by Sandie Jones
Pammie nodded slowly. ‘I remember. I still don’t know how that could have happened.’
Adam laughed. ‘A rock must have come in with the tide and given it a proper bashing. Or else it was the perfect murder . . .’
He looked at me. ‘And I’ve never eaten crab since.’
I forced a smile.
I tried to reassure myself that he was just putting on a show, to get their relationship back on track, but what about our relationship? Isn’t that the one that needed saving? We had barely spoken since she’d walked in on us, let alone been intimate, and it was all beginning to gnaw away at me . . . nibbling, nibbling. Everything between us would be perfect if she just behaved normally, like a mother is supposed to.
By glass four, just around the time she was asking Adam what they could buy Linda’s son Ewan for his twenty-first, I could feel an unpleasant sensation rising up within me.
‘So, you think a nice wallet would be well received?’ She was asking Adam, not me. She’d not looked at me since her comment about my weight, and even then, I don’t think she actually saw me. If she had, she might have noticed that I’d actually lost weight, but what would be the fun in that?
‘I think he’d be chuffed with that. If we all chip in fifty quid I reckon we can get him something decent, perhaps a Paul Smith,’ said Adam.
‘Okay,’ Pammie wheezed, all excited. ‘I’ll put in fifty pounds, you put in fifty pounds and James we’ll have to see about, as you know he doesn’t earn as much as you.’
She was speaking directly to Adam.
‘I’ll obviously put in twenty-five,’ I butted in. ‘Half of Adam’s share, just so, you know, it’s from the both of us.’
She looked at me with real disdain. ‘Thank you, dear, but that really won’t be necessary. It’s a present from the family.’ She gave a light laugh and turned back to Adam.
‘But I am family,’ I hissed. I knew I’d had too much to drink because my mouth didn’t feel like it was a part of me. My lips were moving, but I couldn’t control what was coming out of them.
‘That’s all right, Em. I’ll put in for us,’ said Adam.
‘I don’t want you to put in for me,’ I said, emphasizing ‘put in’. ‘If my name’s going to be on the gift tag, then I’d like to contribute.’
Pammie tutted and looked at me patronizingly. Her rimless glasses were perched on the end of her nose, making her look like a headmistress.
‘Okay.’ Adam sighed. ‘Do what you want to do.’
‘Well, it seems ridiculous to me,’ laughed Pammie. ‘You hardly know him, so you shouldn’t have to dig into your pocket when it’s not even your family.’
‘But Adam’s family is my family.’ I didn’t seem to have any control over the volume of my voice. ‘We’re getting married in two months, and I will become Mrs Banks.’ I saw her visibly flinch. ‘And as such, we’ll all be family.’
‘If that’s what she wants to do Mum, then that’s fine,’ said Adam.
Yes! Thank you, Adam.
‘Well, I just think . . .’ started Pammie, but I held my hand up, signalling for her to stop.
‘And whilst we’re at it,’ I said, ‘are none of us going to be brave enough to address the elephant in the room?’
‘That’s enough, Emily,’ said Adam, a hardness to his voice.
‘That’s enough of what, Adam?’ I’d wanted to stay so composed, be in control, but it felt as if weeks of pent-up frustration were bursting to get out. ‘Does your mother have any idea what our relationship has been like these past few weeks? Since she “discovered” us, doing what most normal couples do?’ I used to hate people who put words in speech marks with their hands, but with her I couldn’t help myself.
Pammie tutted in disgust, and Adam took hold of my elbow. ‘Sorry, Mum,’ he said, as he guided me up and out of my chair. ‘I don’t know what’s come over her. I’m really sorry.’
‘It’s what couples in love do,’ I sneered, shrugging off Adam’s grip. ‘You must remember that—’
‘Emily!’ shouted Adam. ‘Enough.’
He tightened his grip on my arm. ‘I’m so sorry, Mum,’ I heard him gush, forever trying to placate her. ‘Will you be okay getting home?’
‘Of course,’ she replied, shooing us away from the table. ‘I’ll be fine, you’ve got enough on your plate. Don’t worry about me, just see that you get her home safely.’
Adam offered her a tight smile as he pushed me towards the door. ‘I’ll call you once we’re home,’ he said. I pulled a face, as if mimicking him, and turned my head back to where she was sitting, expecting to see her pitiful face, the one she reserved for Adam, to let him know how hurt and vulnerable she was. Except he wasn’t looking, I was. So instead, she smiled slowly and raised a half-full glass of red wine.
I can’t recall another word being said until we got home, when he put his key in the front door and said, ‘You’re drunk. Go upstairs and sort yourself out.’
Yes, I was tipsy, I’d had one or two more than I should have, but I didn’t say anything I didn’t want to say. Had I been more sober, I would have perhaps approached it in a slightly different way, but it was what it was, and I didn’t regret it. The only part of it that stung was that, once again, I’d been made to look like the bad guy, whilst she remained firmly on her throne.
17
It took three days for Adam to talk to me, bar saying, ‘Excuse me’, as we met each other coming in and out of the bathroom. And when the ice was finally broken, there was no big sit-down heart-to-heart, which is what we so desperately needed, it was, ‘What do you want to do for dinner tonight?’
‘I don’t mind. Fancy a takeaway?’
‘Okay, then. Indian or Chinese?’
And so, we were at least back on speaking terms. I wasn’t intending to apologize to him, and it seemed he wasn’t prepared to apologize to me, so we were right back where we started.
We exchanged pleasantries as we ate, but it felt awkward, like two strangers meeting on a blind date. His eyes never left his chicken chow mein for fear of them meeting mine.
‘So, how’s Jason doing at work?’ I asked. I was more interested in how the new girl, Rebecca, was getting on, but it felt too risky a subject to bring up, so I settled for the safe option.
‘Yeah, he’s okay,’ he said. ‘He seems to have upped his game, so we’ll see. And Ryan? How’s he doing?’
‘Better, thankfully. He’s a good kid, and I think he’s got real potential, but he’s young and can’t quite see it yet. It’s a shame because I think they might get rid of him before we see what he’s capable of.’
A silence stretched out between us as we both contemplated what to say next.
‘So, what’s going to happen with Mum, then?’ he asked.
The question blindsided me. I wasn’t expecting him to go there and, despite my best efforts, I felt my mouth drop open.
‘Because clearly something has got to shift. I can’t go on with things the way they are between you. You’ve obviously got an issue with her – or is it an issue with yourself? Is it that she just brings out the worst in you?’
I sighed heavily.
‘You can’t deny that something’s going on,’ he continued. ‘You seem so tense whenever she’s around, or even when she comes up in conversation. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells whenever her name’s mentioned. You make me feel bad for wanting to see her, or even talk to her.’
‘You don’t see how she is,’ I offered meekly.
‘But I’ve never seen or heard her be anything other than perfectly civil to you. Why wouldn’t she be? She thinks you’re great. She always has.’
‘You just don’t get it.’
He pushed his plate away and folded his arms on the table. ‘Well, explain it to me, then. She’s always looked out for you, hasn’t she? Made you feel part of the family?’
I let out a small laugh. It wasn’t meant to sound sarcastic, but that’s how it came out.
He groaned
. ‘See, there you go again. What exactly is the problem?’
I didn’t know how to explain it to myself, let alone to him, without it coming across as petty.
‘Okay, so I’ll give you an example.’ I racked my brain for an easy one, but nothing was forthcoming. ‘Erm . . .’
He politely stayed quiet while I thought, but I was beginning to feel like a fraud.
‘Okay, so how about last Sunday, at lunch in the fish restaurant?’
‘Christ, how can I forget that? You completely showed us up.’
I took a deep breath. I needed to keep my cool. I needed to explain myself eloquently and succinctly to have any hope of him understanding where I was coming from.
‘So, she made an unpleasant comment about my weight as soon as she got there.’ I cringed as I said it. I sounded like a schoolgirl.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Em. Are you serious? Isn’t that what most mothers do? Is that the extent of what we’re talking about here?’
I smiled as I thought of my mum, who berated me for asking for seconds, yet pushed me when I didn’t. But then I pulled myself up. Pammie was not my mother.
‘At your party, she lined everybody up for the family photo, and asked me to take it.’ I really wanted to tell him that I thought she’d faked her fainting fit, but if I was wrong he’d never talk to me again, and there was no way of ever proving me right.
He looked at me blankly. ‘And?’
‘Well, I wasn’t in it.’
‘It was a photo.’ He looked at me incredulously. ‘There was lots going on, loads of people there . . . I’m sure there were other family members that were left out, but it wouldn’t have been intentional.’
‘But she asked me to take it,’ I said, already feeling defeated.
‘You’re bigger than this, surely?’ he questioned. ‘Even if Mum has her little foibles – and believe me, I know she has them – are you not better to rise above it? So that we can get on with our lives, rather than you making a meal out of everything she says or does? And I’m not being funny, Em, but you make it sound as if she’s got some kind of vendetta against you. She’s over sixty years old, for Christ’s sake. What do you think she’s going to do? Run after you and batter you to death with her umbrella?’
I had to laugh. He was right, it did make me sound pathetically insecure and immature, and I am not that person. I am someone who can hold my own in any situation, fight my own battles, give as good as I get. Aren’t I?
‘So, do you promise you’ll give her a chance?’ he asked. ‘For me?’
I looked up at him and nodded.
‘Adam?’ I said softly. He looked at me then, really looked at me. I could feel the intensity of his eyes as they bored into me. My stomach flipped and I felt a rush of heat, reminding me of our first time, when my senses were so overwhelmed it felt like a massive bundle of nerves had pooled in the pit of my tummy. A million and one scenarios had whirred around my brain then, each contradicting the one before.
I thought all those things again as he stared at me, except now it felt like there was a lot more to lose if I got it wrong. These weren’t the heady days when one love affair merged into another, without risk. This was my future, our future, and it needed to be handled carefully.
The corners of his mouth turned up, ever so slightly, giving me all the indication I needed.
I stood up, leant across the table to kiss him on the lips and, without saying a word, walked out of the room.
He mumbled something but I didn’t want to hear his excuses. I wanted him to make love to me. I needed him to make love to me.
By the time he came into the bedroom, I was undressed, bar the black-lace lingerie set he’d bought me from Agent Provocateur the previous Christmas. He either grinned or grimaced, I’m not sure which, as I walked towards him, the light from the solitary bedside lamp casting a warm glow across the room.
My heart raced and was thumping out of my chest, like an inexperienced young girl being intimate for the first time. I felt like I was moving in slow motion, as if my body was preparing itself for fight or flight, ready to take the knock-back as it came hurtling towards me. But would we be able to come back from this if he rebuffed me again? I almost didn’t want to take the chance, yet, at the same time, my brain was screaming at me to keep going, to find out if we were going to be able to move forward, to become the couple we once were.
He came towards me, slowly, and, as we stood facing each other, I took his face in my hands, his soft stubble tickling my palms as I stared at him intently.
‘Are we okay?’ I whispered.
He nodded. ‘I hope so. I just don’t know if—’
I put my finger to his lips. I kissed him, softly at first, but then more deeply as I responded to his urgency. We fell onto the bed, and I could feel him as I pulled at his trousers, desperately trying to undo the buttons. So many thoughts cluttered my head, making it a much bigger deal than it should have been – I was desperate to close the gaping chasm that had appeared in our once perfect relationship. Sex wasn’t everything, I knew that, but having lost that closeness, it highlighted so many other insecurities. I’d questioned my own attractiveness, my ability to turn him on, whether he was seeing someone else. I needed this for me, and I needed it for him, so that we both knew that it was going to be okay.
He knew before me that it wasn’t going to happen.
‘Leave it,’ he said, pushing me away with his hand.
‘Just relax,’ I offered, determined to continue.
‘I said, leave it.’ His frustration was shared by us both.
I wanted to ask what I was doing wrong, but that seemed like something an actress would say in some B-rated coming-of-age movie. I needed to appear confident, even if I didn’t feel it.
I moved towards him again. ‘Do you want me to try—’
‘For fuck’s sake, Em,’ he snapped. ‘How clear do I have to make it? It’s not going to happen.’
Inside, I crumbled, all thoughts of myself as an attractive, sexual woman broken into a million tiny pieces. I’d failed. It had always been so easy before, we were so in tune with each other and both knew what to do and when to do it. Nobody had ever made me feel like Adam did, and he said the same of me, so how had it all gone so wrong? I had to make this okay.
In one last attempt, I straddled him.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he yelled, pushing me off and jumping up from the bed before hastily pulling on his boxer shorts. ‘What bit are you not understanding?’
I sat up, stock-still.
‘Just relax . . . Do you want me to try . . .’ he mimicked. He was pacing up and down across the room.
‘But we just need to—’
‘We don’t need to do anything,’ he spat. ‘It’s not your problem. It’s mine. So, quit telling me what we need to do and what we ought to try.’
His spit was hitting my face and I pulled back. I’d never seen him like this before.
I shook my head numbly. ‘I’m only trying to help,’ I said, my voice barely audible.
‘Well, I don’t need your help. I need a fucking miracle.’ He walked out of the room and slammed the door so violently that the architrave broke away from its fixings.
I sat there, dumbstruck. My eyes stung and I chastised myself for being so selfish. This wasn’t about me. This was about him.
I thought back to the last time we’d attempted to be intimate, albeit briefly, when his mother had been staying over. I remembered him recoiling away from me in horror as she called out his name, like a teacher telling off a naughty schoolboy. ‘Adam! What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ she’d cried.
It was as if her walking in on us, seeing what she had seen, had caused him physical pain. Maybe it had, but even now that that pain has surely gone, the mental block remained, and that was so much harder to recover from.
18
I hadn’t expected to hear from James again but, a week after his first call, he claimed to be ‘just passing’, and, as
I had a free half hour and was beyond curious as to what he actually wanted, I found myself agreeing to meet him for a coffee.
We were nestled in the corner of a tiny Turkish cafe on Villiers Street, the windows steamed with condensation as the heat of the interior fought against the bitter chill outside. It was unsettling that the man behind the counter was barking out orders. Who eats kebabs at 11 a.m. on a Wednesday morning anyway? But at least it created a diversion from the odd feeling of intimacy that being with James created. I kept telling myself that he’d soon be my brother-in-law, which made this perfectly normal, yet it still felt wrong. Was that just me, or did he feel it as well?
‘So . . .’ he began, before I had the chance to say the same. It seemed the only opener to a conversation, the direction of which was entirely in his hands. Though now it appeared that even he didn’t know where it was heading.
‘How’s things?’ he asked.
‘All good, yeah, all really good,’ I said too quickly. ‘How about you? Still with Chloe? All going good?’ I had no idea why I’d mentioned his girlfriend, a woman I’d never met, before asking about his business. Or indeed why I’d used so many ‘goods’ in one sentence. The sense of ease I’d always felt around James had been replaced by an unnerving tension, our usual banter now stilted conversation.
‘It’s up and down,’ he said, ‘but it’s still early days.’
‘How long’s it been?’ I enquired, as casually as I could.
‘Oh, only four or five months, so anything could happen.’ He raised his eyebrows and laughed. ‘You know what I’m like. I haven’t exactly got a great track record.’
I smiled awkwardly. I didn’t know what he was like, not really, so his comment made it sound as if we were closer than we were.
He edged his arms out of his navy wool overcoat, his elbow banging on the peeling dado rail that ran around the tight corner we were sitting in. He mouthed ‘Ow’, and I laughed, as he untied a tan scarf from his neck to reveal a smart blue shirt with the distinguishable polo player on a horse emblem on its top pocket. Adam favoured a certain Mr Lauren’s brand as well, but whereas his shirts were bursting at the seams, due to his broad shoulders and gym-honed upper arms, James looked comfortable in his, and the collar sat just as it should.
