Chapter 20
Adam
The heat wakes me and I lie for a moment, feeling the dampness of my sweat on the duvet. Katie’s arm is draped across my chest, her skin clammy against mine.
I close my eyes again and roll over. The draft from the movement cools my skin and I shiver. Katie shifts and I curl my arm around her, my hand flat against her collarbone. Her hair tickles my face and I move my head, wrinkling my nose. She’s using a new shampoo — it was always strawberries, but now it’s... peach? Apricot?
Images of fruits pass across my mind as I drift between waking and dreaming. Is it pear? Apple?
My eyes flicker open as I think, and an unfamiliar brightness hits me, waking me up.
Blonde hair. Not brown. Not Katie.
Becky.
I startle, pulling my arm from around her and shuffling backwards across the bed. It all comes back: another pint for me, another vodka soda for her. Searching in her eyes for Katie, or for something new. Convincing myself, as the night wore on and empty glasses piled higher, that there was something there. Her laugh: contagious. Our differences: surmountable. Linking her arm as we stepped out onto the street, feeling the strangeness of the height difference, her mannerisms.
Asking her to come back to mine.
Sleeping with her in our bed.
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. Katie isn’t the last person I’ve slept with anymore. She isn’t the last anything; Becky has taken her place.
‘Morning.’ Becky stirs and turns to face me, her eyes sleepy.
‘Good morning.’ I smile, and swing my legs out of bed before anything happens. ‘Do you want a coffee?’
Her eyes widen as she tucks the duvet around herself. ‘Sure. I’ll come down in a second.’
I go to the kitchen and flick the kettle on, thinking. I hear Becky’s feet creak across the floorboards upstairs, and it’s impossible to imagine it’s anyone but Katie. The boiler kicks in as the shower starts running, and I pull out my phone.
There’s another text from Chloe. It came in last night at midnight.
You can’t ignore me forever, Adam.
I swipe off it quickly and tap through the call screen.
‘Hey, Ad,’ Piotr answers the phone on the second ring.
‘I’ve fucked up,’ I say, running one hand down my face. ‘I slept with someone.’
Piotr cheers. ‘That’s not a fuck up, mate! That’s great!’
‘No, no, it isn’t.’ I pace into the living room and back again, keeping one ear trained on the boiler. ‘I don’t like her.’
‘So? You don’t always have to be in love with the people you sleep with.’
‘I don’t mean I should love her, I mean... she likes me, I think, and now I’ve led her on—’
‘Ad, calm down. It’s fine. These things happen. Just be upfront with her,’ Piotr soothes.
‘She’s a nurse at Hugh’s care home,’ I hiss.
‘Oh, shit, the new one? Rebecca, is it?’
‘Becky, yeah,’ I say quietly, and then pause as I stand at the bottom of the stairs, listening.
‘Well, mate, she seems like a really nice girl. I’m sure she’ll understand.’
I press my head against the cool wood of the banister. ‘OK. OK, yeah, I’m sure you’re right. I’ll speak to her.’ The boiler clicks off, and I hear the shower door opening. ‘I’ve got to go, I’ll speak to you later.’
I end the call and go back to the kitchen, pouring the coffees and setting them on the table. I’m putting bread in the toaster when Becky comes in, freshly showered and fully dressed.
She smiles and stares at her feet. ‘Hey.’
‘Morning again.’ I gesture towards the kitchen table and she sits down. ‘I made you coffee, do you want sugar?’
‘No, thanks.’ She takes a sip.
‘Toast?’
‘I’m OK.’
We fall into silence until the toaster pings. I carry the plate over to the table.
‘I had a really nice time last night,’ I say as I sit down. I haven’t done this in so long — years — I’m not sure where to start.
‘Me too.’
‘I’ve... well, I just got out of a long-term relationship, as you know,’ I start. ‘And I’m not sure... well, I don’t think I can do this again for a while.’
Becky smiles sadly. ‘Wow, straight into it.’
‘I know, I’m sorry, I just . . .’
‘It’s OK. Maybe we can try again when you’re in the right headspace,’ she suggests.
‘Maybe,’ I begin, but I shake myself. I need to be honest. ‘I think — I mean, we’re quite different people, aren’t we? I’m not sure this would work at all.’
Her face hardens. ‘So what is it, you’ve just got out of a relationship, or you don’t like me?’
‘It’s not that I don’t like you!’ I say, floundering. ‘We’re just... we’re not compatible, I don’t think. It’s not your fault — you’re brilliant — sometimes it just doesn’t... click .’
She nods. ‘So it’s both. You’re unavailable and I’m unattractive.’
‘No!’ I say, panicked now. ‘You’re beautiful! When I saw you last night, I mean, wow, you were—’
‘So it’s my personality?’ she challenges.
She’s sort of right on this one, but I don’t want to hurt her feelings. ‘Definitely not! You’re great. I just think our personalities together —’
‘ Don’t worry about it.’ She stands up and pulls her bag up onto her shoulder. ‘I should be going anyway.’
‘Oh, you don’t have to leave...’ I follow her out into the hallway. ‘Don’t you want to finish your coffee?’
She swings the front door open and turns to face me, flicking her hair across her shoulder. ‘Goodbye, Adam.’
The door slams behind her, and she’s gone.
* * *
‘Well, that’s two women who’ve left my house hating me in as many weeks,’ I say, my legs sticking out of the back door.
Old Sausage looks up from licking his paws and regards me steadily.
‘I know, I know.’ I sigh. ‘I’m cursed. And now I’m dreading going to visit Hugh in case she’s there. How ridiculous is that?’
I pluck another treat from the bag I’ve bought from the corner shop and toss it in his direction. ‘I’ve got this really horrible feeling, you know. Like history’s going to repeat itself. What if her hating me affects Hugh’s care? What if I’ve fucked things up for him?’
Old Sausage nibbles on his treat and ignores me.
‘You’re right, I’m overthinking it. I always overthink things.’ I pull my phone out of my pocket. ‘I need to distract myself.’
I pull up the AQA examinations page and look up the November exam times. There’s a college near Okie’s house that hosts the maths and physics papers twice a year, so I take a screenshot to show him.
‘I’m brewing up, you want one?’ I ask Old Sausage. He blinks.
I get a dish of water and make another coffee for myself, keeping my eyes trained on my phone as the kettle boils. No texts from Becky, but that’s to be expected. Still nothing from Katie, either — she said she’d come and get her stuff and let me know about the mortgage, but so far, nothing.
I fire off a text to her, asking when she’s planning on coming over, and then take my drink back outside.
Old Sausage isn’t where I left him, and the garden is empty. I peer over the fences, to where I saw him the other day, and sure enough, he’s sitting at the back door of the same house two doors down. That must be his owner.
I make a mental note to go and knock on later in the week, in case they’ve been missing him, and then sit back down on the back step, willing the hint of a breeze to come my way.
My phone vibrates in my pocket: a text from Katie. My heart leaps.
I’ll be over tomorrow at 6 to get my stuff. RE: the house, I’d like to sell it, if you’re happy with that.
My stomach drops. She’s not going to change her mind. She’s not coming back.
I stand up, unsteady on my feet. Something new and unfamiliar burns in my belly.
She can take my trust, my life, everything we had.
But she isn’t taking my home.