by Ali Harris
Dear Adam
I don’t expect you to reply to this message – I wouldn’t be surprised if you immediately deleted it after what I’ve done. I just hope you can find it within yourself to read it because I want you to know, again, how sorry I am. That word seems so empty, doesn’t it? Sorry. You can be sorry for bumping into someone, sorry for missing a phone call – but how can it possibly be enough to convey how I feel about destroying our relationship, our future?
From the moment we met, you made me happier than I ever thought possible. Happier than I deserved. But that has always been the problem. I don’t believe I deserve you. You are an amazing, loving, kind, thoughtful man. You are so together, so capable and you have always made me feel so safe, Adam, so loved. I loved being loved by you – and being looked after. You made me feel that nothing else mattered as long as I was with you. For seven wonderful years you made sure I never had to worry about a thing. But walking down that aisle I realised that it isn’t right to piggy-back along someone else’s well-plotted path. We get one life, Ad, one chance to get it right, and I’ve hidden behind you for too long. You made my present so perfect I haven’t dealt with my past – or worked out who I want to be in the future. I know now that I need to take responsibility for who I am and who I want to be before I can give myself to anyone else.
I know I can’t ask you to wait for me but I want you to know that I am better, stronger, happier than I could have been because I’ve been loved by you. And because of that, a piece of my heart will forever be yours.
Bea xx
I am sobbing as I press send. I don’t know if I’ve done the right thing and I stare longingly at his picture for a moment more. I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking. I wish he was on here more often, but his profile and status have stayed stubbornly the same ever since he changed his relationship status to ‘Engaged’ and wrote a status update that said, ‘Bea Bishop finally said yes!’ No macho pretence or crude jokes about putting a ring on it. The comments underneath are all so happy; from the people who love Adam. Who loved us together.
And then I click on my timeline. I scroll back, back, back, watching my life flash before my eyes, until finally I reach it.
17 September 2006
My very first update. I remember it because it was the week after I’d moved in here. Milly had assured me that the social networking website was going to be the biggest thing to happen to our generation. Obviously it took me ages to decide what the hell to put as my very first status. After nearly an hour of ruminating, I’d typed:
Bea Bishop is ON.
Once I’d posted it, Milly had cracked up laughing because she said it sounded like I was talking about my period. I tried to delete it, but I couldn’t work out how and Milly wouldn’t do it for me – she said it was too funny to change.
I met Adam that same night.
I look at my page with that first update and think of how the date and the memory of meeting Adam and my being back in this flat are all now inextricably entwined.
I start going through my status updates from then on. There must be a clue here somewhere, some reason why Adam and I weren’t meant to be.
I look at the one the morning after I met him:
Bea Bishop has just had the best night ever – with Milly Singh.
There are three comments underneath:
Milly Singh: I didn’t fancy yours much. Tall, dark, handsome, clever . . . yeuch.
Bea Bishop: And that’s why we’re best friends – we’ve always had entirely different taste in men! Cute and quirky and cool works for you. Speaking of which, when are you seeing Jay again?
Milly Singh: Now! ;-)
I still find it amazing that I’d even gone out that night at all. I hadn’t wanted to but despite my protestations Milly had dragged me out to the Greenwich Tavern. The pub was opposite Greenwich Park and had a cute little outdoor area where the walls had been whitewashed and painted with brightly coloured tulips.
‘It’s not far, Bea. You have to get back out there sometime. You’re almost twenty-three years old. You can’t hide away from the world forever. It’s not healthy . . .’
She’d promised me she wouldn’t leave me, but had abandoned me to go and get drinks from the bar. I’d sat there alone, trying to keep my panic attack at bay, breathing through the dark tunnel that I was trapped in, trying to tell myself that it was OK. I could do this. I was in a pub, no big deal. But still the waves of fear and nausea had come. I didn’t deserve to be out, I told myself. Not after what happened. What right did I have to be building a new life now?
Despite my introspection, I noticed Adam immediately – it was hard not to. It was a balmy September evening and he was wearing a short-sleeved white shirt that emphasised his coal-black hair. He smoothed back the curls that were threatening to fall into his eyes and I couldn’t help but gaze at the tanned sinews of his arms, momentarily blinded by his watch that glittered in the evening sun. He looked up at me then and silver sparkles lit up his eyes as he smiled a sweet, lopsided smile that belied his heroic good looks and seemed to give me an insight into his soul. I looked away immediately, heart pounding, pretending to busy myself by searching through my bag. When I looked up he was standing by my table. I found I could barely breathe. Let alone speak.
‘Hi,’ he said simply.
I didn’t answer.
‘Can I get you a—’
‘I’m not interested,’ I replied curtly, finding my voice at last.
He seemed taken aback before a wide, unapologetic smile had appeared on his face, a smile that turned into a laugh which somehow made me laugh too. But then I caught myself, clasped my hands together on the table primly and looked away.
At that moment Milly came back out from the bar, talking and laughing easily with a short male companion. He had messy ginger hair, dark rimmed glasses, was wearing a hoodie and jeans and they looked like the odd couple, what with her in her designer work suit and sleek dark hair.
‘Bea! You have to hear this! I’ve just been saved by this man . . .’ She purred the word and Jay blushed profusely ‘. . . from a fate worse than chat-up death . . . oh, hello!’ She looked startled when she spotted Adam hovering over our table. She looked at me and then at him and then gave me this horribly obvious thumbs-up. Then she leaned forward and whispered, ‘Bea Bishop is ON!’ before introducing me to Jay.
‘Bea meet Jay, Jay meet Bea. And who, may I ask, are you?’ she said, turning to Adam.
‘I can answer that,’ Jay replied, putting his hands in his pockets and grinning. ‘This is Adam, my annoyingly good-looking, successful best mate who overshadows everything I do, and who I resent horribly but who I need in my life because his insane good looks have been proven to have the power to redress the Curse of the Ginge.’ Milly and I looked at each other and laughed and Jay continued self-effacingly, ‘When I started hanging around with him, girls actually talked to me! It may have been to get close to him but I’ve never let him out of my sight since. Clever, eh?’
‘I talked to you without seeing him,’ Milly said.
Adam sat down on the bench next to me, nudging me. Milly and Jay struck up an intimate conversation that ruled out any involvement from Adam and I. It was like they had crossed over into a parallel universe where no one else existed but them. Working in the City and being as beautiful as she is, Milly has never been shy with men. But I’d never seen her so relaxed, so at ease with anyone like she was with Jay that night.
‘Well, this is awkward,’ Adam said. My skin prickled as his leg brushed mine.
‘Mmm,’ I replied. I took a sip of wine, turned my back on him and started searching through my bag again.
‘Can I help at all?’ Adam said. I looked at him quizzically. ‘I mean, with what you’re looking for,’ he elaborated with a smile, and I remember I felt like I had just seen my future. A different future, far better than the one I’d been imagining for myself.
Because in that moment I’d been struck by this overwh
elmingly intense feeling that, despite all my fears, all my promises to myself to never fall for anyone again, to not follow my heart, to shut myself off from hurt, to live a life where I took no risks, a life which required no decisions, I realised there was another, better, safer, happier option right here. I just needed the courage to cross the line, take the leap . . .
‘It’s fine,’ I smiled shyly. ‘I’ve just found it.’ I held up a pen. But I wasn’t talking about that.
He started talking to me then, easily and lightly, and I loved listening. He was honest, funny, not trying to impress me, just allowing me to get to know the real him. Slowly, gradually, I found myself opening up to him, not about my breakdown – or what had happened with Kieran – I didn’t want to completely freak him out – just about how in the past year the direction I thought my life was going in had suddenly changed and brought me to London. A place I never thought I’d live.
‘I love that you’ve been brave enough to do that,’ he said admiringly when I’d finished talking. ‘I’ve always known exactly what I’m doing, where I’m going next. What A levels to do, which uni to go to, who I’m – who I was going to date – it’s like everything’s been meticulously planned and plotted before I have a chance to form an opinion.’ He looked downcast, wistful.
‘Well, personally, I’d welcome such certainty in my life,’ I said. ‘I’d love to know exactly what was going to happen next.’
We gazed at each other and I felt like we were clutching the tail of the same comet. One that you only see once in a lifetime. Then, as if suddenly acutely aware of the poignancy of the moment, we downed our drinks and looked over at Milly and Jay who were deep in conversation, their heads close together, like acorns dangling from a branch. We turned to each other to comment on the fact that it was closing time and when we looked back a moment later we found them attached at the mouth and practically horizontal.
It hadn’t surprised me. Once Milly knows what she wants she’s always just gone for it. University, men, jobs, property. It takes her a split second to make an enormous life decision – but in that moment she’s always assessed every single possibility, worked out what would be her best investment. It’s why she’s so incredible at her job. Whereas I’ve always held back until I’m absolutely sure.
Adam and I said an awkward goodbye with Adam asking if he could see me again to which I replied with an evasive ‘Maybe’ because I couldn’t even decide on that. Even though I’d loved talking to him and had felt more myself in that couple of hours than I had for months. Even though I instinctively liked Adam and was attracted to him – perhaps more than I’d ever been to anyone before – something was holding me back. I just couldn’t let go of my fears of what might happen if I made that jump.
My stomach rumbles and I reluctantly peel myself away from the computer and pad downstairs, the noise of my feet against stripped floorboards sounding in my head like the ticking and tocking of a clock. I make my way into the kitchen, open the fridge door and peer inside: there’s a neat line of champagne bottles – but a lack of anything in the way of actual food. Nothing has changed. It was the same when we lived together. Milly was always too busy at work to food shop, and I had no real interest in eating. I pull out a curious combination of snacks: a tub of guacamole, some olives and some blue cheese. I find some crackers in her cupboard and piling everything up I grab a knife and plate out of the drawer and take it all upstairs.
I throw myself down on the bed, dip a cracker in the guacamole and take a bite as I scroll down to my next post. It was a week after our first date. Adam had taken me out for a picnic in the rose garden in Greenwich Park.
Bea Bishop has just had the best date ever.
I close my eyes as I allow myself to get lost in the memory of us playing Frisbee. Adam was showing off. I was positive he was jumping so high in order to show me flashes of tanned, toned stomach as his T-shirt rose with each stretch. I, however, was reminded of just why I’d opted out of any sport other than running. I remember how I’d thrown the Frisbee only for it to land in one of the trees.
‘I’ll get it,’ he said, but I pushed him back.
‘No way!’ I said. ‘I threw it and I am more than capable of climbing up there myself.’
‘OK, if you insist.’ Adam raised his eyebrows, a small smile curling at the corner of his lips as he made a queen’s chair with his hands for me to stand on.
‘Nearly got it!’ I said as I put my foot on the next branch up. ‘Just a teensy . . . bit . . . further.’
‘Take your time,’ Adam called from below. ‘The view is great from here!’
I glanced down, wobbling precariously as I realised that the floaty skirt Milly had made me wear was revealing more than I’d intended.
‘Cheeky!’ I exclaimed, and laughed when he replied, ‘Just what I was thinking!’ I pulled the skirt around my thighs with one hand and then with one last stretch I grabbed the Frisbee, wobbling before falling backwards into his arms. I’d been breathless with anticipation as he’d bent his forehead to mine.
‘I’m really bad at throwing,’ I murmured.
‘Maybe, but you’re an incredible catch.’
He lowered me to the ground then, leaned me against the trunk of the tree and almost painfully slowly he moved his lips towards mine and kissed me softly. I remember how the branches of the tree had swept the floor, creating our own little secret cave; slants of summer sunshine were trickling through the branches making me feel like I was glowing on the outside as well as in. I decided it was a kiss happiness was made of. Funny how things change. I quickly scroll through to a later status update.
Bea Bishop is co-habiting!
I fast forward in my head to the moment I agreed to move in with Adam after we’d been seeing each other for two years. In the preceding months Adam had gone into overdrive, sending me emails every day of amazing apartments in beautiful spots in the city. He told me he’d buy our dream flat, anywhere I liked. He bombarded me with ridiculous ad-land-style images of how perfect living together could be: couples curled up barefoot on sofas laughing at something the other had said. He made me laugh by sending me silly poems, or links on YouTube to songs. ‘You Gotta Move’ by the Rolling Stones, ‘Something in the Way She Moves’ by the Beatles – and then, the moment I said yes was the night when, having learned all the lyrics to Lisa Stansfield’s ‘Live Together’, he drunkenly sang it down the phone to me complete with ‘oh yeahs’ and a hilariously high-pitched ‘sweet harmony’. How could a girl say no? In the end Adam didn’t want to wait to find somewhere new, and I wasn’t comfortable with him buying a place for the two of us when I couldn’t contribute anything financially to the deposit or mortgage. For some reason moving in to his flat and paying bills felt less like I was a kept woman. It also felt less of a commitment. The only thing tied up in the place was me – and I could remove myself at any time.
I scroll through yet more status updates. All of them so happy, so full of love and fun. It’s hard to believe I have ever been anything other than happy with Adam. But as I read on, I remember the feeling of dread that crept up on me as our relationship grew more serious. I knew Adam wanted to get married but I was petrified of being asked the question because I just didn’t know the answer. I’d avoided big decisions for years by either not making them, or letting Loni, Cal or Milly make them for me. But this one would be solely on my shoulders and the truth was, I couldn’t handle it. My view of marriage had been so coloured by my dad leaving – and by my own actions – that I couldn’t contemplate saying yes to Adam. But equally I was worried that if I said no I’d lose him. So I tiptoed around talk of commitment. I made awkward, spiky jokes about marriage, laughing at bridezilla friends, constantly spouting terrible statistics about marriage and generally making it clear that I had no intention of ever getting married in the hope that it would put him off the idea of proposing. After all, that’s hard enough for guys, but when there’s a ninety-nine per cent chance they’ll be turned down? No one w
ould be mad enough to try it, right?
Wrong.
Adam’s first proposal, six months after I moved in with him, was up on our roof terrace, the place I had poured hours of my time into creating, my home from home. He’d got down on one knee and asked me softly if I’d do him the honour of being his wife. I’d laughed and kissed him and told him that we were happy as we were, why ruin it? I’d given examples of Loni and Dad, friends of Adam’s who had seemed to change drastically as soon as they’d got married, moaning at each other and nagging about petty things. I wanted things to be different for us, I said.
I didn’t tell him the truth behind my rebuttal. That I couldn’t handle the responsibility that comes with making a leap of faith like that. I couldn’t risk what we had for the sake of an ill-judged adrenalin-fuelled risk. And most of all, I couldn’t say yes to him when he didn’t know everything there was to know about me.
I’m so absorbed by the thought of my painful secret that I don’t hear Milly coming in.
‘Oh Bea,’ Milly says, before I can hide my laptop. I feel her hand on my shoulder. ‘Not again.’ She must have got back from work early. I glance down guiltily at the pyjamas I’m still wearing. Shit, I promised her I would get dressed today. Where has the time gone?
I can’t have been sitting here for – oops – six hours? I look at my watch. It’s 7.30 p.m. The last time I went downstairs was to make myself lunch.
I glance back at the laptop screen and quickly shut down Adam’s profile.
‘Remember what I said?’ she chastises.
I nod sorrowfully. ‘One week of moping,’ she’d said when she brought me back to her flat ten days ago. ‘I will allow one week of crying, obsessively looking at Facebook, checking your phone and beating yourself up for being so scared of being happy that you messed up your marriage before it began . . .’ I’d flinched. That had hurt. ‘One week,’ she’d continued briskly, flinging open the front door. ‘Then the rules are that you pick yourself up, brush yourself down and get the hell on with getting on with your life.’ She’d led me down to the vast basement kitchen, like I was a puppy on a lead, opened the fridge and extricated a bottle of wine. Grabbing two glasses from the sink she unscrewed the cap and poured a generous amount into each. She handed me one – taking my rucksack off my back first like I was a child who’d just got back from nursery school – and then helped me up onto the bar stool in front of the island unit and swung herself up onto the seat next to me. ‘Then, you go back to work, you go out, you get drunk, you book a holiday, you have unsuitable sex with strangers – but at their place, obviously – if I don’t know then I don’t have to deal with lying to Adam. You have to pull yourself together, Bea. Start working out what you’re going to do instead of obsessing about what’s already happened. You’re not going to find any answers on your Facebook timeline. Or Adam’s,’ she added pointedly. ‘I know you’ve looked. I checked your internet history.’
