by Voss, Louise
‘And listen, I can do this too—‘ He clicked his fingers as if summoning a waiter. Then he popped his mouth again.
I laughed. ‘Fantastic. Thank you for showing me. And now I think you’d better go to sleep—shall I turn out the light for you?’
‘Yes please. But leave the door open ‘cos I’m afraid of the dark.’
‘OK. Goodnight, Max.’
‘Goodnight.’ He rolled over onto his side, clutching a stuffed tiger under his armpit, and twiddling a strand of hair between his fingers. I was itching to stroke his head, but made myself stand my ground. I shouldn’t even have gone up there. I took one last long look at him and his bedroom—he had a dragon and a castle appliquéd on his duvet cover, with a prince and princess on the pillowcase - and wished him fairytale dreams. I couldn’t resist folding his clothes and placing them in a pile on top of the nearest available surface, which was the keyboard of a small brightly-coloured kiddie synthesizer, and then I lined his scattered shoes up in a pair, before treading heavy-hearted out of the clouds and down the stairs. Back towards my boring, childless, meaningless life.
Adam had gone down ahead of me. As I’d suspected he might, he had hastily turned off the overhead lights and opened another bottle of wine. He’d also lit some twisty beeswax candles, which were spitting quietly but audibly over the sound of the music (Lowell George now, instead of Van). He’d placed the wine on a coffee table in front of the sofa where he sat, trying to look casual. I imagined him running around like a maniac in the two minutes before I’d followed him downstairs, trying to set the scene and yet look calm and cool when I arrived. It didn’t fool me for a moment, and my heart went out to him.
He had seen my offer to cook supper as a come-on, and because we’d got on so well, it would have been only natural to snuggle into the candlelit sofa, not touching but chatting more intimately, on a first date all the more exciting for its spontaneity and unbidden surprise. I realized how much I missed that first-date thing. I knew it was wrong, and unspeakably dangerous, but I wanted it to feel like a first date.
‘I love this song,’ I said when “Twenty Million Things To Do” came on. ‘It’s Lowell George, isn’t it? I don’t have this record but always wanted to get it, just for this track.’
Adam beamed. ‘I’m very impressed you recognised it. Little Feat are my all-time favourite band.’ He hesitated. ‘Would you like another glass of wine?’ He held the bottle poised over my empty glass, as if demonstrating the heavy air of suspense in the room.
I wanted to stay so badly. The heady combination of being rescued; cooking for Max; and two glasses of wine had given the evening a rose-coloured hue, and Adam’s obvious attraction to me was in turn attracting me to him. There was something so inviting about him; his warmth and openness, unthreatening bulk and soft edges. And he’d smelled so damn nice, too, when I passed him on the way into Max’s room. He was growing on me, like honeysuckle.
‘OK. Thanks. I’d love another glass,’ I said. ‘But just a small one—I don’t want to be over the limit, and I mustn’t get a cab home, I’m going to need the car tomorrow morning.’
I sat down, bracing myself for the inevitable questions that I knew would come once we really got talking. It was fair enough, I thought: I’d thus far steered conversation away from any mention of my personal life, and it would begin to seem as if I was being deliberately obtuse if I continued to avoid Adam’s enquiries. Which of course I was…But on balance it seemed better to tell a few mild lies than to come over like some sort of International Woman of Mystery. I didn’t want him to start suspecting that I was on the FBI’s Most Wanted list, or anything.
‘So you aren’t working at the moment?’
I took a sip of the good, cold wine. Must remember to drink a lot of water before I left, I told myself.
‘No. I haven’t done for a while, actually—a combination of wanting some time off, and not getting the right job. I’m kind of over rep—all that travelling—so I’ve been holding out for a TV gig. Actually, I’m waiting to hear about an audition I had a week or so ago, for a west country cable soap. I’m hoping I get it.’ Well, I had been hoping, until I heard that I hadn’t got it…never mind. Adam didn’t need to know that.
‘And what brings you to Gillingsbury?’
I hesitated. ‘Oh, you know, no particular reason. I’ve always really liked the countryside round here. I just wanted to get out of London and live somewhere a bit more rural.’
He nodded. ‘You…live on your own over in Wealton?’
Since it was an imaginary house, I felt justified in filling it with as few or many imaginary inhabitants as I liked. I toyed with the idea of saying that I did have a partner, but the naked vulnerability in Adam’s eyes stopped me. I might never have seen Max again if Adam thought I was already in a relationship.
‘Yes. Young, free and single, that’s me.’ Oh, this was terrible. I wasn’t sure what I felt worse about: lying; raising Adam’s hopes; or being there with him when I ought to have been at home with Ken. I tried to temper the statement, but it came out laboured and unconvincing:
‘I just wanted a bit of a break from relationships, really. You know, time out, and all that. I think everyone should be single for a while, after a long relationship.’
I made a long-suffering, ‘please don’t ask me anything more, it’s too painful’ face, and it seemed to do the trick. Adam, looking somewhat crestfallen, didn’t pursue it.
‘So, tell me about your family. Are your parents still alive?’ he said instead. That was an easier one, I thought, relieved.
‘No. My dad died when I was eighteen—heart attack… I had to swallow the memory, hard, like a sharp corner of a nut that wouldn’t go down. ‘…and Mum died when I was older. Cancer,’ I rushed on, not wanting his condolences. I wanted to carry on talking about them, because I was on much less shaky ground. Those facts were immutable; a non-flexible history which couldn’t be rewritten like I’d been rewriting my own.
‘I’ve got one brother, Olly. He works at John Lewis. We get on fine, but I don’t see much of him.’
‘And how did you get into acting?’
I relaxed. Another easy one. ‘I caught the acting bug from my mother, I suppose; she was a leading light in the Harpenden Am-Dram society. My parents met there, actually. Dad couldn’t act or sing, but he said he just joined to meet girls. He always got the very minor ‘second spear carrier’ type parts. He used to admire Mum from the back of the stage - she’d be up there, giving her all to whatever role it was. She loved it.’
I sighed. It seemed like such a lifetime ago. ‘She wasn’t all that keen on me going into the theatre though. Said it would be far better as a hobby, and that I’d spend most of my time out of work.’
‘And do you?’
‘Yes,’ I said sheepishly, and we laughed.
At the time, though, I’d been a lot less acquiescent.
‘How do you know? I might be really famous,’ I’d replied defiantly, Mum’s resistance merely strengthening my own resolve. She had been funny like that—one minute building me up and praising me, the next, dooming all my ventures to failure, constantly changing her mind and blowing hot and cold. She’d done the same with Olly. When he first came out as gay, the year before she died, she’d been speechless with horror for a week; but after that had flirted madly with Olly’s first boyfriend (or rather, the first one we’d been allowed to meet), and had begun to boast about it to her Am-Dram friends. None of their children were anything nearly as exotic as homosexual. The most glamorous thing that had ever happened to any of their dreary offspring had been when Harold and Minty Handy’s daughter Joy got a job on the Estee Lauder counter at Debenhams.
‘Poor Mum. I still miss her,’ I said. It was true; although I’d never missed her as much as I missed the steady constant presence of my father, with his quiet humour and warm hugs.
‘She used to be quite disparaging to Dad really, putting him down for what were his strengths: traditional
family values, stoicism, hard work - but she was devastated when he died. Olly and I had her down for husband number two within three years, but she never married again. She had lots of dates, though, and enjoyed telling us about them afterwards, you know,’ - I waved my wineglass in the air and affected a very luvvie voice - ‘“Oh darlings, he was simply ghastly! Said he liked theatre but didn’t know his Ibsen from his elbow! And he let his tie go in the soup!’”
Adam laughed, but there was sympathy on his face.
‘She lost the spark in her eyes after Daddy died,’ I finished, feeling suddenly sad. ‘Sorry, I’m really banging on, aren’t I? You’re a very good listener.’
‘You’re a very good talker.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment, shall I?’
‘Do…So how old were you when she died?’
‘Twenty seven. Olly was twenty-four. There was only a month between when she was diagnosed and when she died. She just hadn’t been able to accept it. Didn’t have time to, I suppose.’
She’d gone, “raging at the dying of the light”, railing against everyone: God, us, herself, the doctors, the NHS…It had been terrible, but Lil gathered all three of us up in her thin strong arms and got us through it, moving into Mum’s house and taking care of her and us. Mum never had any idea of how much Lil had done for her.
‘She just did not want to go. Not that anybody ever does, I suppose…Anyway, tell me something about you instead.’
As Adam opened his mouth, I realised exactly how comfortable I felt in his house—more comfortable, somehow, than I did in my own home. Guilt pricked at the back of my neck as I visualised Ken already back from work, fixing himself a drink and calling the office in LA whilst watching Eastenders with the volume muted. He’d have been peeling his socks away from his feet, probably at that very moment, and thinking about what to cook. I ought to give him a call on the way back to tell him that I’d already eaten. I thought of his text message and wondered what the surprise was that he had waiting for me.
‘Before I forget,’ Adam said, ‘are you up for this end-of-project dinner I’m planning? Nothing too fancy, probably just a few beers and a curry at the Raj. Or maybe a pizza. Haven’t decided yet.’
‘When is it?’ I smiled back at him. Although I had to admit the prospect of dinner with Mitch and Ralph present wasn’t exactly riveting - I wasn’t sure that there could be anything left in Ralph’s life that he hadn’t already told me about. Perhaps he’d announce that he slept upside down hanging from the rafters. Or offer to show me his operation scars and ingrowing toenails; while Mitch would probably get drunk on snakebite and try and persuade me to stroke his hairy arms - anyhow, it represented another definite meeting with Adam, and might in turn lead to the next encounter with Max which, I reminded myself, was the main incentive.
‘A week on Saturday. Will we see you at the project again before then, or shall I just take your phone number and give you a call about it nearer the time?’
‘Oh, I’m hoping to do another couple of days on the panels. Although it sort of depends on whether I hear about this job or not. I might have to go up to London for another interview. Would you mind if I take your number and give you a ring?’
He didn’t seem to mind that I had to declined to give him my number, and wrote his own down with one of Max’s felt tips on a corner of a page of the previous weekend’s Observer magazine, which he ripped off and handed to me. I tucked it into the side pocket of my combat trousers, and we sank companionably against the back of the sofa again.
‘Max is really, really wonderful,’ I said, gazing across at the photos of him.
Adam rubbed his chin and looked pleased. ‘Thank you. Yes, he’s a fantastic kid. I don’t know how he manages to be so cheerful all the time, after everything he’s been through. Still—kids don’t know anything else, do they? He just does seem to be naturally sunny.’
‘He is,’ I agreed. ‘But I’m sure that’s all credit to you. You should see my goddaughter, Crystal. She’s only a few months younger than Max, but, boy, she hardly opens her mouth except to complain about something. She’s like a four year old version of Johnny Vegas, only not intentionally funny. I do love her, though. I just don’t think she gets enough attention.’
‘I worry that Max gets too much. I mean, we all had to put our lives on hold for him when he was ill, and if he said “jump” we’d all say “how high, Max?” Not that I begrudge it; I love spending time with him. But I do sometimes worry that he ought to be a little more independent.’
‘I think you do an amazing job, taking care of him,’ I said with feeling. ‘He’s clearly very content and stable.’ My eyes were drawn to the photo of him with his mother, and I was dying to ask—but I couldn’t. Instead I said: ‘It must have been terrible when he was ill.’
I saw Adam’s shoulders instantly tense up. He didn’t say anything for a moment, and then when he did speak, he was staring at a spot on the ceiling.
‘It was the worst time of my whole life. Every morning for two years, I thought, I can’t bear it. I don’t want to get out of bed, because I can’t bear seeing my son so sick; with all the needles and tubes and machines. Being so thin, and losing his hair, and not being able to keep anything down. He couldn’t play, or run around—or, for a while, even walk or talk. He was too wiped out. It was just terrible… But we had to let the doctors do what they had to do, because the only thing worse than watching him suffer was the thought that he might die. And, in a weird sort of way, however terrible it was, we got used to it. I got so used to not being able to bear it, that I bore it. If you see what I mean.’
I was so horrified to see tears swimming in Adam’s eyes that I didn’t even notice the one rolling down my own cheek. I swallowed hard, but he saw, and when he put his hand on mine and squeezed it, I didn’t move away. In fact, it seemed the most natural thing in the world for me to turn my palm up and let our fingers intertwine.
‘I’m sorry to bring it up and upset you like that,’ I said. ‘He is—he’s OK now though, you said, isn’t he?’ I wanted to hear Adam say it again.
Adam nodded and smiled, still holding my hand. ‘Yes. He’s OK now. And I’m sorry I got all heavy on you. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to remember it without getting upset, as long as I live.’
‘It’s fine.’
He turned and looked in my face, and I felt such a surge of connection that I just stared mutely back at him. I had a sudden flash of fear: people say that you know when you meet your soulmate. I’d thought I had that when I met Ken - but what if I’d been wrong?
Then I remembered Ken at home, waiting, and his angular, kind, tired face, and I knew that however much I identified with Adam, had even begun to fancy him, it was Ken who I loved.
‘I’m really glad to get to know you a bit better, Anna,’ said Adam, still holding my gaze, and my hand.
‘Me you too,’ I said awkwardly, feeling like a teenager. ‘It’s been a lovely evening, and thanks again for rescuing me.’ I made a big show of looking at my watch, which involved extricating my hand. I was genuinely shocked to discover that it was past eight o’clock. ‘Oh crikey, I must go. I’m, um, expecting a call this evening.’
I stood up, and Adam followed suit. We were standing, slightly hemmed in by the coffee table bearing our unfinished glasses of wine. He was much taller than me, and of course broader, but when he tentatively leaned forward and hugged me, we seemed to fit together. I hugged him back equally tentatively at first, and then with more conviction - his chest was warm and solid, so different to Ken’s narrow torso. Ken was the one I loved, but it didn’t stop the hug from feeling great. Adam smelled musty and sweet. I didn’t dare raise my cheek from where it was pressed against his collarbone, because if I had, I knew I’d have been tempted to see if his lips were as soft as I was guiltily imagining they were…
Maybe it was the novelty of being hugged by somebody other than my husband, or maybe I did just genuinely feel I’d bonded with this man, b
ut my body was responding in spontaneous ways; ways which it hadn’t done with Ken in quite some time. I had to pull away from Adam in case he felt my nipples harden against his chest.
I felt awful: awful, and tremendously aroused at the same time. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling.
‘Right, well, thanks again,’ I gabbled, grabbing my bag from the sofa and checking that I had my phone.
‘Ring me about the curry, or pizza or whatever. I should know what we’re doing in about a week or so. Good luck with the soap job in the meantime,’ said Adam, grinning at me, and rubbing the side of my arm affectionately. There was something extremely endearing about his easy familiarity with me. ‘And maybe we could get together ourselves, soon?’ he added.
I tried to convince myself that the only reason I was agreeing was because of Max. ‘Definitely. Perhaps we could take Max for a picnic or something?’
‘Great. Let’s arrange it at the group dinner, or give me a call. I might not be around at Moose Hall that much from now on - I’ve got to start planning my courses for this term. I’ve left Serena in charge.’
‘OK. Well, see you at the dinner then.’
‘Yes. Look forward to it.’
I ran across the road and got swiftly into my car, relieved that my tyres hadn’t been slashed or my paintwork scarred. Adam was waving from the doorway, but I still looked nervously around me to make sure there were no slouching figures emerging from alleys. The memory of the incident had already faded, though, after the joy of spending the evening with Max and Adam. I’d seen Max’s bedroom! He liked me! Adam liked me! … Although that probably wasn’t something to be quite so jubilant about. I felt worried for a while, and then as I accelerated round the roundabout towards the London Road, I cheered up again. I could handle Adam. It was actually great that we liked one another so much. It would be easy to damp down the mutual attraction into friendship, I was sure it would. I’d just have to plan my words carefully, and make sure I didn’t lead him on. So, no more hugs then. Which was a shame. He’d been lovely to hug.
