watched Bill cross the bar and take a seat with his friends. He looked back at Abi and then quickly shifted his gaze to somewhere vaguely over our heads when he realized I was watching.
‘Um, what’s going on with you and Bill?’ I asked, looking back at my friend to see her almost as red-faced as he was. ‘Is there something you want to tell me?’
‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘There’s nothing I want to tell you.’
We lived in a small village, not as small as it used to be but if you wanted to actually leave your house of an evening, there weren’t very many options. We had one supermarket, one chip shop-slash-greasy spoon and two pubs, meaning it was more or less impossible to keep any kind of secret here for more than fifteen minutes. Abi and Bill had been a thing when we were in the sixth form for almost a year but then Bill got off with Caroline Higgins round the back of the sports centre and Abi vowed never to talk to him again. As far as I knew, she had stayed true to her word for the last thirteen years but from the looks on both of their faces, they’d done more than talk to each other while I was away.
‘When there’s something to tell you, I’ll tell you,’ Abi informed me. I picked up my wine, unable to keep the smile from my face but didn’t push it any further. There was no point trying with Abs, she’d tell when she was ready. ‘Promise me you’ll think about what you want out of this break, not just sit around waiting for Adam to make his mind up.’
‘I promise,’ I declared, giving the Brownie salute another go. ‘I will.’
‘That’s still the wrong hand,’ Abi sighed. ‘I’m glad you’re not operating on my dog tomorrow.’
Two hours later I hung my keys on the hook at the bottom of the stairs and collapsed onto my settee. A three-legged tortoiseshell cat unfurled himself from the armchair by the window and meowed loudly.
‘Hello, Daniel Craig,’ I said, reaching down to scratch underneath his chin before he leapt up onto my stomach, his little paws digging into my boobs as he walked up and down my torso, trying to decide where he wanted to settle.
‘It’s nice to be missed,’ I muttered, pulling my phone out of my coat pocket. I should have taken it off before I lay down, I realized, as Daniel made himself comfortable, right on top of my bladder. I should have gone to the loo as well.
It felt so strange to be ending the day without Adam around. If I spent the night in my flat, it was usually because I’d worked so late I was so tired, I passed out the instant I walked through the door. Now I was here because here was the only place I had to be. It felt so wrong. I wanted to collapse on the sofa with my head in his lap while he stroked my hair and we told each other tales of our day. I wanted to turn down his offer of a glass of wine or a chocolate biscuit only for him to bring it anyway and tell me we deserved it because we worked so hard, even if we hadn’t worked that hard at all. I wanted to hear him, to touch him, to make him laugh. Not knowing when I would see him again made things even worse, I was trapped, slightly tipsy, in relationship limbo – was there a worse place to be?
‘Do you think your dad misses me?’ I asked the cat.
Daniel opened one bright, sea-green eye and then slowly closed it again. I held my phone up in front of my sulky face with both hands.
‘I’ll take that as a no, then.’
Abs was right. I needed to set some ground rules with Adam before I went insane. Telling me we’d talk without putting a specific date in the diary had already driven me over my two glasses of wine on a school night limit, I refused to let this evening end with my face covered in the emergency bar of Galaxy I kept in the back of the fridge.
‘I’ll send him an email,’ I told Daniel Craig, who was happily purring himself to sleep on my belly. ‘I won’t be a dick about it, I’ll just send him an email to let him know what I think and then I’m going to turn off my phone and go to bed.’
Daniel raised his head, meowed loudly and then went back to the serious business of sleeping. I took that to mean he supported my actions.
‘Hey Adam …’ I tapped out the message. ‘No, too casual. Just “Adam”, no “Hey”.’
I corrected the message, squinting at the bright screen above my nose and started again. ‘Adam. Hope you’re OK.’
Daniel yawned.
‘Do we hope he’s OK?’ I asked.
He did not reply.
‘Hope you’re OK. Wanted to clarify some stuff RE: the break. Agree it’s a good idea to think about things but would appreciate some sort of timeframe.’
I stared at the message for a moment. Was I writing to my boyfriend or my bank manager?
‘An email is ridiculous,’ I decided. ‘I’m going to text him. He is still my boyfriend after all. I think.’
Opening my messages, I scrolled down to Adam’s name, finally finding it all the way down at the bottom of my inbox. Usually, we texted constantly, stupid links, sweet messages and there was a certain gif of a St Bernard slapping a man in the face that we’d sent back and forth at least a hundred times but now he was underneath Abi, Cass, David, my mum, my dad, my hairdresser and that man who came round to the surgery trying to sell me pirated DVDs. It felt wrong.
‘Hey,’ I began, poised to write something brief, friendly, clear, to the point, unambiguous and constructive.
Then I hiccupped and deleted it.
‘How is it possible,’ I said, staring at the blank white screen, ‘that I cannot think of anything to say to a man I have talked to every day for the last three years?’
There were a million things to talk about in this world. The weather, the price of bananas, Jon Snow theories, but when it came to Adam, I had less than nothing. I didn’t want to be too formal but I couldn’t be too casual. If I was too jokey he might think I wasn’t upset, but if I was super serious it didn’t feel right. On Monday he was asking my opinion on whether or not I could see his penis through his trousers and by Wednesday I couldn’t say so much as a simple hello.
Leaving my phone on the floor, I sat up slowly and moved Daniel Craig to a cushion at the end of the settee. After one displeased yowl, he rolled over, showing me his belly and tossing his head from side to side. I shrugged myself out of my coat and tickled him until he reared up and nipped my wrist with his sharp little teeth. Cats were so fickle.
‘Just like your dad,’ I told him, staring at my phone and willing him to respond. But I got nothing.
‘Oh, sod him,’ I announced loudly to the living room. ‘Abi’s right. I’m not going to sit here and feel shit while he gives me the silent treatment. As of right now, I will not feel sorry for myself, I am taking control of this situation.’
The cat looked at me, seemingly supportive for a creature that had just bitten me hard enough to draw blood, and waited for me to do something.
‘Only I do feel a bit sorry for myself,’ I admitted quietly.
Adam was everywhere and I didn’t just mean in the framed photos on the wall. I saw him building the cat bed he’d bought for Daniel, puffing up the cushions on the settee before we lay down for a solid night of Netflix. One of my
