I’m bored with him. I’m bored by the fact that this display of anger is the first real emotion I’ve witnessed in Adam in months. He’s failed spectacularly to be charming, passionate, interested or interesting for quite some time now but, all at once, he’s found his fire. I’m not impressed by this macho display. I can’t help but think his fever is nothing to do with our relationship, it’s not about Adam and me – it’s about Adam and his ego. He didn’t want me until someone else showed an interest. He’s especially irritated that the ‘someone else’ happens to be his boss, happens to be a rock legend.
If Adam had truly wanted me he had plenty of opportunities to demonstrate it. He could have surprised me occasionally by running me a bath after a hard day in the shop or running the hoover over the carpets in the flat; it’s not like we live in a mansion, it wouldn’t take much. He might have noticed when I bought a new outfit or had my hair cut. Is there anything more depressing than spending ages trying to look pretty for someone, only to discover he hasn’t even noticed? It’s humiliating that I’m often forced to ask pathetically, ‘How do I look?’ especially as I only ever receive a disappointing. ‘Fine’ – delivered without him taking his eyes away from the TV. If he’d wanted me he could have shown me by taking me somewhere more interesting than the local pub – just once in a while. He could have helped paint the flat instead of leaving it to Jess and me. Hell, if he’d wanted me for real, we’d have our own flat.
He would have asked me to marry him.
The thought cuts through me, a blade of pure, un-diluted distress. I gasp for breath but it’s hard to breathe, I’m choking on the stagnant stench of a dying relationship. It smells like an overflowing cesspit.
‘And you expect me to believe that all you did was talk?’ Adam demands.
‘You can believe what you like, Adam.’ I hope my tone communicates that I no longer care what he believes.
‘Have you fucked him?’
The nasty word sounds as mean as it ever can. Adam’s face snarls with impotence and fury. I almost wish I could say yes. It’s what he expects. It’s what I want. And, by saying no, I’ll give Adam a glimmer of entirely false hope. But I haven’t fucked Scott.
‘No.’
‘Liar.’ More spittle. His face creases with disbelief; he’s purple and unrecognizable. Normally serene, Adam has transformed from unassuming Dr Jekyll to a sinister Mr Hyde. ‘You’ve been hanging around his room all day like some cheap groupie. He sent you home in his car. I understand he’s sending another car to pick you up tomorrow, of course you’re fucking him.’
Clearly the tom-tom drums have been beating among the crew. I suppose this gossip is too good to simply consume, it’s the sort of gossip that has to be chewed and regurgitated.
Adam’s unoriginal accusations are no doubt deserved. It’s an assumption most would make, plus I’ve treated him quite badly in the past day or so, but at the moment I am more sober than he is so I have the opportunity to
‘It’s over, Adam. We’re finished.’
‘Don’t be so fucking stupid, Fern. You don’t mean that,’ says Adam irritably. I stay silent, indicating that I do. After a pause Adam adds, ‘You can’t think you have a future with Scottie Taylor.’ Now he sounds incredulous.
‘Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. The point is, Adam, you made it clear that I don’t have a future with you.’ I’m battling to stay calm, so it’s distressing that a fat tear rolls down my cheek; I wipe it away impatiently. I’m doing the chucking, why am I crying? I shouldn’t be crying. ‘I told you what I wanted,’ I add.
‘Back to the fucking engagement ring!’ Adam slams his hand against the wall. Up until the last day or so he wasn’t one for swearing or violence, now he’s like a pot of spitting oil that’s going to boil over and scald everything it touches; I don’t want to be around when that happens. ‘You stupid, stupid woman, don’t you see he’ll let you down?’ yells Adam. With each word he slams his fist against the wall; again and again. It must hurt.
‘That’s none of your business any more, is it?’ I say coolly. ‘I’m going to bed. Tomorrow we can talk about who is going to move out.’
‘Oh, you don’t need to worry about me,’ he says in a sneering voice. He’s no longer hitting the wall but he won’t look at me. ‘I’m sorted. You’re not the only one who is full of surprises.’
I don’t quite
I grab the spare duvet from the top of the wardrobe and throw it at Adam, indicating that he’s on the couch. I close the door and undress in silence. Then I lie on the bed, which suddenly seems vast, and I breathe a deep sigh. It’s a sigh of relief. There, it’s done. It’s over. We’re finished. The relief is faintly tinged with panic. What next? Can Scott be my next? I think so but I seem to be the only one who does. But I breathe deeply, then I start to allow the wonderful happenings of the day swirl back into my head. I replay our conversations, I recall his grins and I remind myself that he sang ‘Perfect Day’ to me. Slowly, the butterflies gently flap their wings in my stomach once again.
24. Fern
I wake up feeling slightly queasy. I can’t work out if it’s the effects of the champagne I consumed last night or the anticipation of seeing Scott again. I dismiss the idea that it might be guilt or regret that yesterday I finished my relationship with Adam. I shower and dress in virtual silence; I don’t want to wake Jess or Adam – I can’t face either of them. I know I promised Adam that we’d talk in the morning but now the morning is here I don’t think I have anything else to say to him. I just want to get out of the flat and as far away as possible without another draining encounter. As I pick up my mobile I’m delighted to find a text in my inbox to tell me that the car is outside.
I spot the Merc with tinted windows that dropped me at home yesterday and fling myself into the car with the same relief as a robber diving into a getaway car after a heist.
‘Morning, gorgeous.’
His flat northern tones, truly music to my ears, cause me to jump a foot into the sky.
‘Jesus, you scared me. I didn’t expect you –’
He cuts me short by leaning over and kissing me firmly on the lips. It’s a good kiss. Fabulous actually, as you’d expect. He’s practised more than most. The kiss is lingering but still. It is a warm kiss that is full of purpose and implication. His lips are firm and tender. Smooth,
‘I didn’t expect you,’ I mutter when we finally – achingly – pull apart.
‘You should have seen me coming, baby,’ he says, quietly.
‘Yes, I should have.’
‘I’m right on time.’ He moves some hair from out of my eyes and tucks it behind my ear. It’s a gesture which seems more caring and intimate than some of the sex I’ve had in the past.
‘I think you are,’ I murmur.
I also think we are talking about more than one sort of pick-up. I should have seen him coming; well, if not sex god, music icon Scottie Taylor exactly, then at least I should have seen the fact that someone was going to snatch me from the jaws of the routine romance I was having with Adam. And Scott is in the nick of time. If he hadn’t come along when he did I’d still be relentlessly pursuing a proposal from Adam; a proposal Adam clearly doesn’t want to offer up. How could I have thought that route would lead to anything other than heartache?
But where is this thing with Scott leading?
I didn’t sleep well last night, I wrestled with my conscience, heart and the facts, in an attempt to understand where I’ll be dropped after this whirlwind passes through town. I wasn’t kidding when I told Jess that I think I am falling in love with Scott. Of course I bloody am; I’m only human. But what about him? What does he feel and where does he think this is going? A quick dash around the
‘I want to see your flower shop,’ says Scott, interrupting my ever-decreasing circles of reason. I don’t mind, my reason crumbles into longing far too easily anyhow. I’m happy to be distracted.
‘It’s closed on a Sunday. It won’t look as lovely as it usually does,’ I warn him.
‘But it will be private,’ he grins.
The word private has exactly the same effect on me as if he were inching down my knickers with his
