‘No,’ Amy said, her tone suddenly clear and ice-cold. ‘I’m not going anywhere with you.’
‘What?’ Sam demanded, annoyed. ‘What have I done now? I thought we were OK again? Actually, fuck it. Whatever you’re mad with me about, it doesn’tmatterright now. All that matters is getting you the help you need.’
‘I don’t need any help!’ she spat back.
‘Because you’re clearly doing brilliantly,’ he said sardonically. He folded his arms and stared at her, his gaze skipping over every feature of her face until it settled on her eyes. He sighed, all the fight seeming to drain from him. ‘Please. Just … What can I do?’
‘You can leave me alone,’ she told him. ‘Like I tried to tell you before, from now on we only talk about work– and only when we absolutely have to. The rest of the time I don’t want to see you or hear from you. Ever. At all.’
Sam bent and put his head in his hands, then straightened up and shoved his sopping wet hair out of his despairing eyes.
‘For God’s sake, Amy, I can’t keep up with your moods! One day you seem to hate me, then you …don’t. And then we’re back to this. I don’t understand,’ he groaned. ‘I’m sorry I almost went too far that day we drank the wine– I know it made you uncomfortable. But I thought we were getting on, at least. Not hating every minute spent in one another’s company.’
Amy said nothing, at a loss for an honest comeback that was sufficiently cutting. It was difficult to find one because in truth, she loved Sam’s company. If she’d been able to forget who he was– who he’d been to her in the past– she might even have found herself capable of lovinghim.
This thought lanced through her like a knife. As he stood there, damp and dishevelled, beautiful and begging her to let him help in any way he could, she felt all the warmth of wanting him fight with the cold wash of rage that came with remembering the things she’d overheard.
‘We willneverget on,’ Amy cried, steeling herself. ‘Not after the things you said this afternoon. I heard you, ranting on about preserving the estate, the house, the fuckingcard room… You always said you hated all that stuff, poncing around college with your George Orwell novels and your weekly copy of theSocialist Worker. What was it all for? Shits and giggles? Was it all about winding up your dad?’
‘So you’re spying on me now?’ he asked, his brown eyes narrowing.
‘It was an accident,’ Amy said, her chin jutting out like a petulant child’s. ‘But once I started listening, I had to be sure of what I was listeningto.’
‘And you’re certain you’ve got it right, are you?’ Sam countered, his voice low, almost dangerous. His face was so close to hers now that Amy could see each of the individual lashes framing his dark eyes. His pupils were blown wide and black in the gloom.
‘You think,’ he went on, ‘that after eavesdropping for a few minutes, you have sufficient evidence to prove I’m the evil lord of the manor you’ve alwayswantedme to be? Was that snatch of conversation really conclusive enough for you to dismiss everything else I’ve ever said or done?’
Amy ignored this. ‘What about Barb and Dave?’ she cried, deciding to throw caution to the wind and hit him with something she felt certain would stick. ‘What about Jed and the pub? Here you are, bragging to your father about how your grand plans for hiring out the grounds will turn fabulous profits– all while they’re facing eviction in a couple of months’ time. It makes me sick!’
Sam shut his eyes and dipped his head again, like it was weighted down by sheer misery. ‘Thisis what you think?’ he said a moment later, through gritted teeth. He looked agonised. ‘You think all this’– he gestured at the small space between them, presumably to indicate their joint work on RomFest– ‘is me larking about trying to piss my father off and earn pocket money? Fuckinghell, Amy.’
‘Well, what am I supposed to think?’ she shouted at him.
What am I supposed tofeel, she asked herself. Because even now, as they stood yelling at one another in the rain, she could sense the snapping, crackling current of the attraction between them. Beneath the fresh, petrichor smell of the storm there was the citrus and cedar scent of his skin. In spite of everything, she wanted to lose herself in it.
‘You’ve always thought about everything in the way that suits you best,’ Sam said. ‘Regardless of any and all evidence that might tell someone less bloody stubborn they were wrong.’
‘Rubbish,’ Amy said, scowling and shaking her head vigorously.
‘What about Hari? You refused to look his feelings for you in the face because it wasn’t convenient … And so did I, in the end.’
‘You knownothingabout Hari and me, or what we meant to each other,’ Amy cried, ‘and that absolute nonsense you’ve just spouted confirms it!’
‘Some of us are capable of adding two and two, Amy,’ Sam said. ‘You seem determined to go through life believing they make five.’
‘Well, we can’t all be as clever as you, Your Lordship,’ Amy snarled. ‘We didn’t all go to top boarding schools and have private tutors coming out of our arseholes.’
It was a low blow, and she regretted it instantly. The furious light faded from Sam’s eyes and he stepped away from her suddenly, as if she’d slapped him.
‘I understand,’ he said quietly. ‘Youdon’t, but it’s not for me to enlighten you. I’m not going to justify or explain myself, since you’re determined to think so little of me. We’ll do exactly as you wish: pretend we’re merely colleagues with no prior connection, no … personal history.’
Amy’s chest ached at the sight of him, dejected and hurt, unwilling to meet her gaze.
Before she could work out what to say next her mobile rang, its tinny trill cutting through the sound of the slowing rain. It was Ken.
‘Hello?’ Amy said breathlessly.
‘Amy,’ he said, ‘she’s out of surgery. Everything went as planned. She’s still a little groggy, but ready to see you whenever you can get here.’
