‘Is Dr Martin in?’ he says. ‘It’s Anthony. Tell him it’s Anthony. I’m a patient of his.’ He’s been keeping his eyes down, but then he glances up at me, and I see myself as he must see me. A fragile beauty with a black eye. Suddenly, I find some use for last night. I look over my shoulder, as if nervous, before answering.
‘He’s gone to bed with a headache. I’m sorry.’ I keep my voice low. I’m glad I didn’t dress up too much this evening. Even with the bruise I would have looked too aloof, out of reach. I’m wearing a long summer dress with spaghetti straps, and my hair is loose. His eyes have stayed on me, and I know that look. I’ve seen it on many men before. Surprise and longing and lust. I have that effect on them. I think he’s forgotten about David already.
‘I’m his wife,’ I say, and then, for good measure, I add, ‘I can’t talk to you.’
The skinny dark-haired boy’s hands twitch, and one foot taps on the step, but he’s not aware of it. He’s wearing a black T-shirt, and I can see the traces of track marks on his arms. I recognise what he is.
‘You have to go away,’ I lean out and whisper, knowing full well that by tilting forward slightly I’m giving him a teasing glance of my breasts. ‘Please.’ I lift one hand almost to my face, to where the growing bruise mars my skin. ‘This isn’t a good time.’
‘Are you all right?’ he asks. His accent is so middle-class, at odds with his look.
‘Please go,’ I repeat, ‘I think he’s coming.’ I make sure there’s a wonderful hint of urgency in my voice, and then I close the door. Through the glass I can see that he lingers for a few moments longer and then the dark shape of him disappears.
I lean against the wood. Anthony. His name is like sweet ambrosia to me. My shoulders relax as my shame at last night’s failure fades. Maybe it’s all going to work out after all.
27
LOUISE
‘What the hell happened?’ I say, aghast. It’s Wednesday and the first time I’ve seen Adele this week. And now I know why.
I thought I’d definitely hear from her on Monday morning – not only because the gym has kind of become part of a new routine – but also because I’d been so excited about controlling my dreams. More than that, I really thought she would be too. I thought she’d want to hear everything. But she was silent. I thought about sending another text, but didn’t want to be needy, and I’m on a guest membership she’s paid for at the gym and didn’t want to look like I was taking it for granted.
At first I was only a little upset, but by Monday evening, when I was sitting alone at home and David hadn’t appeared either, my hurt had turned to worry. Maybe I’d got Adele into trouble with my weekend text? Maybe David had seen it? But if he’d seen it then surely he’d have come around and wanted to know what was going on. It was possible that she had my number logged under a false name. Maybe he did too for that matter. But if so, then why hadn’t I heard from her? Had he taken the phone?
Yesterday David was quiet at work, none of the shared smiles and flushes we’ve had recently, and by the time I went to bed last night after a second evening alone, I felt like I’d been dumped by both of them, and it took all my strength not to text him to find out if everything was okay. It was strange how empty my life felt without either of them in it, and that made me worry more. I needed them. It hurt to see David avoiding me. Not hearing from Adele too set my imagination alight. Had they told each other about me? Them and me. Always them and me, no matter how much I feel inserted between the two of them. Inserted or trapped. One or the other.
But now, Adele in front of me, I can see why she didn’t want to meet up sooner. I feel a bit sick. She’s tried to cover the fading bruise with make-up, but it’s still visible. Dark brooding purples and greens on her perfect cheekbone. In some ways, the foundation almost makes it more noticeable, caked and flaking over the colour.
‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ she says, concentrating on driving – or pretending to concentrate so she doesn’t have to look at me. ‘A silly accident. I opened a cupboard door into my face. Like an idiot.’
She’s trying to sound light-hearted, but I don’t buy it, and my legs sweat on the hot car seat. Something’s happened. I look at her properly while she indicates and turns. She seems diminished, haunted even. Her hair has lost its lustre. For the first time I feel as if I’m the one who’s glowing, not her. A few good nights’ sleep have changed me. I’m refreshed and energised. I haven’t felt so well in years, if ever. I feel like a new me, and I want to celebrate it with my friend, but now, seeing her so small, I feel almost guilty for my joy.