Love Lies Read Free Page B

laughing at him, I wasn’t; I laughed right along with him, everyone did. He was a riot. He’s one of those walking bag of gags lads. He’s full of witty one-liners, bizarre facts and decent jokes. No one delivers a punch line like Adam. We flirted from the word go but Adam kept me at arm’s length until my fling with his mate drew its last breath. Then he asked me to go to Glastonbury music fest with him. And that was it – we were an item.
    I never so much as looked at another man from that moment on. Seriously, he held me captive. I realized that I hadn’t simply been a slut (as I believed and my mum feared), I just hadn’t met the right guy. Simple as that. As nice and old-fashioned as that.
    I’ve loved being faithful to Adam. It hasn’t been a struggle. Having sown my wild oats it was a joy to sink into a relationship where it really didn’t matter if I occasionally wore cotton M&S knickers rather than lacy thongs – he’d still want to rip them off me.
    Adam and I laughed our way through the first couple of years and we laughed our way into this flat-share and for quite some months after that. But we haven’t been doing a great deal of laughing of late. In fact there hasn’t been so much as a chuckle, a guffaw or a weak giggle. Neither of us is the rowing sort, so silence and tension have become our staple.
    I call Adam to find out what time he expects to be back so I can gauge whether it’s worth waiting up for him. Even before I press the dial button part of me knows this is likely to be a pointless exercise. Invariably, even if Adam is able to give an expected time of arrival, he’s about as reliable as a politician a week before elections; besides that, he often doesn’t answer his phone anyway. He’s either up a ladder rigging lights or down a cellar listening to a band and so he can’t reach his phone or the signal can’t reach him. It’s an accurate metaphor for our relationship. I’m therefore pleasantly surprised when he picks up.
    ‘Hi, I was just wondering where you are and what you are up to,’ I say, trying to sound as friendly and non-naggy as I’m able.
    ‘Hey, Fern-girl. I’m coming right back to you.’
    ‘Are you?’ A rush of excitement floods into my stomach, pushing aside the irritation I’ve felt all evening.
    ‘Yup.’
    The doorbell rings. ‘Hang on, someone is at the door, hold the line,’ I say.
    I open the door and Adam is stood facing me, holding his phone to his ear and grinning.
    ‘Lost my key,’ he says as he snaps closed his mobile and then briefly kisses me on the forehead.
    ‘Lost or forgotten?’ I demand. The rush of excitement at seeing him is instantly drowned by a fresh flash of irritation. Living with him is a bit like sitting in a ducking chair. Oh, I can breathe; everything is going to be fine. No, I’m under water once more. I’m going to drown. If he’s lost his key again then we’ll have to pay for the locks to be changed for the second time in six months. It’s such an unnecessary expense, all that’s required is a little thought. But, if he’s simply forgotten to take it out with him I’ll be just as irritated. I mean, it’s not rocket science, is it? You go out, you come in again, to do that you need a key, put key in pocket.
    Adam shrugs. ‘Think they are in my other jeans.’
    ‘I hope so,’ I mutter as I head for our bedroom to check in his jeans pocket. The jeans are on the floor in a crumpled heap. Luckily, I do find his keys, along with a stick of gum and his Oyster card. I walk back into the kitchen dangling the keys off my finger; half triumphant, half vexed. Nowadays I often rage with conflicting emotions when I’m around Adam. I wish it wasn’t so. I wish things were simpler.
    I’m taken aback because I find Adam serving up a Chinese takeaway. From the smell of it I think I can guess that he’s brought me king prawn foo yung with egg fried rice – my favourite.
    ‘Have you eaten? I figured not, as there’s no