I Remember You (13 page)

The waiter bought the menu on a single sheet of handwritten paper, and Adam drank from a tumbler of wine.

‘Can you cancel—’ she began.

‘Called them while you were in the loo, earlier,’ he said. ‘No.’ He shrugged. ‘It was stupid of me to do it. I was just trying to make things right, it’s been so bad between us these last couple of weeks.’

Tess said, curiously, ‘What do you think went wrong?’

Adam scratched his head and grimaced. He patted the table firmly. ‘Well, it’s a combination of things, but—uh, yeah. It’s pretty much—yeah.’

‘Yeah what?’ said Tess gently, in her best don’t-scare-boys-and-they’ll-tell-you-stuff low voice.

‘Pretty much my fault, yeah,’ Adam said, nodding. He looked up and smiled, that dangerous, sexy smile that she knew so well. ‘I always do it, I know how to make them like me, but then they get to know me and—’ he pushed his hand firmly down on the table, a small controlled gesture—‘then they see that I’m not the nice uncomplicated bloke they thought I was.’

‘Oh, that’s not true,’ said Tess, thinking,
Gosh, that’s so true
. The waiter came back with some more wine and took their
orders. Tess was surprised at Adam’s self-knowledge, and said so.

‘Come on, Tess;’ he said, laughing at her. ‘I’m not saying I’m this interesting complicated tortured person either. I’m just saying—they have this idea of me and the reality is more complicated. And more dull.’

‘How?’

‘They think I’m a nature-loving country boy with a nice smile who misses his mum and hates the Big Smoke, and that’s true, and then they think to themselves, Hang on, but his mum died over thirteen years ago, what the hell’s he doing?’ Adam’s smile grew more rigid: ‘And then they ask a bit more, and they say, “But he’s never really done anything. Oh, he got a place at university, he never took it. Oh, he was supposed to be this Classics genius, and instead he’s working three nights a week at a pub and giving out tickets to old ladies in a museum.”’

‘They don’t think that,’ said Tess.

‘They do, Tess,’ he said, putting his hand on hers. ‘And you do too. I know it.’ She shook her head at him. ‘Because it’s true.’

How did you say to someone you knew and loved so well that you agreed with their worst critics? That knowing them so well merely made you despair of them more, because you could see both their potential and the rut they’d got themselves into?

Tess didn’t know what to say. He was right. She drank from her glass. ‘You could go to teacher training college, perhaps?’ She wanted to help him, and she didn’t know how. ‘Finish your degree?’

Adam put up his hand. ‘Look,’ he said, calmly. ‘You don’t have to advise me. There’s just stuff I have to work out.’

‘I’m only trying to—’

‘I know what you’re trying to do, and don’t. I can’t explain it, it’s my problem, it’s within me and I have to sort it out.
So just don’t. Let’s have a chilled evening and forget about it, about Francesca, about all that, shall we?’

His tone was still light; Tess rarely saw him furiously angry, but she knew him well enough to know when to leave it. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Just—Ad, if you ever need me—’ she put her elbows on the table—‘you know.’

‘I know, T,’ he said. He gripped her wrist. ‘Thanks.’

The starters arrived and they clinked glasses again; as if a switch had flicked the mood was suddenly lighter between them. ‘We haven’t done this for ages,’ Tess said, feeling happy. ‘Had dinner, the two of us.’

‘You’re right,’ said Adam. ‘Thanks, T. This is great. And listen, instead of going to Meena’s, why don’t we just go to the suite?’

She blinked rapidly at him, faux-batting her eyelashes. ‘Oh, Mr Smith. Claridge’s? Wow! You’re so
stylish
.’

‘Oh, eat your dinner, you awful girl,’ he said, switching the plates around so the asparagus was in front of him. ‘And don’t drink too much. You know wine on beer makes you insanely drunk.’ He raised his voice slightly. ‘Remember that night in Spain when we were fifteen and you tried to kiss that flamenco dancer, and he pushed you over and you fell on a cactus?’

Tess glowered at him and dipped her bread in her soup. ‘God, I loathe you,’ she said, as one of the diners at the table next to theirs stared at them both in astonishment.

Since Adam was obviously about a foot taller than Tess, and since they had spent a lot of their time in pubs since they were teenagers, she had long ago in their adolescence been given a special drinking dispensation. This was called ‘The Ringer’, and it basically meant Tess could ring a bell (usually imaginary) and order Adam another drink and a chaser at any point during the course of the evening.

That night, the Ringer was probably where it all started to go wrong.

‘What do you want to drink?’ Adam asked Tess, when they got to the French House after dinner. It was after ten thirty and both of them were slightly the worse for wear.

Tess leaned her elbows on the bar and stared up at the drinks, the clamour of the tiny, crowded room ringing in her ears. It was a warm evening, and the doors were flung open out onto the Soho street. Inside was organized chaos; old men in pork-pie hats nursing pints, a gaggle of students who were well on the way to being drunk; and four girls dressed in vintage, upholstered clothes, their glossy hair set in waves, red lipstick perfectly in place.

‘Yes, what can I get you?’ the woman behind the bar said briskly, flinging a glass in the air and catching it with one hand.

Tess nodded. ‘The Ringer,’ she said firmly. ‘You need to have the Ringer. I’m too drunk.’

She leaned forward and tapped a plastic cocktail stirrer at the glass the barmaid was holding. ‘The Ringer,’ she said, slightly indistinctly.

‘Never heard of it,’ the barmaid said, unimpressed.

‘Sorry,’ Adam stepped in hurriedly. ‘My friend is using code. What she means is, can she have a gin and tonic, a shot of tequila and a pint of—’ He scanned the list. ‘What beer do you have?’

‘Adam, they’re not going to have Butcombe’s here,’ Tess said. ‘We’re in London.’

‘And a pint of Stella,’ Adam said, ignoring her.

He carried the drinks to a ledge adjacent to the bar and set them down. ‘Cheers,’ he said. ‘Londontown.’

She raised her glass. ‘Londontown.’ He drank his shot, and she drank her gin and tonic.

‘That was nice,’ he said, picking up his pint. His eyes were alive. ‘OK, we’re on stage two!’

‘Stage three if you count the pub,’ Tess said. ‘Stage four if you count the train.’

‘You’re being pedantic,’ said Adam. He raised her glass to her mouth. ‘Drink up.’

‘OK.’ He tilted the glass so the liquid slid down her throat, and nodded encouragingly.

‘I’m just glad—no offence, I like Meena loads,’ he said. ‘But I’m just glad we’re going back to Claridge’s, somewhere we can walk to, not somewhere we have to peg it for the last tube.’

‘It’s actually pretty central, compared to some places.’ Tess was defensive of her old home.

‘I know, and it’s great,’ Adam said. ‘Always really loved coming to see you there. But just—I always remember running for the tube and it taking ages, and everything. Always took ages to get anywhere in London.’

‘It doesn’t—’ Tess was going to embark on a long repudiation of this, until she realized that she was supposed to agree with him, now. It was two minutes to the Feathers in Langford from her house. ‘Well,’ she said, into the momentary silence, ‘you’re right, staying at Claridge’s is definitely going to cut our journey time home. We can stay out as long as we want.’

Adam raised two fingers to the barmaid. ‘Two more shots, please.’

‘No way,’ said Tess.

‘Come on,’ said Adam, who was definitely enjoying a second wind. ‘We’re in London, baby! It’s my birthday! We’re staying at the coolest hotel in the world!’

‘Yeah,’ said Tess, scrunching up her face. ‘We’re young, free and single, and ready to mingle!’

‘Yeah, that too!’ said Adam. The drinks arrived, and he clinked his new shot against hers.

‘Cheers,’ Tess said. ‘Here’s to the Ringer.’

‘Yep—Tess, thanks,’ Adam said, serious for a moment. ‘I didn’t think it was going to be like this but—it’s fun, isn’t it?’

‘It’s always fun, being with you,’ Tess told him honestly, and their eyes met fleetingly, and they were silent, amidst the hubbub of the pub. Someone brushed past them; it was as if something changed then.

Adam drew a deep breath. ‘Well, you know how I feel about that,’ he said, and his voice was hoarse.

He looked directly at her. Tess looked at him, and it was as if they were the only people in that crowded, hot room. ‘Can I ask you something?’ he said.

After a second, she nodded, her heart hammering.

‘What was the Dealbreaker with Will?’ he said. ‘Can you tell me now?’

Tess groaned, relief coursing through her. ‘It’s embarrassing.’ She cleared her throat, leaning towards him. ‘Only if you tell me what the Dealbreaker with Liz was.’

‘OK,’ he said, blinking heavily, and she knew he was slightly
drunk. ‘Man, this is evil of you. OK.’ He exhaled, and lowered his voice. ‘Well…she cried.’

‘She cried?’

‘After we’d—’ Adam looked around, to see who was close to them and whether they were listening. ‘After we’d had sex. Well, during, really.’

‘Oh,’ said Tess. ‘Like, properly?’

‘Yep,’ said Adam, sombrely. ‘It was awful. Tears streaming down her face. I thought there was something wrong, so I—er, stopped, and she started crying even more, and begging me to carry on so I started again but—’ he rubbed the back of his neck—‘it kind of kills the mood. Someone like, sobbing—and not in a good way. While you’re trying to…’

‘Bang them,’ Tess said promptly. ‘Blimey, did she say why?’

‘She said she always did it, especially if she was feeling a bit emotional,’ said Adam. ‘That’s why—sort of why I didn’t call her again.’

‘You know what?’ Tess told him. ‘That’s fair enough.’ He nodded gratefully.

‘What about you?’

‘What?’

‘Come on, Tess,’ Adam said. ‘You know. What was it with you and Will? What was the Dealbreaker?’

She hesitated, then looked frankly at him. ‘Well—’ she began. ‘He—’

‘
Hej!!
’ someone yelled behind them, and pushed them to one side, and a band of enthusiastic Swedes, wearing blue and yellow, burst into the tiny room. One of them, a man, breaking free, grabbed Adam by the arms, pulling him away from Tess. ‘
Hej
, my friend!’ he said. ‘Good evening! We won!’

‘That’s great. Won what?’ said Adam, stepping back, still staring at Tess, but smiling.

‘Yes! Thank you!’ the man told him, squeezing his shoulders and sliding past them to the bar, where he merged into
an amorphous blob of blue and yellow once more, and shouts of ‘
Skol!
‘ rang out.

The two friends, pushed apart, stood looking at each other, and then, as if acknowledging it was ridiculous, it was all ridiculous, they laughed, each mirroring the other.

‘Londontown,’ Adam said, shrugging his shoulders. He held up his drink again and she touched her glass to his, her adrenalin subsiding. Tess felt heavy with something. Was she drunk? What was happening? Or rather, why wasn’t she more surprised? But the moment passed, though things had already changed, into a succession of drinks, of hilarious conversation with excited Swedes—who, it turned out, had won a big football match that afternoon, against Russia—some singing, led by one of the old men in a pork-pie hat, and then being almost bodily turfed out of the pub by the increasingly enraged barmaid.

They walked slowly through Soho in the warm May evening, till they got to Kingly Street. Tess didn’t want to get back to the hotel. She wanted to delay the moment; she didn’t know why, only that she knew something was in the air, and that this evening would soon be over. And she didn’t want it to be.

They stopped under the Liberty stone bridge.

‘Do you know where you’re going?’ said Adam, looking up and around him. ‘I don’t know where the hell we are.’

‘This is Liberty,’ said Tess, a little sadly. ‘It’s my favourite shop.’ She gazed up, into the black leaded windows which stared blindly onto the dark street.

‘Is it?’ said Adam. ‘Why?’

Tess had always loved Liberty, because of the fabrics, and the clothes, and the jewellery, and the Art Deco coolness of it all. But there was one reason above all.

‘The staircase,’ she said. ‘It’s carved wood and there’s a little frog between the first and second floors.’

On their first anniversary, Will had bought her a necklace from there. It was a huge, heavy, show-stopping thing, in cut glass and ribbons, and though she could rarely wear it, she loved it. She swallowed at the thought.

Adam laughed softly as she said this. ‘A frog, really?’ He gazed down at her. ‘T, what’s wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ Tess said, brushing away a tear. ‘Just Will. He bought me something here. Stupid idiot.’ She hated herself for crying like this; why, when she hadn’t thought of Will for weeks?

‘Oh, darling,’ Adam said, his low voice so kind, so comforting. ‘Don’t cry.’ He put his arms around her. ‘Please don’t. He’s not worth it. He’s an idiot. Trust me.’

‘I know,’ Tess said, wishing she could just stay like this, her head on his shoulder, his arms around hers.

‘Why are you still letting him get to you?’ His voice was muffled in her hair.

She wasn’t, really. It was the image of herself he’d left her with. ‘What I really hate him for is—’ She swallowed. It was so hard to say, to tell the truth.

‘Come on,’ he prompted gently. He rubbed her back and she knew, remembered she could tell him everything and anything, ignored the warning bell that was sounding…

‘I hate him, because he made me feel so unattractive,’ she said in a small voice.

‘What do you mean?’ Adam stood back. He leaned over her, his dark eyes glittering in the dark street. ‘He was horrible to you?’

‘I was trying to tell you earlier. That was the Dealbreaker. For him. He—’ Tess knotted her fingers together and looked down, at the black street. ‘He didn’t want me. After a few months, he—we didn’t—argh.’ She winced. ‘I don’t want to say.’

‘It’s me,’ Adam said. ‘Come on. You can tell me anything.’

She looked into his eyes and knew it was true. He nodded,
encouraging. She said, quietly, ‘I thought he wasn’t into sex. That perhaps it was just what happened to people, you know. We stopped—’ She looked up, imploring him to understand. ‘I tried—I tried these awful, embarrassing things to get him to want me. Oh, God. And then—now, he’s with that—that blonde sex-toy on a stick and I—I’m this cardigan-wearing troll and I feel—I feel…’

Emotion flooded over her, emotion and alcohol fumes, and she began to cry. Adam put his finger under her chin, gently.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he said. ‘You always have been.’ He kissed her cheek, where a tear was rolling down her skin. ‘Don’t cry, Tess,’ he murmured. ‘I hate it when you cry.’

She raised her face to his, a question on her lips. He closed his eyes slowly, then opened them. Their faces were millimetres apart. She could feel his breath on her lips, her eyelashes almost touching his skin as she stared at him, at the face she knew so well. She didn’t recognize him all of a sudden: she blinked, slowly, closed her eyes and parted her lips.

And he kissed her. His hand pushed her hair away from her face, the way it always used to; she felt his fingers on her scalp, on her skin. His lips on hers, his chest pressed against hers suddenly, as she put her arms around him, under the bridge in the quiet street, and kissed him back.

‘I knew that was going to happen,’ he said, when he eventually broke away from her. He put his hand on her shoulder, his thumb on her neck. ‘This evening, Tess, didn’t you?’

That was the thing—she’d forgotten she didn’t have to change herself for him, to moderate anything. ‘Yes,’ she said simply. She reached up, and kissed him again.

‘I didn’t plan it like this, though,’ Adam said. ‘I mean—’

‘Getting dumped by Francesca so you could come up to town without her,’ said Tess, and then she wished she hadn’t.

But he said mildly, ‘That’s weird—that seems a million miles away, now.’

Langford seemed a million miles away too, Tess thought, as Adam took her hand. ‘You know which way to go, don’t you?’ he said, as she crossed Regent Street and led him into Mayfair.

Neither of them knew what was going to happen when they got to Claridge’s, but it didn’t matter then, there. They walked past the Art Deco Vogue House, into Brook Street.

‘It’s quiet, isn’t it?’ Adam said, clutching her hand. ‘It’s Saturday night, you’d think it’d be busier.’

‘I know,’ said Tess. ‘It’s like it’s just you and me.’

‘Sometimes I think it’s always just been you and me,’ Adam said. He stopped, and turned to her.

‘It has,’ said Tess. She said quietly, ‘But Adam—us knowing each other so well—that’s not a reason.’

‘Don’t you think so?’ He looked at her curiously. ‘Ah, I think it is. We know each other so well, we knew this was going to happen, we just needed to get out of Langford for it to happen.’

‘That’s what you said before,’ she told him, putting her hand gently on his cheek. ‘All those years ago, and—’

‘It was different then, we were babies,’ he said, almost impatiently. ‘We’re grown-up now.’

‘Are we?’

‘Yes, we are,’ he said, bending over and kissing her again. ‘Being here—in London—’ he squeezed her hand and raised it, to encompass the street, the blinking lights of New Bond Street, the quiet of Hanover Square—‘I don’t see you as my oldest friend, that girl I grew up with, who I had that summer fling with years ago, who only wears muddy boots and teaches Jan and Diana the Classics.’ He smiled, pulling her towards him. ‘You’re the girl who’s the funniest person I know, who I can tell anything to, who’s
real
, not fake, who’s so beautiful and she doesn’t know it.’ He ran a finger down her cheek. ‘I can be myself with you, you can be yourself with me.’

That summer fling.

She bit her lip, she didn’t know what to say. They walked for a little while, in silence, past great grey townhouses and wrought-iron railings. She felt as if she were in a film, in a dream.

‘What if I don’t know who I am, though,’ she said, smiling weakly. ‘If I don’t know how to be myself any more?’

‘I know,’ he said seriously. ‘I know you. But it’s completely new. I know you.’ He kissed her again. ‘And I want you. Tess—don’t you want me too?’