‘Then I’ll move into his house.’
‘You think his mother will want you there?’
‘We’ll bugger off to Scotland and live in a croft then. Would you prefer that?’
His mouth twitches with anger as he turns back to me. ‘The answer’s no, Tess.’
I hate the way he pulls authority, as if it’s all sorted because he says so. I stomp upstairs to my room and slam the door. He thinks it’s about sex. Can’t he see it’s deeper than that? And can’t he see how difficult it is to ask for?
Three weeks ago, at the end of January, Adam took me out on the bike, faster than before and further – to a place on the borders of Kent where there’s flat marshy land sloping down to a beach. There were four wind turbines out at sea, their ghostly blades spinning.
He skimmed stones at the waves and I sat on the shingle and told him how my list is sprawling away from me.
‘There are so many things I want. Ten isn’t enough any more.’
‘Tell me,’ he said.
It was easy at first. On and on I went. Spring. Daffodils and tulips. Swimming under a calm blue evening sky. A long train journey, a peacock, a kite. Another summer. But I couldn’t tell him the thing I want the most.
That night he went home. Every night he goes home to keep his mother safe. He sleeps just metres away from me, through the wall, on the other side of the wardrobe.
The next day he turned up with tickets for the zoo. We went on the train. We saw wolves and antelopes. A peacock opened its tail for me, emerald and aquamarine. We had lunch in a cafe and Adam bought me a fruit platter with black grapes and vivid slices of mango.
A few days later he took me to a heated outdoor pool. After swimming, we sat on the edge, wrapped in towels, and dangled our feet in the water. We drank hot chocolate and laughed at the children hollering in the cold air.
One morning he delivered a bowl of crocuses to my room.
‘Spring,’ he said.
He took me to our hill on his bike. He’d bought a pocket kite from the newsagent’s and we flew it together.
Day after day it was as if someone had taken my life apart and polished every bit of it really carefully before putting it all back together.
But we never shared a single night.
Then, on Valentine’s day, I got anaemic only twelve days after a blood transfusion.
‘What does it mean?’ I asked the consultant.
‘You’ve moved nearer the line,’ he said.
It’s getting harder to breathe. The shadows under my eyes have deepened. My lips look like plastic stretched over a gate.
Last night I woke up at two in the morning. My legs were hurting, a dull throbbing, like a toothache. I’d taken paracetamol before going to bed, but I needed codeine. On the way to the bathroom I passed Dad’s open bedroom door and Mum was in there – her hair spilling across the pillow, his arm flung protectively across her. That’s three times she’s stayed over in the last two weeks.
I stood on the landing watching them sleep and I knew for a fact that I couldn’t be alone in the dark any more.
Mum comes upstairs and sits on my bed. I’m standing at the window watching the dusk. The sky is full of something, the clouds low down and expectant.
‘I hear you want Adam to move in,’ she says.
I write my name in condensation on the window. My finger marks smeared across the glass make me feel young.
She says, ‘Your dad might agree to the occasional night, Tess, but he’s not going to let Adam live here.’
‘Dad said he’d help me with my list.’
‘He
‘Because he wants to spend a whole week with you!’
When I turn to look at her, she frowns at me as if I’m someone she’s never seen before.
‘Did he actually say that?’
‘He’s in love with you, it’s obvious. Travel isn’t even on my list any more.’
She looks bemused. ‘I thought travel was number seven.’
‘I swapped it for getting you and Dad back together.’
‘Oh, Tessa!’
It’s weird, because of all people, she should understand about love. I fold my arms at her. ‘Tell me about him.’
‘Who?’
‘The man you left us for.’
She shakes her head. ‘Why are you bringing this up now?’
‘Because you said you didn’t have a choice. Isn’t that what you said?’
‘I said I was unhappy.’
‘Lots of people are unhappy, but they don’t run away.’
‘Please, Tess, I really don’t want to talk about this.’
‘We loved you.’
Plural. Past tense. But still it sounds too big for this little room.
She looks up at me, her face pale and angular. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You must’ve loved him more than you’d ever loved anyone. He must’ve been wonderful, some kind of magical person.’
She doesn’t say anything.
Simple. A love that big. I turn back to the window. ‘Then you should understand how I feel about Adam.’
She gets up and comes over. She doesn’t touch me, but stands very close. ‘Does he feel the same way about you, Tess?’
‘I don’t know.’
I want to lean on her and pretend that everything’s going to be OK. But I just smear my name off the window and look out at the night instead. It’s strangely gloomy out there.
‘I’ll talk to Dad,’ she says. ‘He’s seeing Cal to bed, but when he’s finished, I’ll take him out for a beer. Will you be all right by yourselves?’
‘I’ll ask Adam over. I’ll make him supper.’
‘All right.’ She turns to go, then at the doorway turns back. ‘You want some sweet and lovely things, Tessa, but be careful. Other people can’t always give you what you want.’
I cut four giant slices of bread onto the chopping board and put them under the grill. I get tomatoes from the vegetable rack, and because Adam stands with his back against the sink watching me, I hold a tomato cupped in each hand at breast height and shimmy back to the counter with them.
He laughs. I slice both tomatoes and place them on the grill next to the toast. I get the grater from the cupboard, the cheese from the fridge, and grate a pile of cheese onto the chopping board while the toast cooks. I know there’s a gap between the bottom of my T-shirt and the waistband of my trousers. I know there’s a particular curve (the only curve I have left) where my spine meets my bum, and that when I lean on one hip, that curve pushes itself towards Adam.
After grating the cheese I lick each finger in turn, very deliberately, and it does just what I knew it would. He walks over and kisses the back of my neck.
‘Want to know what I’m thinking?’ he whispers.
‘Tell me.’ Although I already know.
‘I want you.’ He turns me round and kisses me on the mouth. ‘A lot.’
He talks as if he’s been grabbed by a force that he doesn’t understand. I love it. I press myself against him.
