The Codes of Love

by Hannah Persaud

  A wall of heat hits her as she opens the door. The restaurant is packed. Peeling off her winter coat, she’s glad she wore a thin shirtdress beneath. It clings to her collarbone as she surveys the room. In the corner Adeline beckons, standing as she approaches, and even though Emily’s only met her once, she knew she’d smell like this, of orange and citrus.

  Adeline’s hug is strong. Emily likes that she doesn’t do air kisses, avoids the awkwardness they bring. Seated, they survey the menu and order. The first glass of wine is crisp against her tongue, and she feels her cheeks flush.

  ‘Good Christmas?’ Emily asks.

  ‘So so.’ Adeline leans forward and lowers her voice. ‘Always a drama or two, this time of year.’

  ‘Same.’ Emily refills their glasses and leans back into her seat. ‘God, it’s good to get out.’ Adeline nods in agreement, and peels off her cardigan, revealing bare arms.

  ‘You’re brave,’ Emily smiles.

  ‘I’m always too warm – God knows what I’ll be like with the menopause,’ Adeline laughs. On her shoulder there is a bruise, a central knot of deep purple with mottled yellow seeping out.

  ‘So, tell me about you,’ Emily says. ‘Last time it was all about me. Go on, spill – hobbies, interests, husband?’ Emily says, noticing for a second time the absence of a ring on Adeline’s finger.

  ‘I love cycling,’ Adeline says, ‘running too …’

  ‘Me too,’ Emily says too quickly, ‘cycling, I mean.’

  ‘Really? That’s awesome, we should go together, have you ever done a sportive?’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A sportive – an organised bike ride. You pay to go, they map the route, provide the snacks.’

  ‘What kind of distances?’ Emily asks, feeling out of her depth. She just cycles to let off steam.

  ‘Anything from twenty miles to a hundred,’ Adeline says, ‘But we could start small,’ she adds quickly.

  ‘Is it that obvious, the panic on my face?’ Emily asks, laughing.

  ‘I’ll find us one,’ Adeline says, ‘to get us started.’ Emily likes the sound of it being the start of something.

  ‘I’d love to,’ she says, ‘but you’ll have to go slow, or wait for me to catch up.’

  ‘Cheers to that,’ Adeline says, and they clink their glasses and down the rest of the wine. ‘Oh, and to your other question, no husband. You look surprised?’

  ‘It’s just, I don’t know, I just assumed you were – most people our age have settled down …’

  ‘And there in that very statement lies the problem,’ Ada says. ‘Settle. It sounds like paying a debt.’ She winks and stands up. ‘Drinks next door?

  The two bottles of wine they’ve shared have gone straight to Emily’s head and the virtue of not drinking yesterday has vanished.

  ‘Sure, why not,’ she replies, throwing her coat over her arm. ‘Start the year as we mean to go on.’

  She loves the Fox, with its old-world charm and tables and chairs that haven’t been changed for decades. They find seats in a corner beneath a picture of a hunt, the fox making a run for the horizon, horses circling in the foreground in confusion.

  ‘I hope it made its escape,’ Adeline says, tilting her head back to look at the painting.

  ‘I’ll get the drinks,’ Emily says. The bar is crowded and three layers of people deep. A text from Ryan says they are all in bed. He reminds her about Sam’s tutor meeting about his exams tomorrow. Remember to take a cab home. A frowning emoticon follows. Yes, Dad, she replies, with a smiley face. Technology has made children of them all. She’s craving a cigarette, though she hasn’t smoked for years. Back at the table Adeline’s mood has dampened.

  ‘I’m a bad influence, sorry,’ Emily pushes her drink across the table.

  ‘I don’t get hangovers; it’s a mixed blessing,’ Adeline says, downing half the glass in one gulp. Across the room a cheer erupts from a table of men. ‘Imbeciles,’ Adeline mutters. ‘Don’t you just hate them?’ Then, ‘Of course you don’t, you’ve got a good one.’

  ‘I guess so,’ Emily says.

  ‘You don’t sound very sure.’

  Emily feels the need to defend Ryan, though she’s well aware it’s ridiculous given that she’s the one who started this conversation.

  ‘No, he is, he’s a good man.’

  Adeline stares at her across the table and raises an eyebrow.

  ‘It’s just, we’ve been together a long time, it can start to feel, you know …’

  ‘Fortunately for me I don’t,’ Adeline replies. ‘I’m a serial short-termer – longest relationship I’ve had was four years. Usually by then you’ve revealed all the hidden faults and there’s nothing more to find; it gets boring.’ Emily laughs. She likes Adeline’s honesty – it’s refreshing. Most people she knows are so worried about presenting a perfect image to the world that even people who were probably interesting once are now dull. One of the men from the neighbouring table approaches.

  ‘Can I buy you ladies a drink?’ he asks. Emily’s about to say no thanks, when Adeline cuts in.

  ‘That’d be lovely, thank you.’ They watch him walk towards the bar and feel the eyes of his friends watching them.

  ‘I thought you hated men,’ Emily says.

  ‘They have their uses,’ Adeline replies with a grin. ‘I’m off to the bathroom.’ Emily sits and tries to focus on the fox in the picture, but it swims slightly. She shuts her eyes and tries again.

  ‘You okay?’ A familiar voice beside her, close to her ear. Too close.

  ‘Leo?’ He looks older out of the university setting, less like a student. ‘How did you know I was here?’ she says.

  ‘Ways and means,’ he says, and winks. Did he follow her here? But he doesn’t know where she lives. ‘Buy you a drink?’ he asks.

  ‘No thanks.’ She shakes her head, the room spinning slightly. ‘Think I’ve had enough.’ At that moment the man from the neighbouring table appears, brandishing another bottle of wine. ‘Thanks,’ Emily says, avoiding looking at Leo.

  ‘Can we go outside and talk for a minute?’ he asks, gently cupping her elbow. She shakes her head again.

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

  ‘But it is a good idea to accept a drink from strangers?’ He gestures to the table of men beside them, who are holding their glasses up in mimic of a ‘cheers’.

  ‘Probably not,’ she says. ‘I think you should go.’

  He pulls his coat on. ‘If you’re sure.’

  ‘Hello, who’s this?’ Adeline is back from the bathroom and holding out her hand to Leo.

  ‘Adeline, this is Leo. Leo, Adeline.’

  ‘Call me Ada,’ Adeline says.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Ada,’ Leo says, hovering behind the chair next to Emily.

  ‘Why don’t you join us?’ Adeline says, gesturing to the empty space at the table, and now Emily feels mean, because he’s clearly made an effort to find her and sure, he can be a bit full on, but he’s fundamentally a nice guy and she can’t in all honesty claim that she is immune to his charms. Adeline gives her a knowing look.

  One bottle turns into three and as they’re putting on their coats, Adeline presses a pill into Emily’s palm. ‘For the journey home.’ As Emily stumbles out into the street at closing time she knows that she’s going to feel like death tomorrow. She is unsteady on her feet and Leo takes her arm. Adeline is on her other side, talking to the group of men who bought them the wine, and as they head past the park Emily feels a surge of joy at the freedom of it all.

  ‘There’s a lake in the park,’ she whispers to Adeline.

  ‘Can I stay at yours tonight?’ Adeline asks, but Emily is ahead of her, running across the grass towards the water. She tugs off her shoes and dips her toe in and it feels good, so cold and fresh. The sky is clear and ghostly, split with silver magic light. Fireflies pirouette above her head though she knows they can’t be real, not here, in England. She reaches her hand up to catch one. Leo is laughing.


  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Catching them,’ she says. ‘Don’t you think it’s sad how they die so fast?’

  ‘What do? Catching what?’ he asks.

  Emily throws her coat down on the ground and as she lifts her dress over her head she feels Leo behind her, undoing the button that has lodged her dress around her shoulders; his fingertips brush her back.

  ‘You should go home,’ she tells him. ‘Adeline?’ Adeline is some distance away, barely discernible on a park bench, in conversation with the only man left from the group.

  ‘It’s freezing,’ Leo tells her. ‘You’re crazy,’ and then she’s in, swallowed up by the water. ‘You’ll freeze,’ he shouts, stripping off his clothes. He jumps in and she feels him pulling her to the edge.

  ‘Spoilsport,’ she says. He climbs out ahead of her and pulls her onto the grass. Adeline and the man are swigging something from a bottle. Leo wraps his coat around Emily’s shoulder but she can’t stop shaking, her teeth clattering loudly. She giggles, then hiccups.

  ‘Follow me,’ Leo says, and leads her into a small pagoda in a cluster of trees. ‘Here.’ He sits her down and places her bare feet between his hands, rubbing them. ‘Are you trying to kill yourself?’ She doesn’t answer. ‘Why didn’t you reply to my text messages?’ he asks. He moves his hands up her legs. The truth is, she can’t remember them, or anything else since she took the pill. She feels the blood returning to her legs. ‘Emily?’

  ‘You know why,’ she gambles, hoping this is the right answer.

  ‘This’ll warm you up,’ Adeline appears from nowhere and hands her the bottle. The liquid sears her throat. There’s no sign of the man from the group. Leo takes a swig too.

  ‘What are we going to do with her?’ Leo says to Adeline, his hands still on Emily’s leg. ‘She’s freezing. I think she’s hallucinating too.’ Adeline whispers something in his ear and then crouches down. Emily’s vaguely aware of Adeline placing her cardigan around her shoulders and holding her close. She breathes her in. Then Leo pulls her to her feet.

  It’s well past midnight by the time Emily’s fumbling with the front-door key. She tries to focus on the keyhole, but it’s like playing pin the tail on the donkey.

  ‘Here, let me.’ Adeline takes the key and then the door is open. ‘Water, painkillers, bathroom, bed,’ Adeline says, and Emily follows her meekly before remembering that this is her house and that Adeline doesn’t know where things are. She steers her towards the guest room and trips over a chair in an attempt to turn on the lamp. The buzzing around her eyes has subsided and she’s able to focus slightly, a pinprick of a circle at a time.

  ‘This place is amazing,’ Adeline says, ‘even better than it looked on the call.’ The walls twist and morph into curves. Emily puts a hand out to balance herself.

  ‘Here’s a T-shirt,’ Emily mumbles, grabbing one from a drawer and throwing it onto the bed. She can’t remember the walk home, or what happened before, in the pagoda. Where did Leo go?

  ‘Adeline?’

  ‘Ada, call me Ada.’ She’s already in the guest bed, covers pulled up.

  ‘Adeline, what happened, how did I get home?’ Emily says.

  Adeline winks at her. ‘Tell you some other time, go to bed.’

  ‘Did anything …’ A memory of skin against hers, the gasp of warmth.

  ‘A secret between friends, don’t worry.’ Adeline giggles and crosses her arms behind her head. ‘Can you turn the light out on your way out, please?’

  The room spins every time Emily closes her eyes, and a well of nausea is blocking her chest.

  ‘Ryan.’ She shakes him. ‘I feel sick.’ He turns away from her, tucking the covers around his body. ‘Please can you help me?’ she says. He turns reluctantly back and follows her to the bathroom. It’s going to be a long night.

  The light through the windows is sharp and Emily throws a pillow over her face. She needs water, fast. Reaching out her arm, she finds the bed is empty. Ryan must be up already. What was she thinking, getting so paralytic? She wonders if Adeline is faring better. At least she has blinds in the guest room. She should have slept in there too. Ryan and his bloody principles of light.

  ‘Mum?’ Sam pokes his head round the door. ‘Setting a good example, are we?’

  ‘Sam, don’t …’ He opens the window and the wintry air hits her face.

  ‘Did you forget we’ve got an appointment this morning, about my exams?’ Something’s vaguely familiar, a sketch of a conversation too long ago.

  ‘Really, today? It’s still the holidays,’ she says. He throws her dressing gown onto the bed. ‘Can’t you ask Dad to take you?’

  ‘He’s not here. He was up early – his car’s gone.’ What else has she lost to the night?

  ‘Did you meet Adeline?’

  ‘Your new friend? I saw something resembling a human crawl across the landing earlier. She looked better than you do, though. I think Dad’s given her a lift.’

  Emily hauls herself into a sitting position. ‘Right.’

  Showered and watered, she feels marginally better. Tom grunts good morning at her after she says it three times.

  ‘What are you up to today?’ she asks him, though engaging in conversation makes her head pound harder. ‘Tom?’ Earphones plugged in, he can’t hear a word she’s saying. ‘Tom?’ Always the more difficult of the two, he’s been harder work recently than normal. Scarcely around, and when he is, he’s sullen and angry. ‘I give up,’ she says loudly. Tom doesn’t look up from his phone.

  Sam drives them to the appointment at the college. Her mouth tastes as if she’s been drinking from a sewer. She’s brushed her teeth five times. She tries not to speak unless she has to and is aware of Sam’s tutor casting sideways glances at her as she stares out of the window. She zones out of the conversation.

  ‘Don’t you care?’ Sam asks, on their way back to the car park.

  ‘Of course I care; I just didn’t have anything to add. It sounds like you’ve got everything under control.’

  ‘It’s a big deal, you know, doing my A-levels, going off to uni.’ He walks ahead, kicking stones with his feet. She speeds up, though her feet hurt, and loops her arm into his.

  ‘I know love, I know.’

  Ryan’s still not home and it’s mid-afternoon. She can’t find the shoes that she wore last night. She lies down on the sofa to wait for him and runs through the events of last night in her head. She remembers the first round of drinks bought by the men at the table – they’d not let them join them and had been accused of being teases. Then Leo arrived, though he lives all the way in Battersea, she thinks. Another bottle was bought by the men, and they’d let them join them for a bit then. One of them had propositioned her. She hopes she was polite, though has no memory of what she said.

  There’s something about the walk home, a moment in the park. A recollection of water. And Leo. Adeline, and hands on skin. She was so cold. She needs to check with Adeline. The shoes were new, a Christmas gift.

  ‘Hey, sweetie.’ Ryan’s back. He bends down and kisses her hair. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Better,’ she answers, swinging her legs over the side of the sofa and arching her feet. ‘Where were you?’ She glances at the clock; it’s gone five and outside the day has faded.

  ‘I dropped Ada home – she was in no state to take the bus.’

  ‘You took your time.’

  ‘Traffic was awful, you know how it is,’ Ryan says.

  ‘Did Adeline have fun last night?’ Emily stands and pulls her cardigan closer.

  ‘What do you think?’ Ryan laughs and ruffles her hair. ‘Of course she had fun with my party wife. How’s the giving-up-alcohol going?’

  She’s searched her bag, under the bed, and the garden. She’s retraced the walk to the village and found one shoe sitting on top of the wall by the park, waiting. No sign of the other. It explains the raw skin on her feet if she walked home barefoot. Briefly she considers a hair of the dog at t
he Fox. Anything to relieve the throbbing in her head. But she recognises a group of mums from the college in the window and decides against it.

  Home again, she opens the bedside drawer and pulls out the tickets to Venice. Valentine’s in Venice – she can’t wait to get away. Ryan has always loved surprises and they so rarely get time away from the boys. The more tied down they are by their combined responsibilities, the more they are dragged apart. She hopes that 2016 will be a year that brings them together.

  Rules of an open marriage #7:

  Always be transparent about how you feel

  She met David in her writing group. He was the first man she slept with after getting married. He dropped hints for months that he was keen, and Ryan was away a lot for work. Her days had been hijacked with toddler-group meetings and a never-ending list of chores. One evening she let her hair down. They met for tapas in a dimly lit restaurant and David’s leg pressed against hers beneath their tiny table; their shoulders touched. As wine flowed and inhibitions dwindled, he pushed his finger against her lips to stop her talking and, leaning in, whispered in her ear. His breath was warm against her neck and for that moment she was not just a mother, not someone’s wife. It had been such a long time since someone bothered to pay attention. Back at his apartment David was gentle and generous; to only worry about herself felt good. When she woke it was morning. She’d forgotten the boys’ football practice, but Ryan had understood. She’d made it up to him later. But David had pestered her for weeks.

  ‘What happened to good old-fashioned one-night stands?’ she asked David in their final conversation.

  She was young and lonely and her husband was never there. It was a fact, not an excuse. Her flings were a preservation of what they had. She would not become the nagging wife who needed more than her husband could provide. Never would she coerce her exhausted husband into sex. It wasn’t as important to him. He didn’t need it as much. She knew this from the beginning and they had addressed it. She accepted what Ryan offered and sought gratification elsewhere when she needed. To claim that sex and love were mutually dependent was a fable. Around her relationships floundered, striving for a romanticised and institutionalised ideology that didn’t work. Tearing under the weight of it. ‘It’s just a physical release,’ she told Ryan, ‘nothing more.’ It’s what she told him, and mostly she believed it.