I Remember You (8 page)

‘Has Adam always lived there, then?’

‘What?’ Tess opened the bottle. ‘Lived where? Here?’

‘In that house,’ Francesca said patiently. ‘Did he never live anywhere else, after she died? Am I going out with a man who’s never lived anywhere else?’

‘So you are actually
going out
with him?’ Tess said, trying to sound nonchalant. ‘Oh, my God!’ She swallowed, hastily, realizing she sounded like a teenager. ‘So have you—I thought you two were…’ She trailed off.

Francesca tossed her hair casually behind her back; Tess had noticed that, far from doing it to intimidate, she did this when she was feeling self-conscious.

‘Ahm. I don’t know. I suppose so. I’m seeing him.’ She raked a hand across her scalp. ‘We talked about it on the weekend. I don’t know what
going out
means these days, do you? It’s a bit juvenile, anyway. Like, sometimes it means one thing, and sometimes it means something else…you know…’ She trailed off, and Tess was pleased to see she was blushing.

‘You like him!’ Tess hit her housemate on the arm. ‘Oh, my God, how cool. And he likes you, it’s obvious.’

‘Is it?’

‘Absolutely.’ Tess thought back to the previous Sunday, when she, Francesca, Suggs and Adam had taken a picnic up to the ruins of Langford Priory, once the greatest monastery in Somerset before Henry VIII had given it a good going over. They had sat in the grass, perching on stones scattered around, looking down over the valley towards the town, and that’s when it had happened. Tess had asked Francesca for a knife, and Francesca had leaned into the bag to get one, her hair falling in her face and, without thinking about it, Adam had reached forward and gently tucked her hair behind her ear, his big hand touching her shoulder afterwards. He said nothing, Francesca said nothing, but Tess had watched them, with affection and a pang of loneliness, realizing she was aware of something they weren’t: that her oldest friend had fallen hook, line and sinker for Francesca Jackson.

She asked, a little shyly, ‘Can I ask—when did this all…happen?’

‘Oh—properly? Well, he came round to bring that spanner he’d promised? And he ended up fixing the door and then he stayed—and he stayed…’ She blushed.

She stopped, and looked at Tess guiltily, though why, Tess wondered fleetingly—there was nothing to be guilty about, it was nothing but good news. Why shouldn’t they have sex in the middle of the day, in her own home, while Tess was
off wearing a sensible cardigan and shirt, teaching people about things that happened two thousand years ago?

‘That’s—it’s OK with you, isn’t it? It doesn’t make you feel weird?’

‘Of course it’s OK with me!’ Tess said. As she said it, she knew it wasn’t, it was a bit weird. It was her flatmate and her oldest friend, after all. She’d just have to get used to it, and then it’d be fine. And if she practised looking as if it was OK, it would be.

‘Oh, good,’ said Francesca. ‘I don’t want things to be awkward.’

‘Why would they be? He’s not my boyfriend.’

‘Exactly,’ Francesca said.

The words,
No, he’s my boyfriend
, hung in the air, unsaid.

‘So are you hanging out in the day then?’

‘Well, it was only Monday it happened. Sunday if you count the walk. So yeah, he came round on Tuesday too, and today—well, I’m seeing him in the evening so I—I wanted a distraction.’ She picked at the side of her nail. ‘And I went shopping.’

‘So that’s it,’ Tess said, smiling. ‘It’s a substitute for shagging.’

‘No!’ Francesca smiled too. ‘How rude. He’s—oh, man.’ She sighed, mistily. ‘He is so gorgeous. You have no idea. I just feel like…’ Her shoulders rose and sank again, and she gazed unseeingly past Tess, into the sitting room. Tess followed her gaze, almost desperately, hoping to see what Francesca saw:

A kiss in a sun-dappled glade.

A gorgeous man arriving at the cottage and sweeping you off your feet.

Mind-explodingly good sex…in the afternoon.

Instead, she saw:

The batteries from the TV remote control, which were always falling out (it had no back, mysteriously).

A stack of essays on Virgil and Rome spilling out of her cloth bag.

Her main school shoes, clumpy, sensible, covered in mud, lying next to Francesca’s strappy gold flip-flops.

Francesca was like Dido or Thetis, lying on a day bed eating chocolates, a cloud of hair tumbling down her back, whilst handsome suitors arrived to pay court and ravish her. She, Tess, on the other hand, was a dwarfish teacher with a pile of marking to do, a hair growing out of her chin and footwear that even Mary Whitehouse would say could do with sexing up a tad.

‘Drink?’ Tess said, practically ripping the cap off the bottle of wine and upending it into her glass. ‘When are you going out? You meeting him at the pub?’

‘No, I’m going to his house to pick him up,’ said Francesca. ‘Haven’t been there before. That’s why I was wondering what—’ she took a sip from her glass, and flicked her hair again.

‘What what?’

‘What his mum was like. If there’s anything I should know.’

‘If there’s anything you should know.’ Tess stared into the distance. ‘Ahh.’ She exhaled, through her teeth. ‘Philippa. She was wonderful. That’s all you need to know.’

‘That’s not very helpful.’

‘I know. Sorry.’ Tess thought back. ‘I can remember her, really clearly, after thirteen years. She was just a wonderful person. It’s a tragedy.’

‘What exactly happened?’

‘It was an aneurysm. She just—dropped dead in the street one day.’ Tess swallowed. ‘She was on her way back from the shops. Mum found her.’

‘That’s awful.’

Tess nodded. ‘It was. Her, of all people. Philippa was—she was really special.’

‘Like how?’

‘Like—when we were little, she treated us like we were people in our own right, you know? She’d give you little presents for special occasions, nothing much, just personal
things that were just for you.’ There was the time when Tess was eleven, and had to have braces on her teeth for eighteen months, and Philippa had bought her a special two-year diary, to count down the days till they were off, and she’d scribbled little things in it. ‘
Only a year to go now!
‘ ‘
Who’s that beautiful girl? It’s young Miss Tennant, the one with the perfect teeth!
’

‘Aah,’ said Francesca. ‘Nice.’

‘She
was
nice. She—’ Tess started, and then she stopped. ‘She was lovely.’

‘What happened to Adam’s dad, then?’ Francesca asked tentatively. ‘You don’t have to tell me, but he hasn’t mentioned, and I sort of thought, was it something awful?’

‘Could be,’ Tess said, sipping her wine again. ‘No one knows.’

‘Knows what? How he died?’

‘No,’ said Tess. ‘There isn’t really a mystery there, I think he’s just some guy who she had a thing with. No one knew really where Philippa came from, that’s the weird thing. That house was empty for years, and then one day she just turned up.’

‘Like Mary Poppins?’ Francesca was smiling.

‘Sort of,’ said Tess, earnestly. ‘Honestly, she never really told anyone anything about herself. Mum asked her once, why she came to Langford, and Philippa said, “I don’t know myself, to be honest.” And then she never said anything again.’

‘No,’ said Francesca, fascinated.

‘Yep. And I’ve never understood it. Why did she come to Langford? Why? I mean—we were lucky she did, but—’

‘It’s interesting,’ said Francesca. ‘Wow.’

‘Absolutely,’ said Tess, though she felt a little guilty, giving up Adam’s family secrets like that. She looked out of the window, wondering. Really, she supposed, she didn’t know what the secret actually was, so how could she give it up? Adam himself didn’t know where he came from. That was how it had always been.

One Friday afternoon, just before the first May bank holiday, Tess sat on the sofa, putting on her shoes and humming loudly so she couldn’t hear anything that might be going on in the bedroom upstairs. She had been teaching all morning and was on her way out to get some food for their picnic. She, Adam and Francesca were going to the beach the next day and the fridge at Easter Cottage had never been quite so denuded. Two sex-mad grown-ups ate a lot, Tess had discovered. It was like living with termites and a team of Sumo wrestlers.

The noises that she had been pretending not to hear from upstairs grew unavoidably louder, a crescendo, and Tess banged her feet on the floor and started singing as she searched for her keys. Suddenly, almost abruptly, there was silence, and after a minute she heard footsteps on the narrow stairs, a slight stumble and then a muffled curse—as the owner of the feet narrowly avoided the stair with a missing chunk, especially hazardous without shoes.

‘Hey there, you!’ Adam called to her, still cheerful. ‘Coffee?’ Tess looked up at him, in disbelief, as he went into the kitchen. ‘Is that Francesca’s dressing gown?’ she said, watching Adam pull the Chinese silk carefully around him as he put the kettle on.

‘Why yes, and I think it’s just lovely,’ said Adam. He scratched his thick hair thoughtfully. ‘She’s given it to me.’

‘So I can hear,’ said Tess, unable to resist.

‘Ha ha,’ said Adam. ‘Very funny.’

‘It’s not that funny,’ said Tess, wishing she didn’t sound so grumpy. ‘Sitting down here listening to you two going at it hammer and tongs.’

‘Tess!’ Adam said mildly. ‘Mind your own business.’

‘My own business?’ Tess stood up and laughed shortly, swinging her bag over her shoulder. ‘Bloody hard to, when all I can hear is you two having sex when I’m trying to read in bed. I’ve had to buy earplugs!’

‘No, you haven’t,’ Adam said, but he looked a little fazed. ‘We’re having a great time. I really like her, what’s your problem?’

There was something ridiculous about him, standing holding the kettle, with the thin silk clinging to his legs, his tall, broad frame, as his hair stuck up comically on his head. A wave of fury washed over her, that he thought it was OK. That they both did.

‘My problem?’ Tess yelled. She shook her head wildly. ‘My problem is I moved back here for some peace and quiet, and there’s no fucking coffee in the jar before you look, because you two bloody drank it all, and there’s no food in the fucking fridge because you’ve eaten it all, and when I’m trying to watch bloody
Antiques Roadshow
all I can here is you two, bellowing “Yes! Yes!” at each other, like you’re watching a football match!’

Adam looked at her, as she took a deep breath and was silent, and he started laughing.

‘Or—anything,’ Tess said weakly, glad the tension was broken. She was being ridiculous. ‘You know.
T4
and stuff.
The Wire
. Anyway,
Antiques Roadshow
is really good, I’ll have you know.’

‘Clearly,’ Adam said, shaking his head, still laughing.

‘Last week, they had a pensioner on it.’

‘No. Amazing.’

‘And she had a teapot Josiah Wedgwood designed himself.
Himself
.’ Tess nodded significantly. ‘It was worth over a thousand pounds. And that lady can now buy a new walk-in bath, for her husband Roger.’

‘To think you once played strip poker with the under-eighteens Hampshire cricket team,’ Adam said ruminatively.

‘Sshh.’ She drew a circle around her with her finger. ‘Remember. It’s in our—’

‘—circle of trust,’ he finished. ‘Sorry, I forgot about our circle of trust.’

They were both silent for a moment, and then Adam said, again, ‘
Antiques Roadshow
.’ Tess watched him, arms folded. Adam had a big, deep laugh, that seemed to take him over completely.

‘Hey,’ he said, eventually. ‘I’m really sorry, Tess. I should have thought about you more in this. It’s just—she’s great.’ He smiled. ‘I really like her.’

‘I know you do,’ she said, pleased for him. ‘Look, I’m just popping out to get some food and stuff—’

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Adam. ‘Seriously,’ he added, as she looked at him in disbelief. ‘Francesca’s fast asleep and I need a new battery for the bike lamp, too. Give me five minutes. I’ll just jump in the shower.’

‘Er…OK,’ said Tess. Adam grinned.

‘Look pleased!’ he said. ‘I’ll give you street cred, Granny.’

As they walked along the high street, Tess carried her wicker basket over her arm. Adam shook his head. ‘I worry about you. You’re turning into someone from Cranford. My godmother Diana doesn’t have one of those, and she’s…older than you. Plus they’re completely unwieldy.’

‘
O tempora, o mores,
’ Tess said tartly and then regretted it.

‘You think Cicero was saying we should give up plastic
bags and use wicker baskets, do you?’ Adam asked, innocently. ‘Don’t show off your Latin with me, Tess. You know you’ll lose.’

Adam’s brain was a source of mystery to Tess; he never forgot anything, a quote, a story, an obscure piece of syntax. She taught Latin and Greek, and she often couldn’t remember the word for ‘ship’ in either language. But she could remember what happened one summer ten years ago as if it were yesterday, or Stephanie’s wedding, or Will’s face as he told her he loved her for the first time…Adam, she knew, had trouble remembering his own birthday.

It was curious, that tension that existed within him. She looked at him sideways as they walked along the street, he whistling, his hands stuck deep into his pockets. It was Roman, she supposed. Brilliant, practical, organized, neat—and yet chaotic, hopeless, romantic, kind at the same time. It was strange, she thought, that she, Tess, was now her teacher, and Adam, with all his brilliance—Adam was…what was he? She blinked, recalling herself to the present.

‘Er, I’m a bit sick of the deli. Cheese shop?’ Adam said, pulling her out of her reverie. She smiled at him as she spotted Liz putting a leg of ham back in the window of Jen’s Deli and looking up at the little high street in the sunshine. She waved at her.

‘Stop it,’ said Adam.

‘Oh, get over yourself,’ Tess said. ‘She’s in my class.’

‘Your class?’ said Adam.

‘Yes, absolutely,’ said Tess. ‘She’s pretty good actually. She’s coming to Rome. I’m part of her self-improvement programme. Just like you were,’ she added wickedly. Adam frowned as the bell sounded another lucky customer entering Mr Dill’s Cheese Emporium. ‘What do we need?’

‘Well.’ Tess tucked the basket—Adam was right, it
was
unwieldy—under her arm and counted off on her fingers. ‘Stuff for tonight. Stuff for our trip to the beach tomorrow.
Hi, Andrea!’ She waved at Andrea Marsh, who was crossing the road.

‘Your window boxes are looking lovely,’ Andrea told her, but unwillingly, as if it cost her to do so. ‘Just going to see Miss Store, and I noticed them. Are they pansies?’

‘Yes! So glad you like them—agh!’ Tess swallowed, as a car drove past and Adam bodily dragged her up onto the pavement.

‘For God’s sake, be careful, T,’ he said, crossly.

‘See you at the meeting later!’ called Andrea, walking on.

‘Yes, absolutely,’ Tess called after her. ‘You going to that tonight?’

‘What?’ Adam said, looking back across the road. He was squinting at something. ‘Oh, the meeting? No, don’t think so.’

‘But
everyone’s
going,’ said Tess.

Adam nodded solemnly. ‘Who’s
everyone
?’

‘Well, you know.’ Tess waved her hands. ‘The people at the college—apart from Leonora Mortmain, of course—um, Ron, Suggs, Francesca—’

‘No, she’s not,’ said Adam. ‘We’re staying in and watching a film.’

‘But Adam—’ Tess remembered how curious he’d been about the campaign, the night of the first campaign meeting. ‘Suggs is organizing it. It’s going to be—’

‘Look how local you are these days,’ he said, mocking her. ‘Remember your first day back here, when you scorned the high street? Look at you now. Practically in bed with all the important people in town.’

Tess ignored him. ‘Adam, we should all go—’

Adam held up his hand. ‘I’m not going. Sorry. Let’s get some cheese. And then let’s argue about it some more.’

‘I’m not
arguing
,’ Tess said, even more patiently than he. ‘I am merely pointing out that—’

She swung the wicker basket behind her, as a soft male voice said, ‘Ouch.’

Tess froze, and looked up at Adam, who was gazing over her shoulder as if he’d seen a ghost.

‘Hi—God. It’s you. Forgot your name, sorry,’ said the voice.

‘It’s Adam,’ he said, and stepped a little closer towards Tess.

‘Of course. Tess’s old friend. Well, hi. I’m Will. Hi, Tess.’

She turned round mechanically, like a doll spinning on a music box.

‘Hi, Will,’ she said.

The last time Tess had seen Will was in January, at their friend Henry’s birthday drinks, at a pub on the New Kings Road. Tess had gone for one drink only and had waved, in a friendly, brisk way at Will on her way out, weaving through the crowded pub, heady with the scent of expensive perfume, cigarette smoke wafting in from outside, and lilies in huge vases on the bar, the smell of decay lingering behind their sweetness.

Will was holding hands with someone behind him; through the thick press of bodies around her she couldn’t see her face, but she knew it must be Ticky. Tess had smiled again at him, rolled her eyes as if she were fantastically busy and pushed past him mouthing ‘Bye’ as she fell out of the pub onto the pavement. There she had stood miserably in the sudden cold, her shoulders stooped, feeling like a total outsider. She hadn’t fitted in there, never would.

Now, she looked up at Will as he stood, tall and godlike on the high street. She remembered with a rush of recognition, like hearing a song that reminds you of a summer holiday, a curious feeling of alienation, of being different, an oddity, that came with being with Will.

‘Hello,’ Tess said, determined to be friendly and mature. She had practised just such a scenario with Meena in their flat—Meena!

It all came flooding back to her, now. The email! The bureau—oh, shit, that was why he was here.

‘Will, how are you?’ she said. She leaned forward and
kissed him on the cheek, as Adam stood behind her. Gently he prised the wicker basket out of her hand, and put it on the ground. ‘And you must be Ticky,’ she added.

From behind Will stepped a tall, thin, fair girl, with the longest legs Tess had ever seen, enormous green eyes which bulged out from her tiny face. She was wearing what looked like a turquoise romper suit.

‘Hi!’ she said, slightly flatly, raising one hand. ‘I’m Ticky. It’s soooo great to meet you.’

Will, who was still gazing at Tess, nodded. ‘Hey, yous,’ he said—Tess had forgotten how soft his voice was. ‘You OK, hon?’

‘Super!’ Tess said, practically shouting.

‘Did you get my email, and the message? I’m sorry to just turn up here without warning, you know. But I did really want to give you back the bureau.’

He pronounced it ‘rally’ and ‘beeyurrrohw’.

Tess glanced from Ticky to herself as if mentally comparing their appearances. Hers (shortish, averageish, horrible black clompy shoes, top and cardigan—
an old sage cardigan with big roomy pockets, oh, the inhumanity—and oh, dear God, was she really wearing an A-line skirt?
) with Ticky’s (on-trend playsuit, honey-coloured limbs, soft blonde hair, cherry-red Havaianas). She gave a tiny groan, and Adam glanced at her.

‘Oh, the bureau!’ she said loudly. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t get in touch with you. Of course!’ She leaned in what she hoped was a nonchalant way against the nearest thing, which happened to be the wall of the cottage next to Mr Dill’s, the cheese shop. Unfortunately it was a little further away than she’d calculated, and she fell against the old stone with a thump, jarring her shoulder bone as she did so.

Will shook his head. ‘It’s fine,’ he said, smiling kindly, and put his fingers together. Watching him, Tess realized that he looked a bit like David Cameron; how had she not noticed this before?

‘So,’ said Adam, from behind her. ‘What are you doing here? What—er, what a nice surprise,’ he added quickly.

‘Ah—we’re on our way to Lucinda’s wedding,’ he said, as if Adam would naturally know who Lucinda was. ‘It’s in Dorset, at her dad’s place, really beautiful. We’re staying at the Tailor’s Arms with loads of friends.’ Ticky lolled against Will as he said this. ‘So—we thought we’d stop off here for a pint, and give you the bureau. Pit stop!’ he finished. He looked round, trying to sound enthusiastic. ‘Lovely town, I must say. You live near here?’

‘Yes,’ said Tess, mechanically. ‘Just round the corner.’

‘Ah.’ He rocked on his feet. ‘And—great. So, everything OK with you then, hon?’

If you call me hon again I will bite off your head and store it in the bureau after you’ve gone
. ‘Yes, great, thanks.’

‘Really?’ Will said, as if he knew this was rubbish but was keeping up the pretence.

‘Will was worried about you, when you didn’t reply,’ Ticky ventured suddenly, her voice rusty with misuse; she herself looked surprised that she’d spoken. Tess’s hands curled into fists; she tried to breathe. ‘He thought you were probably still—’

‘This all sounds lovely,’ came Adam’s voice behind Tess. He slipped his arm round her waist. ‘Where are you parked? Shall we show you the house, and we can unload the bureau?’

‘Great,’ said Will, looking with surprise at Adam’s hand on Tess’s hip.

‘Tell you what,’ said Adam. He smoothed back her hair, and kissed Tess’s forehead. ‘Darling, why don’t you carry on and go to the grocer’s before it shuts, and I’ll take Will and—I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.’

‘Ticky!’ Ticky said brightly. ‘It’s short for Candida.’

‘Of course it is!’ Adam said, nodding enthusiastically. ‘Very nice to meet you. Well, I’ll take Will and Ticky to the cottage and we’ll get the bureau inside. Sorry,’ he said, turning to
Will. ‘You know us country folk. The shops round here shut at five, I’m afraid, and we’re going to the seaside tomorrow. Need to get stuff in.’

‘Oh, absolutely,’ Will said, nodding through his astonishment.