The Rolling Stones: ‘Wild Horses’
Have you ever had one of those moments where you’re reminded of someone you haven’t thought about for years, and then you keep hearing about them over and over again, almost as though you’ve conjured them up out of nowhere?
That’s what happened to me after seeing Adam for the first time in eighteen years. Despite the promises I’d made to Rose and Sam to steer well clear of him and to concentrate instead on sorting out the problems between me and Greg, I just couldn’t seem to shake Adam Bowers from my mind. It was almost as though seeing him had dislodged a memory and sent all the other ones tumbling down behind it, like a line of dominoes. And my unfaithful heart didn’t know how to stop them.
I’d been down to see whether he was busking again three times in the last two days. He’d been there once so far, and I’d stayed well back so there was no chance of him spotting me, just studying him, but I hadn’t yet plucked up the courage to speak to him.
Then a few days before Christmas I decided it was now or never. I headed into town with the excuse that I still needed some bits and pieces for Christmas Day – mince pies, a few cheeses, crackers (both kinds), more wine and a bottle of Baileys, my dad’s favourite.
Shopping completed, I dumped everything in the car, then, before I could change my mind, I made my way back into town. Despite it only being mid-afternoon, the darkness was already folding itself over the high street, the sun having dipped behind the shops and offices long ago. It was chilly and I pulled my hat on and wrapped my scarf round my neck. It would serve a double purpose of keeping me warm while also making me less recognisable, on the off-chance that Adam was there.
I headed up the high street towards the café where he’d been each time. Lights twinkled in shop windows, the decorations strung between lampposts looked pretty in the fading daylight, and my heart thumped loudly as I rounded the final corner before the deli. As I got closer I heard music, and my stomach rolled over. Was it him?
A small crowd was gathered and I could hear the strains of ‘Wild Horses’ by The Rolling Stones floating above the heads of the gathered crowd. I inched closer, trying to see over the shoulder of a tall man in front of me. My body was like a ball of tightly wound string, ready to unravel.
Then I saw him.
Adam.
I felt as though I was suffocating, and I pulled my scarf away from my throat to let in some air, then looked back. Adam had his beanie pulled down low to his eyebrows like last time, so I couldn’t tell whether his hair was still the same mess of dark curls that had once made my heart skip a beat, and I couldn’t make out his mouth properly behind the microphone, but there was no doubt it was him. I’d recognise those piercing blue eyes anywhere. I felt a wave of pleasure deep in my belly as I remembered the first time those eyes had fixed themselves on me at a party in some long-forgotten friend’s kitchen.
How long would it take him to notice me standing here, and how would he react when he did? I waited, poised, ready.
And then Adam looked up, and our eyes locked for a moment. I was frozen, unsure how to react… Was he happy to see me? Shocked? I held my breath in anticipation.
But then his gaze slid right over me, unseeing, on to the next person, and I snapped to attention, bewildered. Had he been looking at someone else behind me? I glanced over my shoulder, but there was no-one there.
What was going on?
I stood stiffly, waiting for the song to finish, torn between wanting to confront him and wanting to turn and run away again. But my legs weren’t strong enough to take me anywhere this time. My pulse thumped through my body and my limbs felt weak so I just hovered, staring blankly over Adam’s shoulder at the coffee shop sign behind him, and waited.
Suddenly, the song changed, and as he began playing ‘Heart-Shaped Box’ by Nirvana, relief flooded through me. This was our song. He had seen me, and this was his way of letting me know.
As I listened, I let my mind wander, the song conjuring memories – some that I’d spent years trying to keep hidden, but which were now flitting in and out of my mind like images on a broken movie reel: Adam playing on stage, his eyes never leaving mine; Adam introducing himself at a party, sharing a spliff; Sam telling me Adam was no good for me, a flare of anger; Adam appearing at my door after weeks apart, smiling at me like I was the best thing he'd ever seen; Adam’s naked body hovering above me in my single bed…
The song ended and the film reel stopped abruptly, bringing me back to the present with a jolt. I could hear the crowd clapping as my heart slowed down, and then Adam was on his feet, getting ready to pack up his guitar and microphone.
He still hadn’t looked back at me.
‘Adam!’ I blurted the name out before I’d had time to think about it. He whipped his head up and, for the first time, his eyes met mine properly. ‘Hi,’ I said, suddenly shy.
‘Hello.’ He glanced at his guitar case and then back at me. My legs were trembling so much I was worried I might collapse. I waited for him to say something else.
But nothing.
I stepped forward and closed the gap between us. ‘What are you doing back?’
A small crease appeared briefly between his eyebrows and he tilted his head to one side.
‘Back?’
‘Yes Adam. Back. Here, in this town.’ My voice was calm, measured, despite my anger.
‘I—’ He stopped and let out a huge sigh. ‘I’m really sorry, but do we know each other?’
What?
I stared at him hard. What was he playing at?
‘Are you kidding?’ He must be, surely?
But he shook his head. ‘No. I—’ He looked down at his feet, then seemed as though he was about to say something else, but changed his mind. ‘Never mind.’
I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know what to say. How could he possibly have forgotten who I was when what we had between us had been so passionate, so all-consuming? I’d spent the last eighteen years trying to squeeze him out of my mind, to let myself live and be happy with someone else. God, I’d almost ruined my marriage for him more than once. And he was pretending he didn’t know me?
Fury rose in me like a fire and I felt my body start to shake uncontrollably.
‘How dare you,’ I hissed, my hands clenched by my sides. ‘How dare you pretend you don’t know me?’
He took a step back and I realised how close I was standing to him. So close I could almost feel the warmth of his breath on my face.
‘I’m sorry.’ He shoved his guitar in its case and slammed the lid shut, folded up his stool and tucked it under his arm, then turned and almost ran away from me, away from the high street. I watched his retreating back in horror for a few moments, paralysed. Then my mind came back to itself and I set off after him, half-walking, half-running, yelling his name. In that moment I didn’t care who saw me, or how mad I looked. All I could think about was reaching him and demanding to know what the hell he thought he was playing at.
He glanced behind as I closed the gap between us, and then before he could do anything about it, I was standing in front of him, blocking his path. He tried to go round me, but I blocked him again and he finally gave up, his shoulders slumping, and stopped. He was staring at a spot just above my shoulder, and I rose up on my toes, trying to get him to look me in the eye.
‘Adam.’
Finally, he did look at me. It was dark now and I couldn’t make out the vivid blue of his eyes, but there was no mistaking the sadness in them. The Adam I knew, the sparky, feisty, rebellious Adam, seemed to have evaporated, leaving behind a strange kind of melancholy in his place. I couldn’t read him, and so I waited.
At last, he spoke.