‘So,’ he said, ‘we could have another glass of wine if you’d like one.’ She laughed.
They left when they finished their third, just after ten o’clock. A handful of hardy smokers huddled around one of the patio heaters but otherwise the courtyard was deserted, and in the unlit passage that led out to Bath Place, Adam reached for her hand, pulled her back to him and kissed her. ‘I’ve wanted to do that since you walked through the door,’ he said quietly, his mouth still close enough that she felt his breath on her cheek. ‘The soul-searching this week – please don’t let it give you the wrong impression.’ Rowan felt the joyful soaring in her chest again, a rush of desire as strong as the one all those years ago, up in his room.
Parks Road was quiet, and on the stretch before the turn to the science area, he drew her off the pavement. It was like being back at college, these drunken walks home punctuated by shameless public kissing. Ivy covered this part of Wadham’s long perimeter wall, a huge sheepskin rug thrown over the top. Perhaps he’d thought it would be more comfortable than the stone but its leaves were cold as he pressed her into them, enveloping them both with an odd scent, dusty and chemical at the same time, that made her think of the graveyard at St Sepulchre’s, the smell of the dry earth path beneath the avenue of yews with the bench where she and Marianne used to sit and talk. Adam kissed her harder, pressing the full weight of his body against her.
Male voices approaching, young and drunk, and as he cupped her head between his hands, one of them called, ‘Get a room.’ Adam pulled away as if he’d been burned and she looked at him in the darkness, expecting embarrassment, the return of his reserve, but instead she saw he was grinning. ‘It’s not a terrible idea.’
With the coldness of the air and the speed at which they walked, she was breathing fast by the time they reached Fyfield Road, and as she turned to him on the top step, her breath made clouds in the pool of light under the carriage lamp. For the past five minutes, her mind had been whirring. She couldn’t tell him the truth, there was no way, but she had to say something. It pained her to lie to him, especially now, when they were just starting out, but the truth would ruin his life.
‘Adam,’ she said, ‘I’ve got a confession to make.’ She watched his face turn serious. ‘No, it’s nothing major. Just – yesterday, when I went out, I forgot my keys and locked myself out. The Dawsons are still away – I know you used to leave a spare set with them – so in the end I had to break in through the kitchen.’
‘You broke in?’
‘I didn’t want to smash the glass so I kicked the door, hoping it would force the lock, but it broke the jamb – the whole lock came out, the wood just shattered.’
‘Wow, Karate Kid.’
‘I’m really sorry.’
‘Don’t worry about it, we can get it mended.’
‘It’s already done. A carpenter came this morning.’ True to his word, Cory had called her at ten o’clock and the carpenter had been there at half-past. ‘He replaced the whole jamb – he said it was rotten, anyway. Damp – probably why it always used to stick.’
‘You paid him?’
Rowan hesitated momentarily. ‘Yes.’
‘I’ll pay you back.’
‘No. No way. It was my fault – if I hadn’t forgotten my keys, it wouldn’t have happened.’
‘You’re a student, Ro. You’re doing us a favour, anyway.’
‘I had a job for years; I’m not a complete down and out.’
‘We can argue about it later. Have you got your keys now? It’s cold – let me in.’
She’d left the elephant lamp on so that she wouldn’t have to walk into a dark house; she remembered thinking she’d almost certainly be coming back alone.
‘So the back door’s safe again?’ Adam hung up his coat. ‘Secure, I mean?’
‘Yes. Come and see it.’
He followed her downstairs. ‘I haven’t painted it yet,’ she said, as they came into the kitchen. ‘I’ve bought the paint but I hoped I’d get away without telling you until it was done.’
He ran his thumb up and down the new upright and unlocked the door, letting in a blast of cold air. ‘It looks like a very good job,’ he said, shutting it.
‘I’m glad.’ She had no idea how much Cory had had to pay the guy to do the work so quickly but she’d been more grateful than she’d wanted him to know. Last night the house had felt like a birdcage, she the canary inside while an unseen cat prowled the shadows. She’d lain awake past three o’clock, tensing at every creak and tick. Thinking she heard something in the garden, she’d got up twice to peer out from behind the curtain but there had been nothing to see except the large lit rectangle of Martin Johnson’s window.
Adam locked the door but as he turned and came towards her again, he caught sight of the drawing on the table. ‘Is that . . . ? It looks like Michael Cory’s style.’
‘It is. He did it while we were talking. It’s not much – just a sketch.’
‘May I?’