There was no point in stopping him. We both knew I wouldn’t even try. I needed him as much as he needed me, sometimes even more. I’d always thought sex was over-rated before I met Adam. Of course, I liked it, but I was flummoxed by the constant stream of articles in women’s magazines telling us that if we weren’t having it five times a week, and swinging from the chandeliers on at least two of those occasions, then there must be something wrong with us.
Even with Tom, who I had been the most adventurous with, I didn’t really get it. We made love twice a week, with him on top, until he came, and then he’d satisfy me in other ways. Sex was sex and I was fine with that. But with Adam, it was entirely different. I’d finally been able to see what everyone else was raving about. He knew me, and I knew him. We were the perfect fit. Not many days would pass before one of us needed the other. Our moods could swing and change on the strength of it. Sex had gone from being the least important part of a relationship to high on the priority list.
I moaned as his head moved further down, my breath catching in my throat.
A picture of a horrified Pammie flashed across my mind and I forced the image away. I’ll get to you later, I thought to myself, as I felt Adam’s tongue. But first your son is going to make love to me. A warped wave of satisfaction flooded over me that not even Adam himself could transcend.
We were still entwined, our breathing deep and heavy, when a text pinged through on his phone. He extracted himself and rolled over, reaching across to the bedside.
‘Who’s after you?’ I asked casually, wondering whether Pammie had now sent the text to him.
‘Pete from work, and my mum.’
‘Oh, is your mum okay?’ I feigned casual interest.
‘Yeah, all good. I was just checking that she’s around next weekend. I’m thinking of popping down there whilst you’re at the conference.’
‘Good idea. Is she okay with that?’ I pushed.
He tapped out a reply while I waited. ‘Yep, all sorted.’
I willed him to relay the message, so that we could laugh about it and call her a silly old cow, but he didn’t.
‘I’ll go and see her on Saturday,’ he said. Damn you, Adam. Why couldn’t you have been honest?
10
I was at work when the text pinged through on my mobile.
Are you mad?
I didn’t recognize the number, so threw the phone into my bag, out of reach and out of temptation. But I was only able to leave it for a couple of minutes. How can you ignore a text like that?
Sorry? I typed back.
Are you a glutton for punishment? came the reply.
I was getting a bit freaked out. I either knew this person well, or this was a dodgy offer from an S&M dungeon.
I don’t think I’m either, so you must have the wrong person, I wrote.
You’ve got to be a fruit bat if you think going to see my nutty family is worth taking time off work for.
I leant back in my chair and thought for a moment, before a smile spread across my face. There was only one person this could be.
James?
Er yeah . . . who else would it be?
Me: Hey, how are you?
J: I’m good. How were your few days with the hillbillies?
I laughed out loud, and Tess, my colleague on the desk opposite mine, smiled and raised her eyebrows.
Me: Lovely! I wouldn’t knock it, you’re surprisingly alike.
J: Eh? How come?
Me: Fraser and Ewan are the very same as you and Adam. The apples don’t fall very far from that particular tree.
J: Oh, well that’s a bit awkward as they’re both adopted.
Me: Oh my God – I’m so sorry, I had no idea.
J: You didn’t comment on a resemblance, did you? They’re super-sensitive.
I ransacked my brain, desperately trying to remember whether I had or not. It would have been a typical comment for me to make, a way to make idle conversation.
Me: I hope not. I feel really bad now.
J: You’d know if you had, cos Fraser would have gone for you. He’s got a real short fuse that one.
I had to assume that I hadn’t said anything, but that didn’t make me feel any better.
J: You still there? James asked, after I’d been quiet for a few minutes.
Me: Yep
J: And you didn’t say anything about Auntie Linda being married to her brother, did you?
What? The little sod.
Me: Oh very funny!
J: Had you there though didn’t I?
Me: No! Not sure how that side of your family are so nice?!? You should go see them more often. You could learn a lot!
J: I can’t. I get a nosebleed whenever I go north of the River Thames.
I covered my mouth to stifle a laugh.
J: You ready for Adam’s party? Got your dress?
Me: Yes. Have you got yours?
J: Ha ha . . . mine’s red, just so you know. I don’t want us clashing.
Me: You wearing your hair up or down?
J: Oh definitely up. Do-ups are all the rage these days.
Me: It’s not a do-up, it’s an up-do!
J: It’s the same difference.
Me: Will Chloe be coming? I had no idea why I’d asked that, and instantly wanted to retrieve the message, but it was too late.
J: Yep, she’ll be there. I think she’s wearing blue so we should be OK.
The tone of the conversation had changed, and I suddenly felt like a petulant child wanting to go back to how it was.
Great, I typed. I’ll be sure to say hello.
The mention of his girlfriend seemed to throw us both off kilter as he came back with a winking emoji and a kiss.
I didn’t respond.
11
‘Happy Birthday dear Adam, happy birthday to you.’ The chorus turned to applause and calls of ‘speech, speech’ rang out around the rugby club.
Adam put his hands up and walked across the dance floor to the mic. ‘Okay, okay. Ssh, settle down. Thank you. Thank you.’
‘Get on with it,’ cried out Adam’s best mate and fellow prop, Mike. ‘Bloody hell, he speaks with the same speed he uses on the pitch . . . Slowwwwly.’
All the rugby boys cheered and slapped each other’s backs, like Neanderthals around a cave fire.
I smiled along with the rest of them, but shared the same resignation as the other girlfriends there, all of us knowing that, at some point in proceedings, all our boyfriends, bar none, would have their underpants round their ankles, swigging beer and singing ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot’. I’d only been down to the club three times, but Adam had exposed himself on every occasion. I looked towards Amy, Mike’s girlfriend, and we both rolled our eyes. I’d met her once or twice before, but I’d never seen her all dressed up. She made a great show of flicking her long brown hair back over her shoulders, revealing a pair of breasts that strained against the confines of the barely-there triangles of her black dress. I eyed the thin spaghetti straps that were having to work hard to keep the garment in place, and couldn’t decide whether I wanted them to snap to expose her assets, or stay steadfast so that every male in the room didn’t have a heart attack.
‘Your mum’s having a bit of a hot flush,’ Pippa whispered into my ear, interrupting my jealous thoughts. ‘Am I all right to open one of the windows?’
I looked across to the table my lot had commandeered, in the darkest corner of the room. They were happy there, hunkered down, away from the bawling masses. Dad was nursing a pint of bitter, his second and last one, Mum had reminded him, whilst she was sitting protectively beside a silver ice bucket with a bottle of prosecco in.
‘To celebrate us finally meeting,’ Adam had announced as he’d presented her with it, its poshness at odds with the spit and sawdust of its surroundings.
I’d watched him, so at ease, and wondered why it had taken so long to introduce them. On the three previous occasions we’d set something up, Adam had been called into work on two of them and had had to placate his mother on the third.
‘Em, it’s me,’ he’d said breathlessly, when he’d called as I sat waiting in C?te Brasserie in Blackheath. Mum and Dad had been on their way.
‘Hi,’ I’d smiled. ‘Where are you?’
‘I’m sorry babe, I don’t think I’m going to make it.’
I’d thought he was joking around. He knew how much I’d wanted him to meet my parents. I’d been sure he was playing, but my stomach had lurched all the same.
‘It’s just that Mum has got herself all in a state.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I’d said, trying desperately hard to keep the anger from my voice, all the while smiling through gritted teeth.