The Best Thing I Never Had (17 page)

‘If you do this,’ he said quietly, running his thumbs along her jawline the way he always did. ‘You’ll be throwing away the best thing that’s ever happened to you.’ Harriet tried to pull away in protest but he held her firm. ‘And the best thing that’s ever happened to me. We could make it, you and me. We could be the real deal. I’ve always felt it. I have. But you know what else? All this, all you’ve been through lately? It will all have been for nothing.’

‘Did you have sex with Leigha?’ Harriet asked him again; she felt Adam’s grip on her loosen slightly. A coldness slipped into his damp eyes.

‘Even if I say no again, you’re never going to believe me are you?’ he answered. He sounded disgusted with her.

Harriet had extricated her arms from his and slapped him before she even realised that was what she was doing. The sound rang out through the room as the burning on her palm and fingers faded. They were now a foot apart from one another, where only seconds ago they had been pressed fully together, like one person; Adam held his hand up to his reddened cheek with an expression of complete disbelief.

‘You’re not even bothering to deny it anymore?’ Harriet laughed, a bitter, small sound. ‘Just get out of here. Leave me alone.’

‘Harriet—’ Adam began, and the fact that he was still trying to ingratiate himself infuriated Harriet beyond belief.

‘I don’t ever want to see you again!’ she screamed, balling her hands into fists again. ‘Why don’t you try Leigha’s bed? I’m sure she’ll still have you.’ Adam’s top lip curled back from his teeth in a offended sneer.

‘You know what? You’re just as big a bitch as the other two,’ he informed her, his voice the coldest she’d ever heard it.

‘Oh, fuck off will you? Just – fuck off.’

‘I heard you the first time,’ Adam jeered, turning on his heel and slapping the door release button aggressively with the flat of his palm before disappearing out into the night.

Harriet waited where she was, stock-still, just for a few minutes, just to see if he’d come back. After a while she realised she was shaking, like everything under her skin was quivering, so she slipped back into the computer chair she’d been sitting at before Adam had arrived. She stared at the Word window of her dissertation’s appendix on the screen with unfocused eyes.

When she let herself into the house at 6.15, the only thing waiting for her was the imprint of Adam’s body in the bedsheets. She curled up as far away from it as she could and slept her first solid eight hours for weeks.

‘I really can’t say I condone this decision,’ Callahan said, frowning. Adam sunk lower in the chair; his legs, spread out in front of him, took up most of the floor space in the cramped office.

‘Like I said,’ he told his tutor, ‘it’s not been an easy decision, but it’s the only way to go.’

‘You only have two weeks ’til the deadline,’ Callahan protested.

‘Seventeen days; eighteen, including the rest of today,’ Adam corrected him. ‘And I’ve already made a start, look.’ He pulled a plastic wallet full of papers out of his book bag and proffered it. Callahan took it, looking doubtful, and began to leaf through Adam’s revised dissertation proposal.

‘I really have to advise against it. That’s my personal and professional opinion, and my opinion on behalf of the University,’ he said as he read.

‘I understand that,’ Adam said. ‘I have just really hit a wall with Neruda. I can’t write another five thousand words on love poetry. It will be quicker for me to write the ten thousand on a new subject. Trust me.’

‘There’s lots of literature on this topic in the library,’ Callahan granted. ‘I’ve no doubt that if you knuckle down you can get ten thousand words done, but, Adam, the point of the final year dissertation is that you work towards it for the whole year. I’m afraid you won’t be able to recreate the quality of an entire academic year’s research in only two weeks.’

‘Eighteen days,’ Adam repeated doggedly.

‘Well, you know my position,’ Callahan sighed, handing Adam back his papers. ‘But at the end of the day, it is your choice. I’m only here for guidance. Are you really set on this change?’

‘I am.’

‘Then I’ll pull the necessary administrative strings, I suppose.’ Callahan sighed loudly to further emphasise his disapproval.

‘I’d appreciate that,’ Adam said politely.

‘By way of me giving guidance, I would suggest revising the thesis title,’ Callahan said, thoughtfully.

‘Revise in what way?’ Adam began removing text books from the bag in order to fit the folder back inside, lying flat at the bottom.

‘
Holden Caulfield: A Literary Hero
is a bit… vague, don’t you think? At the end of the day, your title
can
be a statement but it still needs to be answering a
question
.’

Adam paused, with his dog-eared copy of
Catcher in the Rye
in his hand; Harriet’s copy, he mentally corrected himself. He remembered her tossing it at him once, on a day that felt like it had been years ago.

‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

‘Sweetie, you know I love you,’ Nicky said, carefully. ‘But this is… just… fucked up.’

Harriet blanched; Nicky hardly ever swore. ‘In what way?’

‘I agree with Adam. You have pushed him away on purpose.’

‘He slept with Leigha!’ Harriet protested immediately.

‘So what? If he even did, it was ages before you two meant anything to one another. If he
did
sleep with her and
did
lie to you about it, surely it’s just because he was frightened of losing you because of something that meant nothing. He was frightened of you reacting the way that you have.’ Nicky chewed on her bottom lip, anxiously.

Harriet rubbed at her eyes. ‘It’s the lying that bothers me, not the – the sex.’

‘Really? Because I think it’s the thought of him being with Leigha that’s worse for you,’ Nicky said kindly. Harriet didn’t respond. ‘Oh sweetie, you were almost free,’ Nicky continued, sadly. ‘In just a few weeks you’ll be back at your parents’ and then who knows? You would have been away from all of this horribleness and would have been able to build a life with Adam, if you’d wanted.’

‘Well I don’t want,’ Harriet said, stubbornly. ‘What I
want
is a little support from my one remaining friend.’

‘Don’t be dramatic, Harry,’ Nicky chided, frowning. ‘You need to apologise to him. At least speak to him.’

‘Apologise?’ Harriet choked out. ‘Not likely.’

‘Oh, you’re as stubborn as hell,’ Nicky told her, frowning deeper. ‘Love should be worth more to you than this.’

‘Like how love is worth giving up your own life to follow your lover where
they
want to go?’ Harriet snapped. Nicky held herself very still.

‘Yes. It is.’

‘By that argument, you love Miles but he doesn’t love you.’ Nicky took a calming breath, visibly trying to hold her temper.

‘This isn’t about me. Don’t take it out on me,’ she warned. Harriet shrugged churlishly.

‘It’s about time you faced some home truths; you’ve really got the raw end of the deal with all this, Nic.’

‘You really want to talk home truths?’ Nicky snapped, her patience worn thin. ‘Because I’ve got plenty of those for you, Harriet Shaw.’

The two girls stared at one another in silence for a minute or two, feeling the tension in the room swell and then start to abate.

‘Sorry,’ Harriet finally said, albeit a little begrudgingly. ‘I’m all over the place lately.’

‘I know,’ Nicky conceded. ‘But I wouldn’t be your friend—’

‘My one remaining friend,’ Harriet clarified again, with a sad, dry smile. Nicky rolled her eyes.

‘I wouldn’t be your friend if I didn’t tell you that you’re making a mistake,’ she finished.

‘Well,’ Harriet said carefully, ‘to be honest I could say the same thing to you.’ They fell into weighted silence again.

‘I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree,’ Nicky said finally.

‘Probably,’ Harriet agreed.

‘But you really should talk to Adam.’

‘I think that might just tip me over the edge,’ Harriet said; her tone was jokey but her eyes were serious. ‘I just want this to be over.’

Nicky reached forward and enveloped her friend in a hug. ‘But unless you face up to everything it can never be over for you,’ she murmured against Harriet’s hair.

‘Don’t move to Bath, Nic,’ Harriet mumbled against Nicky’s shoulder, voice thick. Nicky sighed.

‘I have to.’

June 2007

‘Oi,’ Johnny barked, rapping his knuckles on the coffee table. ‘Focus.’ Adam glared at him.

‘I am, alright?’

‘You haven’t typed anything for a good five minutes. You asked me to keep you on task and that I bloody will mate,’ Johnny swore. ‘You were a total eejit for changing your dissertation topic last minute so now you have to pay the price. And that price is working like a dog. Get to it.’

‘I was thinking,’ Adam protested.

‘Yeah you probably were, but I don’t think it was about the book.’ Johnny arched his eyebrow knowingly. ‘You had a proper moon face on. Stop thinking about Harriet. This is all her bloody fault anyway.’

‘Hardly,’ Adam objected. ‘It isn’t her fault I hit a wall with my original work.’

‘Wasn’t it?’ Johnny’s eyebrow arched even higher. ‘I certainly wouldn’t be up for writing about sappy verse if Leigha had done to me what Harriet has done to you.’ Adam scowled. ‘Don’t allow her to indirectly make this worse, man. Focus.’

‘You focus on your own revision,’ Adam told him rudely. ‘Don’t bang on about what you don’t understand.’

‘Oh, I understand alright,’ Johnny insisted. ‘It’s practically all Ley bloody talks about so I’m actually quite well-versed on the emotional wreckage that’s been left in the wake of Harriet Shaw.’

‘Mate,’ Adam said, warningly. Grudgingly Johnny turned his attention back to his revision notes. Adam rested his hands back onto his keyboard and resumed staring into the middle distance.

That morning Adam had walked into a seminar group revision session in the library. Harriet was there; she’d walked straight out without looking at him.

‘What is going on between the two of you?’ Andrew had hissed into his ear as he’d sat down. Lucy – across from them, next to Harriet’s newly vacated seat – had given him the evil eye, but obviously wasn’t offended by his presence enough to compromise her remaining revision time by leaving in protest.

Adam had slogged away at his laptop until gone one thirty in the morning before retiring upstairs to bed. It was finally warm enough to have the window open at night, although the fresh air that circulated his bedroom was suffused with the smell of spices from the Indian takeaway two doors down.

The streetlights outside threw a square of artificial light through the open window and onto the bed. Although it felt uncomfortably like a spotlight Adam didn’t quite have the energy to get up and draw the curtains against it. He turned his mobile phone over and over again in his hands and thought about the day after Nicky’s birthday, where he’d laid there like this, waiting for Harriet to text him.

It was his birthday next week; he wondered if she had thought about that. It was always going to have been too close to the start of exam week and the coursework deadlines to have done anything big, but Miles and Johnny were insisting that they at least go out for a drink at the Armstrong. Would she come, if he asked her? At least as a friend? That’s how they’d started, after all. As angry as he had been the other night, as hurt as he was still, he couldn’t quite imagine that the end of the year would come and he would never see Harriet again. So much had happened to bring them to one another, the universe surely wouldn’t accept them being separated for the rest of their lives?

It was Harriet, at the end of the day; so he texted her, a simple message, one he’d sent countless times before:

Adam Chadwick, 01.48

Are u awake?

and when she replied that she was, he called her.

There was a pause after the call connected, as if she were still at this late stage considering not speaking with him. ‘Hey,’ she said finally.

‘Hey. What are you doing?’ He heard the familiar creak of her computer chair as she shifted.

‘Working.’ He wondered if she was being intentionally monosyllabic or if it was out of deference to the late hour.

‘Do you want to talk?’

‘Not really.’ The creak again; she always fidgeted when she was anxious. ‘I’m working,’ she repeated.

‘You’re always working. You’ll be working on that dissertation two months after you’ve already received your marks back.’ She made no response to his admittedly weak attempt at humour.

‘What do you want, Adam?’ she asked him, bluntly.

‘I want to talk,’ he admitted.

‘We are talking,’ she replied.

‘In person,’ he amended. ‘I can be outside your house in ten minutes. It’s a beautiful night.’ Harriet paused again; Adam held his breath.

‘I really don’t think so,’ she said finally; Adam felt his heart deflate a little inside his chest cavity.

‘Come on, Harry, don’t be difficult,’ he said, sadly.

‘I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m just being honest.’ She sounded sad too. ‘I don’t want us to hurt one another anymore than we already have.’

‘Will you come out for my birthday on Thursday, at least?’ Adam pressed.

‘Adam—’ Harriet sighed.

‘No, no, don’t say no. I’ll see you there.’

‘I really can’t—’

‘Harriet,’ Adam interrupted her again. ‘I know things are shit and you’re just acting to protect yourself, I know that, I’m sorry I haven’t been more patient. If you let me I really will try to be. At the end of the day, you love me, and I love you, and I really want to see you on my birthday.’

Harriet was silent again but for her breathing, heavy on the line.

‘This is your last chance,’ Adam continued, warningly. ‘To fight for us. For you to pick me, not being alone. You need to meet me halfway on this. Please, Harry. Please.’

Adam had to stop; his voice had thickened with emotion and he didn’t want her to hear how upset he was. She hadn’t said a word. ’I’ll see you on Thursday,’ he insisted. ‘Armstrong, seven o’ clock. Goodnight. I love you. I didn’t sleep with Leigha. I promise. I love you. Goodnight.’

He lay unmoving in the square of streetlight for a while after terminating the call, waiting to see if she’d text or call back. She didn’t. Knowing there was no way he was going to be able to sleep that night he resignedly booted up his laptop again; why waste time moping around in bed when he had another seven thousand words to go?

Johnny was over again. He’d always been round their house a lot, but now he seemed an almost permanent fixture. To be honest, Leigha was glad for it. She was lonely, what with Nicky and Sukie entrenched in their respective revision and Harriet, lurking around upstairs like a bad smell, moving around the house like a ghost in the night when everyone else was in bed.

Johnny seemed to sense her thoughts were on him; he looked up with a bright, expectant smile. ‘Do you want a cup of tea, love?’ he asked her. Leigha couldn’t help but smile back; he was so sweet.

‘Sounds good,’ she replied, sticking her pen between the pages of her text book to mark her place as she tipped it closed. ‘But let me help.’

She didn’t end up helping much, more sat perched on the arm of the sofa whilst Johnny busied himself with the kettle and the mugs. She watched appreciatively as the muscles in his back bunched when he reached up into cupboards.

Johnny – she was realising – was that rare thing, a person who would never hurt her. He adored her, like she’d always wanted to be adored. He was funny, sweet, thoughtful – had always been a great friend. He was generous and unstinting in the bedroom department, good looking, athletic – fell over himself to assist with her every want and need.

She was ashamed to admit it, but the thing that excited her most of all was that she knew that, for once, she as the one with the power; she could hurt him, but he could never hurt her. She was like Seth or Adam and Johnny – poor Johnny – he was her.

It wouldn’t be so terrible though, to love him; it would be a damn sight healthier for her at the very least. Not for the first time, Leigha wished that it could be him. Already she was regretting the day that she would break his heart.

She waited until he’d finished pouring the boiling water, so as not to startle him, before coming up behind him and looping her arms around his back. She squeezed him tight, enjoying the substantial feeling that his firm back against her softness gave her.

I will try to love you, she told him silently, but I can’t make any promises.

Johnny turned round in her embrace to kiss her. His expression, as ever, was honest and open, showing how delighted he was with this unexpected attention.

Harriet waited patiently until she heard the click of the front door, the sound of the chatter moving on down the garden path, the protesting squeal of the rusty gate as it was pulled open. She scrambled to her knees on her bed to peek out the window, catching a glimpse of her housemates as they filed from the garden path out onto the pavement. Leigha – as usual – was the most striking, wearing a royal blue pussybow blouse; Harriet remembered she had been there when she bought it. Sukie wore a beaded grey top and jeans, Nicky was sweet and summery in pale pink. They rounded the curve of the road as a unit.

Seeing the flash of Leigha’s teeth as she laughed and smiled as she headed off, carefree, to Adam’s birthday drinks steadied Harriet’s resolve. Her sentiment was under control, matured now, fossilised hard and cold in the depths of her body. She moved away from the window before the three girls were even fully out of sight. She had a lot to do; her father was due in a little over an hour’s time. She hadn’t been able to make a start earlier in the week, as Nicky surely would have noticed.

Harriet lugged her large suitcase out from under her bed, coughing at the plume of dust that slid out with it. Moving across to her wardrobe she pulled down the stash of plastic carrier bags she had been hoarding there. Where to start? She told herself impatiently not to think so much, to just do it. Her text books and coursenote folders, they were heavy, they were for the suitcase. She placed them in meticulously, according to their size. Her clothes went into the plastic bags, tossed in unfolded. She stripped away the bedsheets that she hadn’t washed since the last time Adam slept in them and stuffed them, too, unceremoniously into a bag.

She’d been surviving on junk food lately, loathed to spend any avoidable time away from the sanctity of her bedroom; the little food she had left in the kitchen cupboards was ignored as she hurriedly stuffed strips of newspaper into and around her motley collection of mugs before wedging them in between the books inside the suitcase. With every item she packed away, every plastic bag she filled, she felt a little lighter, a little emptier.

After half an hour she had no choice but to turn her attention to things like the pictures on her wall, the Post-It notes that littered her wardrobe door, things that she knew that she should just throw away but for some reason collected carefully into a box file. At about the same time her mobile phone started ringing, Adam’s name flashing incessantly onto the square of the small screen. She knew she had to hurry up before he came looking for her.

Her clunking old computer had to be dismantled, but before she started pulling wires there was something else she needed to do. She logged onto Facebook. Her newsfeed was littered with various friends wishing Adam a ‘Happy Birthday’. Quickly she typed a few letters into her search box, calling up the profile page of Mitsuki ‘Sukie’ Watanabe. Remove Friend. Are You Sure? Yes, she told Facebook, resolutely clicking on. Next was Leigha Webster. Are You Sure? Facebook asked her again. Oh yes, she assured it.

Finally it was the turn of Adam Chadwick. Are You Sure? Facebook asked her knowingly. No, I’m not sure, she thought, but that’s why he’s the person it’s most important to ‘defriend’. As soon as the confirmation screen loaded, Harriet pulled the plug on the PC, busied herself with the technical disassembling.

When she finally realised that that was it, there was nothing else to pack, she simply sat, perched on the end of what had used to be her bed, breathing a little irregularly. The room was once again transformed into the faceless space it had been two years ago, when she’d arrived, excitedly, to claim it as her own. It seemed like both a hundred million years ago and no time at all.

Every piece of coursework, even her dissertation, had been finalised and turned in early. She had four exams in the coming weeks that she’d decided to commute back to take; only one of them was Adam down to take too and, hopefully – considering that most of the alphabet lay between their surnames – she wouldn’t cross paths with him, even in the examination hall. She reached up and ran the duster along her shelf for the fourth or fifth time. Adam’s name still sporadically flashed silently at her from her mobile phone; she slipped it into her handbag so she wouldn’t have to keep seeing it.

She jumped out of her skin when the doorbell sounded through the empty house. Once again she knelt on the bed to peer cautiously out of the window, grateful yet disappointed to recognise that it was her father, only her father, right on time to collect her and the suitcase and tatty plastic bags that now contained her life.

As her placid father dutifully ferried bags down the stairs and out to the boot of the waiting car, Harriet walked pointless circuits around the small room, checking she hadn’t left anything behind, trying to make her peace.

‘Ready to go?’ her father called from where he was loitering, uncertain, at the bottom of the stairs.

‘Yeah,’ Harriet called back, her voice a world stronger than she felt.

Thoughtfully, she placed the dusting cloth back into the cupboard under the kitchen sink on her way out of the house.

‘Because I’m telling you, Nicky,’ Adam said as they crossed the last road, ‘I can’t do this anymore. She needs to
at least
meet me halfway.’

‘She will,’ Nicky insisted. ‘She just needs time.’ Adam gave a wry smile.

‘Time. That is
exactly
what we’re running out of.’

‘But we’re not out of it yet.’ Nicky held his gaze for a moment, willing him to be patient, be resilient. He smiled at her again, a little more genuinely this time.

She started to pre-emptively fumble in her bag for her keys as Adam pulled the gate open for her. She saw him step back and crane his neck to look up at Harriet’s window, knowing she was probably watching them from a chink in the curtains.