The Edge

by Jamie Collinson

  And so he’d become used to craving novelty.

  He’d never have guessed how much guilt he was storing up for himself. Now, he was the unhappy projector of a whole mental slide show of women, whom he’d hurt then and who hurt him now. The women he couldn’t shake off, whose ghosts he lived with daily.

  It hadn’t really mattered until he met Sofia, in an alleyway in east London on a newly warm, blustery day in April. He wished he’d understood how lucky he was, how valuable she was. She should have been enough for him, and for a while, at least, she had been.

  He remembered a meeting during a business trip to New York, late on a Thursday afternoon in spring, at a publicist’s office downtown. He’d been with Sofia a little over two years.

  The publicist had given him a strong cocktail. The light outside was still bright, and one of the two assistants was stepping away from him across a patch of blazing sun, having delivered the drink. Her hips sashayed beneath her short dress, outlining her buttocks, and her heels clicked on the floorboards.

  Her dark hair was clipped up at the back, and at that moment it seemed eminently grippable. When she reached her desk, she turned and looked at him, unsmiling. She was attractive in the way only a New York girl can be, sexiness emanating from self-regard and style rather than prettiness. Adam felt a surging desire to possess her, to transform her from this aloof, pristine being into someone ablaze with the same animal desire for him that he was feeling for her.

  Later, in the car back to his hotel, he’d breathed hard in relief. He didn’t do that any more, he suddenly realized. It had been two years, and he hadn’t cheated. It was over. He loved Sofia. She was the only woman he wanted. He was proud of himself.

  But it didn’t last. He did love Sofia, but eventually he wanted something different, another kind of sex. Excitement had been drained by the repetitive orbit of daily existence, desire flattened by the weight of small tasks and irritable exchanges.

  At first the transgressions came in one offs. Like a smoker falling back into the trap, they satisfied him at first, made him feel as though he was still desirable, could still do it – whatever it was.

  There was a handful of them. A young, excitable Canadian intern who pursued him, was in awe of him, and with whom he slept at a friend’s house. A pretty, soft Irish woman he took back to his flat, and who left, horrified, the next morning, when she saw a bottle of Sofia’s perfume on his shelf. A strikingly beautiful, short-haired French girl on a business trip to Paris, who left his hotel room to obtain condoms by simply calling out to open apartment windows until someone tossed some down.

  Each time, he woke up feeling sick with guilt, promised himself it would never happen again. He moved in with Sofia, and for a while it hadn’t. He seemed to have got away with it. And then he’d met Isa.

  It hadn’t seemed to matter, really, until Isa.

  27

  On Thursday morning, Adam arrived at the office to find Scott standing by the coffee machine, intent on his phone. It was a hot day, and he was wearing flip-flops and shorts, his wiry brown legs on show.

  ‘How you doing?’ Adam asked him.

  ‘Awesome,’ Scott smirked.

  Whenever Adam asked how he was, he seemed to take on the demeanour of a teenager talking to a proud grandparent, as though Adam was someone who would dearly want to hear his latest news but could wait until Scott had dealt with more important matters.

  ‘Thanks for making coffee,’ Adam said.

  Scott was staring down at his phone, grinning. After a moment, he creased his face into an exaggerated smile and tittered nasally. When he’d finished, he looked back up at Adam.

  ‘What’s that? Sorry, it’s just…’ He looked down at the phone again, paused, then lifted his chin and laughed his deep, booming laugh.

  ‘… Sorry,’ he said again. ‘Jason’s texting me. He’s just…’ Another message arrived, and Scott threw his head up skyward once more and laughed even louder, like a barking seal.

  A wave of hatred washed through Adam, and an image came to him of setting about Scott with a spiked sealing club. He took several deep breaths.

  ‘So,’ he said when Scott had finished. ‘Anything much happen while I was out?’

  ‘Not much,’ Scott said. ‘Oh, Philippa called for you. That music supe?’ He curled his lip.

  ‘OK, thanks.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Scott said darkly.

  His defences already weakened, Adam was unable to resist this barbed lure.

  ‘Why are you pulling that face?’ he asked. ‘When she came to the rooftop thing you said Philippa was great?’

  ‘I never said that,’ Scott said. ‘I just think she’s kinda nasty.’ He gave an extra-aggressive sniff, and turned back to the coffee pot.

  ‘Nasty?’ Adam said.

  ‘Yeah. She was all over the place at that party. With that Craig guy.’

  Restraining himself with difficulty, Adam counted to ten, and swallowed his outrage.

  ‘Anyways,’ Scott said. ‘I told her you’d call back.’

  Adam shut himself in the meeting room. Philippa would have to wait. The first task of the day was to update the Autodidact and Serena.

  He dialled into the conference system from his cell phone, in case Scott was listening from outside.

  ‘Hey, man,’ the Autodidact said. The character of the echo at his end told Adam’s finely tuned ears that he was in the London conference room.

  ‘Hi,’ Adam replied.

  ‘Hi, mate,’ Serena said, loudly. As ever, she was apparently attempting to inject good humour, and, as ever, Adam was grateful.

  ‘How are you both?’ Adam asked.

  ‘Great, thanks,’ Serena said. ‘You?’

  Just then, beyond the glass of the meeting room, the door to the office opened, and Isa walked in. She gazed about herself, and then noticed him. It seemed to him that her face brightened, and she waved. Adam grinned and returned the gesture. Isa Dixon. She stretched her arms out, cocked a hip and flicked her head back, posing as if to say ‘I’ve arrived!’ She was, he realized, already displaying a resplendent LA music industry morph: black Nikes and matching black designer sportswear. She would fit in perfectly, he thought – her arrival in Los Angeles was as natural as a migratory bird’s.

  She stood and looked at him for a long moment, smiling. It looked as though she meant it, too. Could it be he’d simply forgotten how to read her? Was he almost pleased to see her?

  ‘Adam?’

  ‘Sorry, yes, I’m here. Isa’s just arrived.’

  ‘Good,’ the Autodidact said.

  ‘Great!’ Serena enthused. ‘Ah… It’s gonna be so much fun there.’

  Isa was walking up the stairs to the mezzanine, and Adam heard Scott’s voice, then hers, chattering excitedly.

  ‘Yes,’ Adam said.

  ‘So, how’d it go?’ the Autodidact asked.

  Adam spoke slowly, trying to pick his words carefully. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘Overall, it went very well. Marissa and Bret and I ditched Roger, and I spent a long night with them at the hotel room.’

  ‘Wow, perfect,’ Serena said.

  ‘OK,’ the Autodidact said, more suspiciously. ‘How was Roger?’

  ‘Probably not entirely happy. Bypassing him, as you put it, might not have gone down very well.’

  ‘… Right,’ the Autodidact said.

  ‘But the guys were sick of him and wanted a break. Turns out he’s been breathing down their necks. I had the chance to express a lot of enthusiasm direct.’

  ‘Can’t ask for more than that…’ Serena said. Then: ‘I expect?’

  ‘I’ll call Roger today,’ the Autodidact said. Adam raised two fingers and jabbed them at the phone, pulling his demented monkey face.

  ‘Sounds good,’ he said, making his voice as mild as possible.

  ‘Alright, well, chat soon then,’ the Autodidact said.

  ‘Yep,’ Adam said.

  ‘Shall we stay on actually, Adam?’ Serena said. ‘Have a q
uick catch-up?’

  ‘Why not?’ Adam said.

  There were footsteps on the concrete floor at the other end of the line, then the swoosh of the door being slid shut.

  Adam pictured Serena sitting in the long rectangular meeting room in the London HQ, looking out through its glass wall across the busy office floor, and perhaps beyond it, through the large industrial windows to the trees of Victoria Park.

  ‘So,’ she said, her voice still full of warmth. ‘How are things?’

  ‘All fine, I think,’ Adam said. ‘I’m a bit worn out. Good to have Isa here, though. At least, I think it is.’

  ‘Yeah, do you think that’ll be alright?’

  ‘God knows,’ Adam said. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine.’

  ‘Listen, Adam,’ Serena said. ‘You’ve done something really great, setting up that office. We are grateful.’

  Quite suddenly, emotion soaked through Adam like water into a sponge.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said.

  ‘You should think about what you want, out of all this.’ Serena said. ‘That’s sort of what I did… It helps to think about what’s going to be best for you.’ There was a long pause. ‘What do you want?’

  What do I want? Adam thought. It was an excellent question. To live in a sex colony castle in the Scottish Highlands, somewhere near a golden eagle’s eyrie. To wander about naked, to drink whisky, to fuck and to be internationally recognized for something or other. To surgically attach a small bag of cyanide beneath Scott’s nose.

  To see Erica, he thought.

  ‘To be honest,’ he told Serena, ‘I haven’t really thought about it.’

  ‘Exactly. Too busy with the office and all that. You should. Have a think about it.’

  I want your wisdom, Adam thought. I want to give you a hug.

  ‘Thank you very much indeed, Serena,’ he said. ‘I really appreciate that.’

  * * *

  Just before lunchtime, the sing-song digital pulse of a Skype call rang out from Adam’s laptop, which was raised, dais-like, on its stand. Scott turned around to glance at it as Adam ran over. When he reached it, he saw with horror that the image of his mother had appeared on the screen. Scott having seen it too felt like a shameful intrusion. Adam snatched up the computer, along with his headphones, and went downstairs to the meeting room.

  When he clicked to accept, the broad, lined face of a nurse appeared.

  ‘Hello,’ Adam said.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ the nurse said, frowning at the screen. ‘She wants to talk to you. That OK?’ Her accent was broad West Country. Home, Adam thought automatically. Duty.

  ‘Yes, fine,’ he said.

  ‘I need to warn you, she’s not in the best of moods. Thought it might help if she could speak to you, but you never know. It’s fine to end the call if you need. Better for her too, potentially, so don’t worry if you have to.’

  Adam nodded.

  ‘That alright?’ the nurse said. ‘Sorry, can’t get on with these little bloody screens. We always use the iPad at home.’

  ‘Fine,’ Adam said. ‘Yes. Of course.’

  ‘Right,’ the woman said. The room appeared behind her, the camera zooming unsteadily in to his mother in her chair.

  ‘I’ll have to hold it for her,’ the nurse said.

  ‘What do you want?’ his mother asked. Her eyes were open quite wide, something he hadn’t seen for a while. She looked wired, like someone on an upper.

  ‘They said you wanted to speak to me,’ he said.

  ‘Since when does that make a difference,’ his mother said. ‘Want that quite often. No one fucking cares.’

  He was unused to hearing her swear, and the word sounded odd and unnatural in her voice.

  ‘Mum,’ he said.

  ‘Language, Christine,’ the nurse admonished.

  ‘It’s true. Neither you nor your sister.’ She blinked rapidly.

  ‘I’ll try to call more often. I’m sorry, Mum. I know it’s not good enough.’

  His mother’s expression had gone neutral.

  ‘I was going to send you both some presents,’ she said.

  ‘That’s very kind of you.’ He was about to remind her that sending items to Malaysia by mail was an arduous process.

  ‘But I haven’t been able to get anything for Sofia,’ his mother said.

  ‘Mum,’ Adam said. He blinked back sudden tears. ‘I’m not with Sofia any more. Remember?’

  His mother screwed up her face, fighting through the mists.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Stupid.’

  ‘You’re not stupid, Mum.’

  The eyes flashed. ‘I know I’m not stupid. You’re bloody stupid. Throwing her away.’

  ‘It was stupid,’ he said, his voice trembling. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Just like your father. He was a bastard too.’

  ‘Dad wasn’t a bastard,’ Adam said. ‘Why would you say that? I wish I was more like him!’

  The nurse, out of view, coughed, and the image on the screen wobbled as she did so.

  ‘Once, I found out he was taking that awful secretary he had on a so-called business trip with him, when he’d told me it was one of the junior partners.’ His mother’s brow creased deeply as she took hold of her memories.

  Adam sighed. ‘Nothing had happened though, had it, Mum?’

  ‘I made sure nothing happened. Told him she had to go or I would.’

  ‘He was just worried about your reaction. There was every reason to take the secretary.’

  ‘Believe that and you’ll believe anything. Awful ditzy bitch.’

  ‘And that was the only time you ever suspected anything, wasn’t it?’

  His mother’s eyes had closed. She’d drifted again.

  ‘It hasn’t been like that with me, Mum,’ he said. ‘I only wish I was more like him.’

  ‘What,’ his mum said. ‘Dead?’

  ‘Mum… Please.’

  ‘When can I go back to the house?’ she said, looking up at the nurse, a sudden look of raw fear on her face.

  ‘Christine,’ the nurse said. ‘Adam, do you want to?’

  ‘The house is gone, Mother,’ he said. Like so much else in life. ‘We had to sell it. You know that.’

  When she spoke, it was in an awful childlike whine. ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Why?’

  ‘There wasn’t enough money. There was a mortgage. You’ll remember. Please don’t worry.’

  The face on the screen twisted with anger. ‘You fucking bastards,’ she screamed. ‘Why did you sell my fucking house?’

  ‘We’ll leave it there, Adam,’ the nurse said firmly. Another was already tending to his mother. ‘Try again soon. Be well.’

  The screen went black. Adam closed his laptop, and walked through the office to the storage cupboard and the giant roll of bubble wrap. He found he lacked the energy to kick it, so he simply slumped down against it and sobbed.

  * * *

  Isa wanted to go for lunch, which didn’t seem a dreadful idea. She picked Crew, a cavernous bar and restaurant across Sunset from the office; one of the high-capacity, modishly decorated places that arrives in a hip area well after the hard work is done. To Adam, it inspired feelings of guilty refuge, as might a colonial embassy in a conquered foreign town.

  Nevertheless, it was convenient, and the beer was good.

  ‘So,’ she said as they walked across Sunset, ‘here I am.’

  She turned and flashed him a quick smile from beneath a pair of stylish tortoiseshell Persols. He noticed that in the flesh she did look a little older than he remembered. Her face was thinner, and there was a dusting of grey in her hair that lit up brighter in the sunshine. But she had a new, dignified air about her, too, and it suited her.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You sure are.’

  She laughed. ‘Are you OK with it? Me being here?’

  ‘I suppose I’ll have to be.’

  ‘Oh, Adam,’ she said. ‘Don’t be like that.’

  At the restaurant, they were seated in
the large atrium at the far end of the building. Once, it had been a cinema, this the area in which its screen had towered.

  ‘I’m sorry if I came on a bit strong on the call,’ Isa said. ‘I know you thought I was trying to wind you up…’ She grinned. ‘I probably was a bit. But it’s a big move, isn’t it? I was nervous about everything.’

  ‘Yes,’ Adam said. ‘It’s all a bit overwhelming at first.’

  They fell into a discussion about the problems of relocation. Driving licences, credit history, finding an apartment, jet lag.

  ‘And getting a place here is just as expensive as in London,’ Isa said.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’re getting a housing allowance?’

  ‘No chance. Jason was all sweetness and light when he was trying to get me to come back. Then as soon as I agreed, it was a different story.’

  ‘Right,’ Adam said. ‘I’d assumed you and he were very tight.’

  Isa was one of the few members of staff Jason had rated when he’d joined the company. He’d tried hard to stop her from leaving.

  ‘We are tight,’ she said. ‘But mainly in a way that seems to work best for him. And he’s started dating one of my best mates now, which is a bit weird. Whatever, though. I’ve always wanted to be out here for a bit, and now I am.’

  The waitress arrived, a tall, dark-haired woman with an upturned nose.

  ‘Can I get you anything to drink to get started with?’ she asked.

  ‘The beer’s really good here,’ Adam said.

  ‘Bit early for me, I think,’ Isa said. ‘Drinking at lunch makes me feel sleepy these days.’ She looked at the waitress. ‘I’ll just have a water, please.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ the waitress said.

  ‘Water?’ Isa asked.

  The waitress flushed. ‘Sorry…’

  ‘Oh right, yes,’ Isa said, laughing. ‘Ward-ah. Can we have some ward-ah, please?’

  ‘Oh OK, sure,’ the waitress said, relieved.

  ‘And a pale ale for me, please,’ Adam said.

  ‘Coming right up,’ the waitress told them.