Adam’s in the hallway, struggling with a CD rack. When he sees me he almost recoils in shock.
‘Anna! Polly didn’t think you’d be back till one at least.’
‘What are you doing here? I said I’d come round on Sunday.’
I’m trying to hold it together, but I can hardly get my words out. It’s partly such a relief to lay eyes on him again, but also so agonizing. What are the rules now? I want so much to hug him, and yet to do so seems utterly inappropriate.
‘I can’t stand living in the middle of all your things. I had to get them out of the flat.’ He determinedly turns his back on me, yanking another box in from the front porch.
‘I’m really sorry, Adam, but it’s not fair to just ambush me. I feel hideous about what’s happened. Please don’t think I’m not in bits as well.’
‘You’re in bits?’ He sounds incandescent with rage. ‘You’ve got no idea what I’m going through here. I thought girls were meant to crave all this commitment stuff. Or is it just that you want it with someone who isn’t me?’
I’m groping for the right words. ‘Maybe I don’t want it with anyone, Adam. I don’t know what it is if I’m honest. But I know I couldn’t marry you.’
‘So basically I’ve just wasted the last ten years on a relationship with no long‐term potential? Nice work, Anna. Thanks for ruining both of our lives.’
He’s white with fury, heading for the door. I grab his arm, padlocking myself around him.
‘Please don’t leave, please don’t leave,’ I beg him, tears streaming down my face. ‘I wish I could make this go away.’
I feel the fight go out of him. ‘I’m being such a girl about all of this,’ he says sadly. ‘I’m ready for the whole deal. I want babies, I want a proper house, I wouldn’t even say no to a Labrador. I suppose you were right all along, underneath it all I’m just a suburban throwback. Oh my God, I’m Bree!’
What I’ve always loved about Adam is that he can take the piss out of himself, and the idea that he’s the most uptight of the Desperate Housewives really makes me laugh. Before I know it we’re hugging each other, and I’m crying, and he’s stroking my hair and it’s all feeling so familiar and comfortable.
‘Just come home, Anna,’ he mutters into my hair. ‘What are you doing living on Polly’s sofa bed? It’s ridiculous.’
I pull away and look him in the face. ‘I can’t come back. I just can’t.’
‘You’re having some kind of weird brainstorm which eventually you’ll snap out of. I’m just going to have to wait it out.’
There are never any mind games with him. The concept of playing hard to get has obviously completely passed him by.
‘It’s more than that, Adam, it really is.’
And with that I give him another squeeze and start to unload more things from the car. I feel utterly wretched, and if I’m honest I don’t want him to go. Being with him still feels as natural as breathing, but it doesn’t mean that it’s enough – for either of us. As I’m ferrying stuff into the house, Polly pokes her head out of the kitchen.
‘I tried to call you but your phone was on silent. Is it OK now?’
‘Yeah. It’s worryingly nice to see him, but I’m staying here.’
‘Can we ask him to stay for a drink?’ she asks me hesitantly. ‘Or will that just be too weird?’
I pause for a moment, reluctant to open the wound any further, but longing to grasp hold of whatever remaining time I can legitimately spend with him.
‘Of course we can, he’s your friend as much as he’s my ex.’
And he does stay, and we all get even drunker together. Being with these two is partly so easy and fun: it’s almost like we’re twenty‐somethings again. But the fact that Adam is no longer mine infuses everything with sadness. Right now he’s still gazing at me with uncomplicated love, denying to himself that I’m not coming back. But as the truth starts to seep in, the tangible reality of his feelings for me will melt away and disappear into the ether. He’ll no longer be my champion or my protector: he’ll just be my ex. And once perky girl pitches up, I’ll probably be rubbed out completely. I wish so profoundly that I believed we’d have a happy marriage, but I don’t. Even so, I have to summon up all my willpower not to get into the car with him at the end of the night.
‘Can we at least have dinner next week?’ he asks me, when we’re out on the pavement.
‘I would love that so much, but seeing you makes it too hard.’
He stares down at me. ‘Do you know how boring other men are? Just to warn you. I’ve spent quite a lot of time with them this last couple of weeks, and they really don’t cut it conversationally.’
He reaches out, slipping his hand round the back of my neck and pulling me towards him. I stretch towards him like a cat, leaning into his touch, viscerally aware of how much I’ve missed the feel of skin on skin. Even so, I force myself to pull away.
‘Adam, you need to back off a bit.’ I sound sharper than I mean to, just because the effort is so great.
‘All right, Anna, I get the message. Jesus!’ And with that he leaps into the car, slamming the door and hurtling off.
After he’s gone I stand there for a few minutes looking at where the car was. I’m hurting him, I’m hurting me, and for what? Despite all my misgivings, the loveliest night I’ve had since we’ve broken up has been spent with him.
When I get back inside, Polly’s looking anxious, and I jump right in before she can speak.
‘Please don’t ask me if I’m sure, I really can’t go there.’
‘I won’t, I promise. But,’ she says pleadingly, ‘we had such a lovely time with him, you must admit.’
‘I know, Pol, but it’s been so lonely for so long. And if I’m honest, I just don’t think I fancy him any more. I wish it didn’t matter, but…’
‘I think he’s got better‐looking with age, I really do.’
‘Polly! Do you? You don’t…’
‘No, of course I don’t!’ she says, outraged. ‘But I tell you something for nothing, he’s a much better catch than most of the losers out there.’
I’m desperate to change the subject. ‘So you didn’t let Michael inspect your pipes then? Tinker with your plumbing?’
‘Yeah, yeah, very funny. It was horrific, Anna. He turned up in a bootlace tie, you know, like Billy Ray Cyrus.’
‘Nice!’
‘And then he just talked about himself in a monologue. How he’s got some special plumbing award, and how all his employees worship him. Every time I tried to speak he’d say “Can I just finish?” like he was my headmaster.’
‘Where did you go?’ I ask her, laughing.
‘Nando’s! I don’t mean to be snobby, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about what those poor little chickens must’ve been through. At least it was “Chicks’ Night”, so they pretty much gave me an intravenous drip of free sangria.’
I tell her about my horrific dinner party, and how Chrissie tried to make me feel about three inches tall all evening because I was on my own.
‘Yes, that was the worst bit! He asked me why I was still single, so I was trying to explain how hard it is to meet anyone remotely decent, and he gave me all this cod psychology about how it was down to my negative conditioning about men. Then he offered to hypnotize it out of me!’
‘Yeah, right,’ I say. ‘Look into my eyes: you WILL give me a blow job in the car park.’
‘Exactly! Then I asked for the bill and he made such a song and dance about paying, like he was King Chivalrous. I really wanted to pay half, but he just wasn’t having any of it and I ended up feeling kind of obligated to kiss him goodbye. Does that make me like a really, really low‐rent hooker?’ she says, looking perturbed.
‘Of course it doesn’t,’ I tell her, and then fill her in about my awful near‐snog with Tom.
‘At least he sounds funny,’ she says. ‘Since Michael dropped me home he’s been plaguing me with these awful texts.’
She shows me her phone. ‘Thanx for nice evening. Home now.’ Then ‘Staying up watching Top Gear.’ The next one reads ‘Have brushed teeth and am in bed.’ By the time I get to ‘Can’t sleep, reading Nuts,’ I’m losing the will to live.
‘I’m thinking about taking a rain check on the whole business,’ she says, looking crestfallen. ‘I mean, all these bloody women,’ she gestures to the swathe of self‐help books lining her shelves, ‘say you have to be open to the unexpected, give everyone a try. But they never warn you about how disappointing it is.’
‘I know what you mean,’ I tell her, ‘and Cistern Man’s clearly a tosser, but there’s a flipside to that argument. If so many men are a waste of space, maybe we have to resign ourselves to working our way through a load of no‐hopers en route to finding someone loveable.’
‘What, like rootling through rubbish in the sales till you find the perfect pair of shoes?’ she says hopefully.
‘Exactly!’ I say, warming to my theme. ‘We can’t give up, it’s not an option, so we’ll just have to toughen up.’
‘So are you going to give this Tom bloke a proper go?’ she asks.
‘Life’s way too short. But I am going to force myself to go on a date. I’m determined. We’ve got to start taking charge of the situation rather than just sitting around waiting for the wrinkles to kick in.’
‘Are you sure you’re ready to start up again?’ she asks doubtfully. ‘I swear to you, Anna, it’s way worse than you think.’
‘No, I’m probably not, but how will I ever be if I just sit around thinking about Adam? I’ve got to start living the rest of my life.’
I’m sounding way more bullish than I actually feel. The prospect of a real date fills me with naked terror, let alone the thought of actually getting naked. But now I’ve thrown down the gauntlet there’s no turning back.