a fling? You two weren’t serious, were you?’
‘God, no. We’ve never even kissed. Never... I don’t know, I just felt it. But maybe I was wrong.’
She’d shaken her head. ‘What if, though? What if it was just some one-night thing? Or some guy she was casually sleeping with?’
The thought hadn’t occurred to me. ‘What if it was?’
‘Well, wouldn’t it be a waste to chuck what you’re feeling away on a presumption?’
I’d thought about it for a moment.
‘Come on. At least ask her.’ Chloe had smiled mischievously. ‘What do you have to lose?’
* * *
And then I’d gone over there, and I’d said all those things about hating cheating, hoping that she’d say she was single, there was no one.
But she hadn’t.
She’d told me, in a voice that sliced right through me, that she felt nothing for me. She’d told me that she hated cheaters.
So I was right. She isn’t single, and I’ve misread everything.
Old Sausage appears over the fence and leaps onto the patio. At first, I don’t recognise her, but the matted ears give her away.
‘Come here,’ I say, reaching out my hand. ‘What’s this?’
I feel the collar around her neck. Orange, with tiny palm trees. My heart rate quickens. Fucking Palmgroves .
It’s nothing, I think as I run my fingers along the tweed fabric. She felt nothing, and this is nothing, too. A quirky collar. She probably didn’t even think about it.
My heart feels so heavy, I can’t focus on the marking that’s in front of me. Okie’s paper: it’s probably all correct anyway. What’s the point?
I sit back in my chair, surprised at myself. When have I been like this? I’ve never brushed the importance of a student’s work off like this before. Never been so readily careless.
I lean forward again, forcing my eyes to read through the questions and answers. But it’s no use. I pull out my phone and pull up the Florina website. She said she was having problems at work, her name might not even be on here. I scroll through until I find ‘Our Manchester Team’.
I spot her immediately: dark hair, bright eyes, straight shoulders. A fierce, defiant look on her black-and-white face.
Eve Slater — Head of Digital Marketing
I tap into Instagram.
I type Eve Slater .
There are so many of them, and I almost give up. What am I doing? This is over; it never was anything in the first place. I go to close the app, but my eyes land on her face, a few names down, past the blue ticks and bots. Manchester, UK.
I tap into her profile, keeping my thumb steady to avoid pressing anything I shouldn’t. The majority of her feed is work stuff: campaigns, pictures of flowers, edited posters of inspirational marketing advertisements. But there, a bit further down, is a selfie with three people in it. Eve’s in the middle, the girl on the right holding the phone to take the picture. To her left is a man. Him.
He’s been tagged: Graham Holden.
The image of him kissing her in the kitchen the other day, the way she’d tilted her head back, flashes in my mind. I tap into his profile automatically.
He posts much more regularly than her; almost daily pictures of nights out and Manchester scenery. I can’t see Eve in any of the pictures, but the most recent post, dated just two days ago, is of him with a tall, red-haired woman. He has his arm around her waist, and she’s kissing his cheek.
The caption reads: Out with the old, in with the new... time to move on to pastures greener ;)
I drop my phone onto the table. It’s him. It’s definitely him; I’d recognise that slicked-back hair and tailored blazer anywhere. But what does this mean? This was two days ago, posted shortly after I’d seen them in the kitchen. Had they broken up? Oh, god. This throws my conversation with her last night into a whole new light. She’s mourning a breakup, and I’m blathering on to her about cheating.
I run my hands through my hair. But she still said it, didn’t she? She felt nothing. I’m on my own with my feelings.
I pick up my phone again. Even if she feels nothing, she deserves an apology. Shakily, I tap out a message.
Hey. I’m so sorry about last night. It was wrong of me to assume and accuse you. I get it if you don’t want to speak to me anymore. X
I wait a few moments and watch as the message is delivered, and then read.
She doesn’t reply.