he’d feel bad about trying to get with someone else. And then I realised I was just being stupid. With the way I’ve been acting, seeing a text message from me would probably propel him towards someone else quicker than I could blink.
Maybe he’s still propping up the bar somewhere. He might not have pulled. In fact, I bet he hasn’t. I bet he’s in a drunken mess somewhere. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d have ended up in a state on a night out with his mates, especially with Carl. The idea of him in an awful state isn’t a nice one, but it’s better than the alternative.
Adam closed the door to the flat behind him and looked in the full-length mirror hanging in the hallway. He looked dishevelled and tired – not unusual after a night out – but he forced himself to look again. He could hear Sarah in the kitchen, stirring a spoon in a cup. Would she be able to tell that he’d slept with someone else? Wa s he radiating it without even knowing? Why did it even matter? She wasn’t his girlfriend anymore; he could do whatever he wanted with whoever he wanted.
‘Good night?’
He turned at the sound of her voice to see her standing in the hall, holding a cup in her hand. Something deep inside him stirred as he looked at her in her little pyjama shorts and T-shirt. The stirring was swiftly replaced by a powerful pang of guilt. He’d had fun with Tamsin. It was exactly how he’d hoped it would be, and they’d swapped numbers to keep in touch, but after hearing Sarah’s voice and the strain behind her casual tone, he felt like the biggest arsehole in London.
Adam momentarily looked down at his feet and nodded. ‘Yeah, it was alright.’
‘Cool.’ Sarah nodded back, and they stood looking at each other for a few seconds.
It was moments like this that told him she wasn’t any happier with their situation than he was. He could feel the jealousy emanating from her, but what could he do? So far, his plan to let time take care of their situation wasn’t working, and all he was aware of was the fact that he hadn’t showered before leaving Tamsin’s flat.
‘I’m going back to bed,’ Sarah said, and Adam stepped back to let her pass, wishing he smelled fresh instead of hung-over and carrying the scent of another woman.
She walked past him and into her room, and he looked at the back of the door, trying to ignore the way the guilt had hit him when he’d looked at her. He had to keep telling himself that he was single. She was the one who wanted things to be this way, and the quicker he moved on, the better.
7.
15 October
I went to the church up the road after work today to light a candle. I stood in front of the other tea lights with their flames flickering in the air, and the tangy, briny, iron-like smell was so real, it nearly overpowered me. It might have been fifteen years since that day , but the memories are as raw as ever.
Bad luck, fate, pure chance. I’ve tried to come up with a reason as to why it happened in the first place for a long time, but I know that there isn’t one. I stood in that church, thinking back to my fifteen -year-old self, heartbroken and terrified, crying to the point of sickness, and told myself that there couldn’t be a God. He wouldn’t have allowed something like that to happen, to shatter the lives of two teenage girls and strip them of their innocence. But the stupid thing is that I still lit that candle, t he sa me way I do every 15th of October, because for some inexplicable reason, stepping inside the church, feeling the cool air inside its stone walls and breathing in the smell of beeswax makes m e fee l less alone. It makes me think of Mum. She used to take so much comfort in her religion. I wish I had that. I wish I had her here.
I miss her. So, so much. I just want her to put her arms around me and tell me that she loves me. But she wouldn’t understand. Nobody would.
Adam did a double-take when his mobile phone rang in the middle of
Maybe he’s still propping up the bar somewhere. He might not have pulled. In fact, I bet he hasn’t. I bet he’s in a drunken mess somewhere. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d have ended up in a state on a night out with his mates, especially with Carl. The idea of him in an awful state isn’t a nice one, but it’s better than the alternative.
Adam closed the door to the flat behind him and looked in the full-length mirror hanging in the hallway. He looked dishevelled and tired – not unusual after a night out – but he forced himself to look again. He could hear Sarah in the kitchen, stirring a spoon in a cup. Would she be able to tell that he’d slept with someone else? Wa s he radiating it without even knowing? Why did it even matter? She wasn’t his girlfriend anymore; he could do whatever he wanted with whoever he wanted.
‘Good night?’
He turned at the sound of her voice to see her standing in the hall, holding a cup in her hand. Something deep inside him stirred as he looked at her in her little pyjama shorts and T-shirt. The stirring was swiftly replaced by a powerful pang of guilt. He’d had fun with Tamsin. It was exactly how he’d hoped it would be, and they’d swapped numbers to keep in touch, but after hearing Sarah’s voice and the strain behind her casual tone, he felt like the biggest arsehole in London.
Adam momentarily looked down at his feet and nodded. ‘Yeah, it was alright.’
‘Cool.’ Sarah nodded back, and they stood looking at each other for a few seconds.
It was moments like this that told him she wasn’t any happier with their situation than he was. He could feel the jealousy emanating from her, but what could he do? So far, his plan to let time take care of their situation wasn’t working, and all he was aware of was the fact that he hadn’t showered before leaving Tamsin’s flat.
‘I’m going back to bed,’ Sarah said, and Adam stepped back to let her pass, wishing he smelled fresh instead of hung-over and carrying the scent of another woman.
She walked past him and into her room, and he looked at the back of the door, trying to ignore the way the guilt had hit him when he’d looked at her. He had to keep telling himself that he was single. She was the one who wanted things to be this way, and the quicker he moved on, the better.
7.
15 October
I went to the church up the road after work today to light a candle. I stood in front of the other tea lights with their flames flickering in the air, and the tangy, briny, iron-like smell was so real, it nearly overpowered me. It might have been fifteen years since that day , but the memories are as raw as ever.
Bad luck, fate, pure chance. I’ve tried to come up with a reason as to why it happened in the first place for a long time, but I know that there isn’t one. I stood in that church, thinking back to my fifteen -year-old self, heartbroken and terrified, crying to the point of sickness, and told myself that there couldn’t be a God. He wouldn’t have allowed something like that to happen, to shatter the lives of two teenage girls and strip them of their innocence. But the stupid thing is that I still lit that candle, t he sa me way I do every 15th of October, because for some inexplicable reason, stepping inside the church, feeling the cool air inside its stone walls and breathing in the smell of beeswax makes m e fee l less alone. It makes me think of Mum. She used to take so much comfort in her religion. I wish I had that. I wish I had her here.
I miss her. So, so much. I just want her to put her arms around me and tell me that she loves me. But she wouldn’t understand. Nobody would.
Adam did a double-take when his mobile phone rang in the middle of
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