Killing Me Softly

Up to this moment, I had thought of Adam as a dark, strictly private betrayal. I knew I was doing something awful to Jake but now, looking at Pauline, her cheeks flushed red in the cold but also with the excitement, maybe, of impending pregnancy, and her hands clutched round the coffee, and the mist from between her narrow lips, I had a sudden mad sense that all of it was operating under a misapprehension. The world wasn’t as she thought it was and it was my fault.

We both looked at our empty coffee cups, laughed and stood up. I gave her a close hug and pushed my face against hers.

‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘What for?’

‘Most people don’t tell you about trying for a baby until they’re into their second trimester.’

‘Oh, Alice,’ she said reprovingly. ‘I couldn’t not tell you that.’

‘I’ve got to go,’ I said suddenly. ‘I’ve got a meeting.’

‘Where?’

‘Oh,’ I said taken aback. ‘In, er, Soho.’

‘I’ll walk along with you. It’s on my way.’

‘That would be lovely,’ I said, in anguish.

On the way Pauline talked about Guy, who had broken off with her suddenly and brutally not much more than eighteen months earlier.

‘Do you remember the way I was then?’ she asked, with a little grimace and looking, for the moment, just like her brother. I nodded, thinking frantically about how I was to handle this. Should I pretend to go into an office? That wouldn’t work. Should I say I had forgotten the address? ‘Of course you do. You saved my life. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay you for all you did for me then.’ She held up her bag of coffee. ‘I probably drank about that much coffee in your old flat while crying into your whisky. God, I thought I would never be able to cross the road again on my own, let alone function and be happy.’

I squeezed her hand. They say that the best friends are those who can simply listen and if that’s true then I was the best of all friends during that terrible walk. This was it, I said to myself, the terrible punishment for all my deceptions. As we turned into Old Compton Street, I saw a familiar figure walking in front of us. Adam. My brain dulled and I thought I might even be going to faint. I turned, saw an open shop door. I couldn’t speak but I seized Pauline’s hand and pulled her inside.

‘What?’ she asked in alarm.

‘I need some…’ I looked into the glass case on the counter. ‘Some…’

The word wouldn’t come.

‘Parmesan,’ said Pauline.

‘Parmesan,’ I agreed. ‘And other things.’

Pauline looked around. ‘But there’s such a long queue. It’s Friday.’

‘I’ve go to.’

Pauline looked indecisive, shifting from one foot to another. She looked at her watch. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’d better get back.’

‘Yes,’ I said, in relief.

‘What?’

‘That’s fine,’ I said. ‘Just go. I’ll phone you.’

We kissed and she left. I counted to ten, then looked out into the street. She had gone. I looked down at my hands. They were steady, but my mind reeled.

That night, I dreamed that someone was cutting off my legs with a kitchen knife, and I was letting them. I knew I mustn’t scream, or complain, because I had deserved it. I woke in the early hours, sweating and confused, and for a moment I couldn’t tell who it was I was lying next to. I put out my hand and felt warm flesh. Jake’s eyes flickered open. ‘Hello, Alice,’ he said, and returned to sleep, so peaceful.

I couldn’t go on like this. I had always thought of myself as an honest person.

Six

I was late for work because I had to wait for the art shop round the corner from the office to open. I stood for a while looking at the river, hypnotized by the surprising strength of its currents, spinning this way and that. Then I spent far too long choosing a postcard from the revolving racks. Nothing seemed right. Not the reproductions of old masters, nor the black-and-white photographs of urban streets and picturesque poor children, nor those expensive cards with collages of sequins and shells and feathers stuck decoratively in the middle. In the end I bought two: one a muted Japanese landscape of silver trees against a dark sky, and the other a Matisse-style cut- out, all joyful simple blues. I bought a fountain pen as well, although I had a whole drawer full of pens in my desk.

What should I say? I shut the door to my office, took out the two cards and laid them in front of me. I must have sat like that for several minutes, just staring at them. Every so often I would allow his face to drift across my consciousness. So beautiful. The way he looked into my eyes. Nobody had ever looked at me like that before. I hadn’t seen him all weekend, not since that Friday, and now…

Now I turned over the Japanese card and unscrewed my fountain pen. I didn’t know how to start. Not ‘dearest Adam’ or ‘darling Adam’ or ‘sweetest love’; not that any longer. Not ‘dear Adam’ – too cold. Not just ‘Adam’. Nothing then: just write.

‘I cannot see you any more,’ I wrote, careful not to smudge the black ink. I stopped. What else was there to say? ‘Please do not try to make me change my mind. It’s been –’ Been what? Fun? Tormenting? Stunning? Wrong? The most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me? It has turned my whole life upside down?

I tore up the picture of the Japanese trees and put it into the bin. I picked up the splashy cut-out. ‘I cannot see you again.’

Before I could add anything else, I slipped the card into an envelope and wrote Adam’s name and address on it in neat capitals. Then I walked out of the office holding it, and took the lift down to reception, where Derek sat with his security passes and his copy of the Sun.

‘You couldn’t do something for me, could you, Derek? This letter needs to go urgently and I wondered if you could send a bike for it. I would ask Claudia but…’ I let the sentence hang unfinished in the air. Derek took the envelope and looked at the address.

‘Soho. Business, is it?’

‘Yes.’

He put the envelope down beside him. ‘All right, then. Just this once, though.’

‘I really appreciate it. You’ll see it goes immediately?’

I told Claudia that I had a lot of work to catch up on and could she not put through telephone calls unless they were from Mike or Giovanna or Jake. She looked at me curiously, but said nothing. It was half past ten. He would still be thinking that at lunch-time I would be with him, in his darkened room, letting the world go hang. By eleven, he would have received the note. He would run down the stairs and pick up the envelope and slide his finger under the flap and read that one sentence. I should have told him I was sorry, at least. Or that I loved him. I closed my eyes. I felt like a fish on dry land. I was gasping, and every breath hurt.

When Jake had given up cigarettes a few months ago, he had told me that the trick was not to think about not smoking: what you are denying yourself, he’d said, becomes doubly desirable and then it’s like a kind of persecution. I touched my cheek with one finger and imagined it was Adam touching me. I mustn’t let myself