‘Stop!’
Startled, I drop the paver. It misses my right foot by a dog’s whisker. ‘Who’s there?’ I shout into the night. ‘I have a weapon and I’m not afraid to use it!’
‘Don’t fret. It’s just me.’ Out of the gathering darkness, Adam appears. ‘And I don’t know that ornamental rocks count as weapons.’
‘I think that brake light would disagree with you,’ I say as he strolls up the driveway toward me. ‘Watch your step.’
Adam deftly sidesteps the broken glass. ‘What are you doing, Kitty?’
‘I’m smashing the bejesus out of this ridiculous car. Wanna help?’
‘My dear,’ he says, laying one hand on my shoulder. It seems like it’s been years since Adam said a kind word to me, or made an affectionate gesture. It feels foreign, and wonderful. ‘My dear, I think you’ve seen Christine one too many times. I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, Kitty, but the car will not regenerate.’
In spite of my tempest, I laugh. ‘I don’t want it to regenerate. I want to forget it ever existed. I want it gone. Out of my life. Forever.’
‘Are we still talking about the car?’ In the dim glow of the streetlight, I can see a flicker of genuine concern lurking behind Adam’s goofy grin.
I hang my head. ‘No.’
‘Will we go inside?’ He uses the hand still resting on my shoulder to turn me gently towards the house. ‘Unless you’d like to invite the neighbours to join in the ceremonial car sacrifice?’
With a sigh, I trudge alongside Adam to the front door, where he extracts my keys from my pocket and lets us in. Reggie, Dolly and Carl greet us both rapturously, although my welcome becomes notably less effusive when they detect the scent of other dogs on my clothes. They look at me as if I’ve been cheating on them and trot haughtily into the living room.
‘Frankie?’ I call out as I follow them. There’s no response.
‘She’s working late,’ Adam says.
‘I guess so.’ Frankie has been putting in long hours at her new job as a junior marketing officer for a local surfwear label. Well, the job is new to me; Frankie started there not long after I went to LA, but I still can’t quite get used to thinking of my little sister as gainfully employed. She is, though, and by all accounts she’s loving it – she often gets home after I’ve gone to bed, and even heads into the office on weekends. It’s kind of wonderful to see her so passionate about something, although I do worry about her burning out.
‘So, shall we have a glass of wine and you can unburden your heavy heart?’ Adam calls over his shoulder as he heads into the kitchen.
I sink into the sofa. ‘Actually, Adam, you know what I’d really love?’
He pops his head around the kitchen door, a quizzical expression on his face. ‘Do tell.’
‘Milo.’
Ten minutes later, the dogs have been fed and watered and I’m curled in a ball on the couch, a steaming mug of Milo in my hand. Adam sits opposite me, and suddenly there’s a palpable feeling of awkwardness between us. In my surprise at seeing him materialise out of the night I forgot that we’ve only been in each other’s company twice in the past two months, and that on both occasions we said some pretty terrible things to each other.
‘So,’ Adam says, sipping from his own mug and not quite meeting my gaze. ‘What did that god-awful car ever do to you?’
‘It had the misfortune of being a gift from Mitchell Pyke.’
‘Ah, I see. I thought you’d begun to move on from Mr Movie Star.’ He frowns. ‘Did something happen today?’
I sigh. ‘Not something, someone. Vida Torres.’
Adam grimaces. ‘Uh-oh. Do you want to talk about it?’
‘Do you want to hear it?’ I reply, a little more sharply than I’d intended. Adam doesn’t appear to have any intention of bringing up our recent clashes, and I’m sick to the back teeth of things being left unsaid. ‘The last time we broached the subject of my relationship with Mitchell, it didn’t exactly go well.’
‘Of course I want to hear it,’ he says, looking wounded. ‘You’re still my best friend, Kitty. That’s all water under the bridge.’
‘It’s not water under the bridge to me, Adam. I was devastated by the things you said to me that night. And then you never called me once while I was in America. I was so lonely over there. I missed you so much.’
‘You did?’ Adam looks genuinely surprised. ‘Really?’
‘Yes! We’ve been friends for the best part of a decade. You’re the only person in my life who really gets me. You’re definitely the only one who understands my crazy dog ladyness.’
Adam sets his mug on the coffee table and slides off the couch onto the floor. Shuffling over to me on his knees, he takes my left hand between both of his and presses it to his chest, his heart.
‘Kitty, my dearest, my number-one girl, I prostrate myself at your feet,’ he says grandly. ‘I offer my most heartfelt apologies and humbly beg your forgiveness. Do you think you can find it in your heart to walk by my side at the dog park ever again?’
A hearty laugh bubbles up from deep inside me and erupts, taking me by surprise. I swat Adam with a cushion. ‘Get up, you big diva. Of course I forgive you.’
With mock indignation, Adam returns to the sofa, but this time he sits next to me and pulls me in close.
‘A simple “I’m sorry” would have sufficed, you know,’ I tell him.
‘I am sorry,’ he says, giving my shoulder a squeeze. ‘I didn’t contact you while you were away because I didn’t know how to even begin to atone for my terrible behaviour. I was afraid for you when you left, that’s all. I didn’t want you to get hurt.’
‘I know. And I appreciate you not saying “I told you so”.’
‘Nevertheless, I was an absolute cad at the restaurant that night, not to mention a monster at the clinic the day you got home.’
‘Oh, yes, that,’ I say, enjoying the comforting feeling of his strong arms around me. ‘I never thought I would see the day when you would side with my sister instead of me!’
Adam chuckles, but doesn’t respond.
I burrow my face into the sleeve of his T-shirt and breathe him in. There’s a new aroma mixed in with his usual scent of dog hair and veterinary chemicals. It’s sweet, like perfume.
‘Adam Katz, are you wearing aftershave?!’ I pull back and look at him, enjoying the way he squirms under my gaze. In all the years I’ve known him, my best friend’s loathing of ‘man bouquet’, as he calls it, has never wavered. Adam prefers to smell honest and unadorned, or so he’s always claimed.
‘Maybe a little . . .’ he mumbles.
‘Good God! Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?’ I frown with faux suspicion. ‘Just what else aren’t you telling me?’
I expect Adam to join in with my laughter, but he only offers a small smile and looks away. Then he clears his throat. ‘There, um . . . there is something I want to tell you, actually. Well, something I need to tell you.’
He looks up at me now, and the undisguised vulnerability in his expression makes my breath catch in my throat. Understanding crashes down upon me like a breaking wave. How could I have been so clueless for so long?
Adam has feelings for me.
The apprehensive, hopeful look on his face might as well be a flashing neon sign. It all adds up: his misgivings about Mitchell, his opposition to my moving to LA, the way he lashed out at me at the restaurant that night. The fact that he’s never actually called Mitchell by his name. It’s all been driven by jealousy.
Has he felt this way the whole time we’ve been friends? He hasn’t really dated anyone the whole time I’ve known him. Though, to be honest, I don’t know when he’d have time. If he’s not at work, he often pops in unexpectedly or finds me at the dog park. He does odd jobs around the house . . . come to think of it, with notable recent exceptions, we’ve been virtually inseparable for years. And now he’s wearing aftershave.
Adam is in love with me.
‘Kitty, we’ve been friends a long time,’ he says haltingly. ‘And I know you know how much you mean to me . . .’
Oh God. I’m not ready for this conversation. Am I? It’s not that I haven’t thought about what it would be like to be with Adam; I mean, really be with him. The last time the notion crossed my mind was when I first met Mitchell and wasn’t sure I’d be able to cope with the attention a relationship with ‘Mr Movie Star’ would bring. I had wondered then if someone like Adam – sweet, familiar, not famous Adam – would be a better match for me.
Turns out I was one hundred per cent right about Mitchell. Could I have been right about Adam, too?
‘You mean the world to me, too,’ I say. My voice is tentative, but I mean those words from the bottom of my heart.
Adam is a good man. A wonderful man. A man who has been by my side through thick and thin. A man who’s about to lay his heart at my feet. A man I can trust with my own.
Adam is the man I should be with. Not a man like Adam, but Adam himself.
‘I’m so glad to hear you say that,’ he goes on. ‘Because things have changed, and—’
I stifle his words with a kiss, claiming his lips with my own more passionately than I thought possible. It’s not just a kiss; it’s a promise. Maybe I’m not ready for a new relationship yet, but I can’t let Adam bare his soul without telling him that he has mine, too, and that one day, soon, he’ll have all of me.
I feel Adam respond, his lips parting as the kiss deepens. But then he pulls away.
‘What are you doing?’ he gasps.
I cup his cheek with my palm. ‘It’s okay, Adam,’ I say gently. ‘You don’t need to explain. I understand.’
He frowns. ‘I don’t think you do.’
‘You’re in love with me. I should have realised it years ago. And I feel the same way. Well, I will feel the same way. If you can give me just a little time, I know I’ll —’
Adam groans. ‘Oh, Kitty,’ he says. A crimson blush creeps up from his collarbones. ‘I’m in love with Frankie.’
I stare blankly at him as my brain tries and fails to make sense of what he’s just said. ‘Frankie?’
He nods. His face is a picture of sadness, mortification and, if I’m not mistaken, fear.
‘My sister, Frankie?’
‘The very same.’
‘But . . .’ I cast around for the right words. ‘But you hate Frankie.’
‘No,’ Adam says simply. ‘I love her.’
My shock begins to give way to deep humiliation. And also jaw-clenching indignation. ‘Since when?’
‘Actually, since the first time you went out with Mitchell. Do you remember that night?’
Do I remember? If only I could forget. But Adam had nothing to do with that night . . .
Oh. Bananarama.
‘You came over that night to check on Rama,’ I say flatly.
‘That’s right. And after you went out, Frankie and I got to talking – she’d just been dumped by that Dominic guy.’ There’s a distinctly protective note in Adam’s tone. ‘We had a few drinks and . . .’
I scramble to my feet. ‘You had better not be telling me you slept with my little sister,’ I hiss, waggling my finger in his face.
‘Of course not! I’m a gentleman,’ he says peevishly. ‘But I saw another side of Frankie that night. And she must have seen another side of me, because when I asked her to dinner, she said yes. We’ve been seeing each other ever since. And I’ve fallen in love with her, Kitty.’
My embarrassment has now been fully usurped by anger. I cannot believe this. ‘Wait. Let me see if I’ve got this right,’ I say, fighting to keep my voice level. ‘You’ve been “seeing” my little sister – who is thirteen years younger than you, I might add – for three months and neither of you thought to mention it? Were you ever going to tell me?’
My heart thuds painfully in my chest and tears sting my eyes. Of all the secrets and lies I’ve tripped over in the last few weeks, this is by far – by far – the worst. The two people I love most in the world, sneaking around behind my back. Laughing at me. How could they do this?
‘We thought you had enough on your plate with the move and the media intrusion and . . .’ Adam trails off.
I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. I can’t begin to explain to him how this feels. The stunning, gobsmacking treachery of it. I am literally speechless.
So I take my mug of Milo and run to my room, like a teenager whose crush has passed a note to some other girl. Because isn’t that just what’s happened?
24.
A few minutes later, I hear the soft click of the front door closing as Adam leaves. Then the house is empty and quiet. I am alone, in every possible sense of the world.
Played for a fool by the man I love. Chastened by the woman who once loved him. Deceived by my sister and my best friend. Hell, even my boss had fun keeping me in the dark. Is there anyone in my life who hasn’t had a go at swindling me? I am the world’s biggest fool.
There’s a pity party happening in my bedroom, and I’m the guest of honour.
I lie spread-eagle on my bed, listening to the tick of my bedside clock. Were anyone to walk in right now, they might think me relaxed, at peace. Nothing could be further from the truth. I may be physically still, but inside I feel half-crazed. My stomach churns and my mind whirls as I think frenziedly back over the past few months, searching for a clue, some tiny hint that should have told me all was not as it seemed between Frankie and Adam.
There was the morning after my first date with Mitchell – which, as it turns out, was also the night Adam began his seduction of my little sister – when Frankie came bounding into my bedroom to deliver the newspaper before dawn. I had asked her what she was doing up at such an unholy hour. Had she been with Adam all night? Sure, he says he was a perfect gentleman that evening, but how can I believe anything he tells me now?
Then the night some lunatic threw a brick through the window, Adam had been here within minutes after Frankie called him. I assumed she’d summoned him for my benefit, but he must have been here to comfort her.
The day we fought over that ridiculous clock, Frankie called a friend to vent her spleen about her unreasonable older sister. Was Adam that friend? In fact, all the times my sister had casually mentioned she’d seen or spoken to Adam, when I’d taken for granted that either Rama or I was their topic of discussion, they were instead falling in love with each other.
Or were they? Adam says he loves Frankie, but does she feel the same way? Frankie has never been in love with anyone, and she’s always dished out as much rancor towards Adam as she’s copped from him. Plus, she’s known him since she was fifteen. I just can’t get my head around the seismic shift that must have happened for Frankie to even tolerate being in the same room as Adam, much less find him attractive.
Oh god. Does she think he’s sexy now? Does she want to tear his clothes off whenever they’re together? My Adam? Did she move him into the house while I was away? My return must have thrown quite a spanner in the works for the young lovebirds. Suddenly, Frankie’s recent late nights and weekends at work make a lot more sense.
I feel like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. Up is down, right is left. Everything I thought I knew is wrong, wrong, wrong.
Right now, there’s not a single person in the world I can trust. I’ve been so blind, running around like a crazy person trying to make everything all right for everyone else, and it’s been thrown back in my face every damn time. What do I have to show for any of it? A dented car and a heart that’s a total write-off. As Martha might say, that ain’t much.
I sit up on my bed with a start. I don’t deserve this. I might have my flaws and hang-ups, but I am a good person. I don’t deserve to be lied to and tiptoed around and taken advantage of. I’m sick of being the one left trying to hold it all together while everyone else does exactly what they want.
It’s about time I got mine.
I jump u
p off my bed and open my wardrobe. The rucksack I carried on my flight back from LA still sits on the floor where I shoved it, unpacked, the day I got home. I upend it, spilling its contents across the floor. I have nothing left to lose, so I might as well do what everyone has assumed I’ve been doing from the word go – make some money.
Amid the tangled headphones, travel documents and dozens of tear-soaked tissues, I find what I’m looking for.
Molly Reid’s business card.
‘Are you sure you’re ready for it?’ comes Molly’s husky voice over Skype from Los Angeles.
‘No, but it’s too late now. Hit me.’
She laughs. ‘Okay, I’m pressing send . . . now.’ I hear a whoosh from Molly’s computer as the email races out into the ether. ‘You’ll have it in a couple of minutes. Want me to stay on the line?’
‘What’s the point? It’s not like you’re going to change it if I’m not happy, right?’
‘Right,’ she says, laughing again. ‘Okay then, Kitty. Enjoy the read. Remember this will also go out to other media in the next few minutes, so be prepared for a lot of calls. Like, a lot of calls.’
I manage a wry smile. ‘Don’t worry, Molly. I’m kind of getting the hang of this now.’
‘I’m sure you are,’ Molly replies. ‘You know, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you came to me. This is the least you deserve. Don’t forget that.’
Molly hangs up and I refresh my email browser, tapping my fingernails impatiently on the table as I wait for her email to arrive.
Waiting is something I’ve done a lot of this past week. It took three days to hammer out a deal with Molly’s bosses at InTouch, and while I waited for them to agree to the dollar figure I’d nominated, I kept expecting to wake up and decide not to sell my story after all. But it never happened. The anger that drove me to call Molly in the first place kept bubbling away below the surface, simmering just violently enough to convince me that if I wasn’t necessarily doing the right thing, then I was at least doing the justified thing.
Then Molly – who, incidentally, hadn’t sounded the slightest bit surprised to hear from me – called to say the proverbial cheque was in the post, and there was no time for introspection after that. I did a marathon Skype interview with her the same day, pouring out my whole sorry tale from the moment I first saw Mitchell on the set of Solitaire to the instant Vida Torres gleefully burst my deluded little bubble during the Cleopatra’s Serum shoot.
The Ex Factor Page 25
