‘Sam that was years ago—’ Rose started, but I interrupted her.
‘It’s okay Rose.’ I ran my fingers through my hair. ‘He’s right, isn’t he? I mean, if Adam is back for good, it’s going to be weird for both of us. It’s not as though I can pretend to Greg that Adam never meant anything to me. He was there.’ I had a sudden urge to be by myself. I pulled myself to standing. ‘I’m going to the loo.’
As I locked the toilet door behind me I let out a huge sigh. Seeing Adam for the first time in eighteen years had sent my mind into turmoil, flashbacks spiralling in uninvited until I couldn’t work out what was up and what was down. I sat on the closed loo seat and dropped my head into my hands, letting the memories come.
I’d been relatively innocent before Adam had walked into my life. Of course I’d kissed a few boys, had a few boyfriends; a fumbling snog with Danny Hardman at a year nine party had been my first. He’d tasted of cigarettes and Pot Noodle and he’d put his hand in my bra as we’d kissed out the back of the social club by the bins. I’d even gone out with a couple of boys in my year after that first kiss. Trips to the cinema to seeBend It Like BeckhamorAbout a Boy, an awkward dinner with Matty Sampson at a local Italian where we’d had nothing to talk about so had ended up getting outrageously drunk on Lambrusco to try and make up for it.
But I’d known Adam had been different the moment I set eyes on him. He didn’t have the same identikit undercut haircut with a floppy fringe that all the boys at my school had – his had been longer, less styled, freer. He’d gone to a different school – no nylon blazers for him; no Friday night fish and chip suppers from the local chippy. His life was mysterious. Exciting. Dangerous.
And while the other boys had made me feel warm as we snogged, with Adam I felt as though my insides were poker hot, as though the desire could burn me from the inside out from our very first kiss.
When we’d split up, I’d struggled. How could my life possibly go on without him in it? I’d thought about him constantly for weeks, tortured myself imagining what he was up to, wondering whether he was thinking about me. I’d even pictured him walking back through the doors of the pub and declaring his undying love for me in front of everyone. And as I’d just admitted to Sam, I had looked him up online a few times too, but it was always from a step removed, the photos of him and his band on stage in various venues around the world lacking any relevance to my life back home.
Over the years the memories of him had gradually faded, parcelled away on a high shelf away from harm so I could no longer picture his face clearly. And I knew it was for the best. After all, I had Greg, and Greg and I were happy. Greg loved me, I loved him.
Nothing could come between us, not after all this time.
Until now.
The trouble was, Greg and I were now in trouble. For the first time in our thirteen-year marriage, he was no longer the safe sanctuary I’d always assumed he would be, and it had pushed our marriage to the limit. Five months ago I’d discovered that Greg had gambled away almost everything we owned – including our house. The constant rows following the revelation meant that the bitterness had chipped away at the foundations of our marriage with every snide comment, every misplaced word. We’d been working hard to repair it, but things were still fragile, the stability we’d always had seriously compromised – and I knew that telling Greg about Adam being back in town would only set us back again.
I stood, washed my hands and headed back to the living room to find Rose and Sam. As I walked in, the pair of them abruptly stopped talking.
‘So what are you going to do?’ Sam said as I sat back down.
‘She’s not going to do anything, Samuel,’ Rose cut in sharply before I could answer. She fixed me with a look. ‘You’re going to steer well clear of Adam, aren’t you Erin?’
I nodded slowly. ‘Absolutely,’ I agreed.
‘See?’ Rose turned to Sam triumphantly. But Sam was watching me, and I could see from the look in his eyes that he didn’t believe a word I was saying.
2
NOW
Kasabian: ‘Club Foot’
Until recently, if anyone had ever asked me to describe Greg, I’d have said he was solid. Dependable. Kind. Thoughtful. Then they would say how wonderful he sounded, and how lucky I was. And of course, I was. Who didn’t want to feel loved and safe?
For years – eighteen years to be exact – it had been more than enough for me. Greg’s love had kept me grounded, focused. Happy. Things might be on more shaky ground at the moment, but Greg’s mild manners and kind demeanour were what was on my mind and what was making me feel so wretched as I walked through the door after leaving Sam’s flat, having spent the entire evening talking and thinking about another man.
As I closed the front door behind me I called his name and heard a muffled reply from the back of the house. I slipped off my shoes, hung up my coat, and made my way into the kitchen as my cat, named Dog (don’t ask), purred round my feet. I bent to give him a stroke and found Greg in the kitchen chopping vegetables with his back to me. He turned when he heard me and smiled, waving a knife in the air.
‘There’s a bottle of white open in the fridge,’ he said, indicating the half-drunk glass he already had next to him.
‘Thanks.’ I smiled gratefully, grabbed the bottle and poured myself a large glass and topped Greg’s up. As I leant over him, he planted a kiss on my forehead and I forced another smile.
‘Good day?’ he mumbled into my ear as I pulled away.
‘Not bad.’
‘Get all your Christmas shopping done?’
‘Most of it, yeah.’
He peered round the kitchen to see where the bags were, like a child searching for Father Christmas, and I felt a flame of anger.
‘There’s nothing for you; I can’t afford it,’ I snapped, and then instantly regretted it as I watched his face fall. ‘Sorry.’ I took a gulp of my wine and didn’t meet his eyes.
