31. Adam

31

ADAM

T here are times for brushing things under the carpet, for locking the monsters in the closet and hoping they’ll stay there. And there are times when the only way forward is through, when the most fearsome confrontations can yield the greatest blessings.

I’d like to think I proved that to Natalie today on some small scale with that phone call. I demonstrated that nothing lies on the other side of fear except the possibility of reward.

And it’s time I took my own advice, because I’m conscious that these moments with her have been gifts. Glimpses into an astounding chemistry that could, I’m hopeful, be more, but not as we stand currently. I’m frankly blown away by the things she’s let me do to her so far, but if I want to get any further with her, I need to take that hand I’ve held close to my chest and lay every last card on the table.

If I’m to have even the briefest future with her, then I need to shine the brightest, most unflinching of lights on my past. My only comfort is that she can’t possibly think any worse of me than she already does.

When I turn up at Alchemy, ten minutes before the end of her shift, it’s immediately obvious that two guys are chatting her up. They’re typical finance bros and, although her smile is polite and professional, it looks to these hopeful eyes like it’s strained. When she spots me, her face lights up to an extent that’s beyond gratifying, giving me the confidence to do what I do next.

And that’s to stride down the hallway, past the two guys, lean over the lectern and kiss her full on the mouth, my hand wrapping around her neck in a signal I hope reads MINE - BACK OFF.

‘Hi,’ I murmur when I release her.

‘Hi,’ she returns dazedly. She puts her fingertips to her mouth, but she can’t hide her smile as Douche One and Douche Two clatter off down the corridor in search of a more available conquest.

I’ve asked Bal to put our food in the library. I had the impression Natalie enjoyed this room last time she was here, and her happy sigh when she pads in on stockinged feet confirms that. The night is cold, but in here it’s wonderfully cosy, thanks to the drawn curtains and the fire that casts golden shadows over the bookshelves. I spend most of my time at home in my bedroom or study, but this is my favourite room in the house.

‘Let me guess,’ she says. She glances at the tray of food on the coffee table, but there’s none of the irritation she exhibited last time. ‘High protein and slow-release carbs?’

‘You’ve got it.’ I slide my hands around her waist and tug her against me. ‘There might be some cardio later, if I play my cards right,’ I murmur against her ear. ‘Best to refuel while you have the chance.’

Her laugh is music. ‘Is that right?’

My fingers flex on the small of her back. I’m growing addicted to this spot. ‘That, or you’ll be running for the hills. Either way, you’ll need your energy.’

She draws back, suddenly serious. We both know this conversation has to happen. I can’t expect her to take any more leaps of faith than she already has without knowing the full picture, and I’m well aware I need this for myself. If we’re to have anything more than a few libido-fuelled hookups, then I need her to know the real me, for better or for worse.

My attack on Stephen has been the elephant in the room since she first laid eyes on me at Alchemy, and, while I’d like to think some of my actions have allowed her to view me as the man I am today, I can’t gloss over the episode that has defined my entire life’s journey—as well as Natalie’s perception of me until now.

I wait until I’ve tucked her up on the sofa under a soft throw and she’s happily spooning the contents of a chia seed pudding bowl into her mouth before I extract the large leather-bound box from a cupboard under my business books. She eyes it, her eyebrows raised in question.

‘This all feels very serious.’

‘It is serious.’ I sit down next to her and put the box on the coffee table. ‘What I did to your brother is the worst thing I’ve ever done, no question, and I don’t ever expect you or your family to forgive me. But I’d like to give you a little more context, if you’re prepared to listen.’

‘Why?’ She doesn’t say outright that nothing can ever justify my actions, which I appreciate. Her face is curious, but I don’t see judgement there.

‘Partly for selfish reasons. Maybe it’s mainly for selfish reasons. I told you I’d like to move forward, but I can’t ever expect you to agree to that unless I’m an open book. But also—I’d like you to have all the facts before you make a decision.’

‘Okay,’ she whispers, spoon suspended above her pudding.

‘You look pale. Keep eating.’

She rolls her eyes, but I suspect she’s picking her battles, because she takes another spoonful of chia seeds. I twist my body so I’m facing her as much as possible on the sofa.

‘I picked on your brother at school, I won’t deny that. I picked on lots of kids.’

She flinches almost imperceptibly, and it takes all the discipline I’ve honed in the past two decades to give her the space she deserves to process and judge rather than reaching out to her.

I plough on. ‘I was a total dick at school. I was… unhappy and bored, and most of the teachers had written me off, and things at home were… really rough.’ I lay my hand on the lid of the box. ‘But if it’s okay, I’d like to show you what my mental state was at that time. If I’m completely honest, I barely remember the attack itself. What you need to know is that this happened five days before I beat your brother up.’

Here goes.

My mouth is dry as I lift the lid off what is essentially a shrine to a soul far too young, far too pure, to have been so short for this world. She used to cry on me and laugh with me. She used to hug me so tightly and smile so brightly, and while her memory is dazzling, her body is dust. Even after two decades, I will never, ever fail to feel that fact as the most searing pain, as a void so cavernous it astonishes me.

It’s an effort to hold myself together when I’m brave enough to open this box, and I despise that the innocence of Ellen’s memory is so inextricably linked to an event so horrific, so shameful. I tarnished it that day, and I allowed my demons to set in motion atrocities that impacted lives far beyond our own family’s, and I’m so fucking ashamed I’ll never live it down.

On top of the pile of keepsakes and photo albums is, as always, the order of service from Ellen’s funeral. It’s a low-quality black-and-white photocopy, printed on shitty paper and folded in half to make a booklet. But the photo on the front, a school photo, is one of my favourites. Mum had been sober enough to do her hair that day, and she was so pretty with her French plaits. They even had little bows on the end. You can’t see it in the printout, but they were red, to match her sweatshirt.

But it’s her smile that gets me. So bright. So trusting. You can see the trust radiating off the page. She always had faith that her big brother would be there for her, to look out for her and to monitor her levels and see her through when she was so little, so vulnerable.

And I fucking failed her.