I’d tried to provoke a reaction from him several times, even if just to check he had a pulse, but I wasn’t going to get a rise out of him. He seemed happy just ambling along, with no real need or desire to offer anything more. Maybe I’m being unfair, maybe that’s just the way he is, but every now and again I like to be challenged, even if it’s only a debate over an article in the Daily Mail. It wouldn’t matter what it was, just anything that would give me an insight into his world. But no matter how hard I tried, we always ended up talking about me, even when I was the one asking the questions. There was no denying that, at times, it was a refreshing change, as the last guy I’d gone out with had prattled on about his video-game obsession all night. But Adam’s constant deflection left me wondering: what did I really know about him?
That’s why I needed Seb. He’s the type of person who can get right in there, burrow his way through the complex layers of people’s characters, and into their souls, which they are often baring within minutes of meeting him. He’d once asked my mother if my dad was the only man she’d ever been with. I’d immediately put my hands over my ears and la-la-la-ed, but she confessed to having had a wonderful affair with an American she met, just before her and Dad got together. ‘Well, it wasn’t the type of affair that you youngsters talk about nowadays,’ she said. ‘We didn’t have clandestine meetings and illicit sex, and neither of us were married, so it wasn’t an affair in the sense that you know. It was just a beautiful meeting of two people who were utterly in tune with each other.’
My mouth had dropped open. Aside from the shock that my mother had obviously had sex more than twice, from which she’d conceived me and my brother, it had been with someone other than my father? As a daughter, you so rarely get to discover these golden gems of times gone by, and before we know it, it’s too late to ask. But when you’re with someone like Seb, every little nugget is teased out, without you even realizing.
The following weekend, Adam, Seb and I arranged to meet in a bar in Covent Garden. I didn’t like to suggest dinner, just in case it felt a little forced and awkward, but I was hoping that’s how the evening would end up, organically. We’d not even finished our first drink before Seb asked Adam where he grew up.
‘Just outside Reading,’ he replied. ‘We moved down to Sevenoaks when I was nine. What about you?’
There it is again.
But Seb wasn’t going to be thwarted. ‘I was born in Lewisham hospital, and have stayed there ever since. Not in the hospital, obviously, but literally just two roads down, off the High Street. I went to Sevenoaks a couple of years ago, a guy I was seeing had a design consultancy down there. Very pretty. What made you move there from Reading?’
Adam shifted uncomfortably. ‘Erm, my dad died. Mum had friends in Sevenoaks and needed a bit of help with me and my younger brother. There was nothing to stay in Reading for. Dad had worked for Microsoft for years, but with him gone . . .’ he trailed off.
‘Yeah, I lost my dad too,’ offered Seb. ‘Crap, eh?’
Adam gave a sad nod.
‘So, is your mum still on her own, or did she meet someone else?’ asked Seb, before guiltily adding, ‘Sorry, I assume your mum’s still around?’
Adam nodded. ‘Yes, thank God. She’s still in Sevenoaks and still on her own.’
‘It’s difficult when they’re on their own, isn’t it?’ asked Seb. ‘You feel a lot more responsible for them, even when you’re the child and they’re supposed to be the grown-up.’
Adam raised his eyebrows and nodded in agreement. I couldn’t add to this conversation as thankfully both my parents are still alive, so I offered to get a round in instead.
‘No, I’ll get them,’ said Adam, no doubt relieved to extract himself from Seb’s searching questions. ‘Same again?’
Seb and I nodded.
‘So . . . ?’ I asked, as soon as Adam’s back was turned.
‘Very nice,’ Seb said. ‘Very nice.’
‘But?’ I sensed one coming.
‘I’m not sure,’ he said, as my heart sank. ‘There’s something, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.’
That night, after we’d made love and were lying side by side, tracing our fingers over each other’s torsos, I raised the subject of his parents again.
‘Do you think your mother would like me?’ I asked.
He rolled over and pushed himself up onto one elbow. The light was off, but the curtains were open and the moon was bright. I could see his silhouette close to me, feel his breath on my face. ‘Of course she would. She’d think you’re perfect.’
I couldn’t help but notice the turn of phrase: ‘she’d’ instead of ‘she’ll’. There’s a big difference between the two – one hypothetical, the other intentional. The sentence spoke volumes.
‘So, you’re not planning on introducing us anytime soon then?’ I asked, as lightly as I could.
‘We’ve only been together for a month.’ He sighed, sensing the weight of the question. ‘Let’s just take our time, see how it goes.’
‘So, I’m good enough to sleep with, but not to meet your mother?’
‘You’re good enough for both.’ He laughed. ‘Let’s just take it slowly. No pressure. No promises.’
I fought the tightness at the back of my throat, and turned away from him. No pressure. No promises? What was this? And why did it matter so much? I could count on two hands how many lovers I’d had. Every one of them had meant something, apart from a shockingly uncharacteristic one-night stand I’d had at a friend’s twenty-first birthday.
But despite having been in love and lust before, I couldn’t ever remember feeling this safe. And that’s how Adam made me feel. He made me feel all of the above. Every little box had a tick in it and, for the first time in my adult life, I felt whole, as if all the jigsaw pieces had been slotted into place.
‘Okay,’ I said, annoyed by my own neediness. I would have gladly shown him off to my mother’s half-aunt’s second cousin, twice removed. Clearly, he didn’t feel the same and, despite myself, it hurt.
3
A horn blared.
Pippa, who was hanging out the window, sneaking a cigarette, shouted, ‘Your boyfriend’s here, in his posh car.’
‘Ssh,’ I retorted. ‘He’ll hear you.’
‘He’s three floors down. And half the bloody street can hear him, so I wouldn’t worry about it.’
I squeezed through the same window and gave him a wave. He tooted back, and Bill, our next-door neighbour, looked up from washing his car. ‘It’s all right, Bill,’ Pippa shouted down. ‘It’s Emily’s fancy man.’
Bill shrugged and got back to the task in hand. He was the best type of neighbour you could have: keeping a lookout when he needed to, and turning a blind eye when he didn’t.
Pippa and I weren’t the typical demographic for the area; young married couples, with 2.5 children, were the norm. They claimed to love Lee, this diverse enclave between Lewisham and Blackheath, but we and they knew they were just biding their time until they were able to climb that very big step up to the latter. SE3 was where everyone wanted to be, with its quirky village feel and vast open spaces. They say that the plague victims of the seventeenth century were buried up on Blackheath, hence the name, but it doesn’t bother people enough to stop them holding impromptu barbecues on a summer’s evening. Many a time, Pippa and I have joined the masses pretending to live there, by lighting up a disposable foil tray that we’ve hastily bought at the petrol station. We always end up going up there too late to get the best spots by the pubs, and by the time we’ve trusted the British weather, it’s gone 4 p.m. and Sainsbury’s BBQ section has been stripped bare.
‘Ooh, you look nice,’ remarked Pippa.
I smoothed down the front of my body-con dress, even though there was nothing to smooth down. ‘You think?’
I’d spent the best part of an hour choosing what to wear, agonizing between the casualness of a pretty blouse and white jeans, and the more formal look of a structured dress. I didn’t want to look like I’d tried too hard, but not making enough effort was probably worse, so the navy dress won out. The crêpe cinched in at my waist, out again over my hips and fell just below the knee. There was just the tiniest amount of cleavage showing, and the fabric shaped my breasts perfectly. As my mother would say, ‘That dress hangs in all the right places.’