The Other Woman(30)

‘I know.’ I sighed. ‘I will talk to him. I have to. But can I stay here? Just for tonight?’

He nodded and went off to fetch another bottle of wine from the kitchen while I called Adam.

‘What do you mean you’re staying there?’ he barked down the phone.

‘I don’t want to argue,’ I said wearily. ‘We’re busy chatting and it’s getting late. I’ll pop back in the morning to get ready for work.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ he said. ‘There’s no need for you to stay there.’

‘Adam, I’m tired, and to be honest, I need a break, just for tonight. It’s gone ten already so it’s not as if you’re going to miss me.’

‘Get yourself home now,’ he said, before putting the phone down.

A burning sensation raged in my throat and hot tears sprang to my eyes. I battled to hold them back, but as soon as Seb walked back in the room, they sprang onto my cheeks.

‘Hey, what on earth’s the matter?’ he said, pulling me towards him, the bottle still in his hand. ‘What’s happened?’

‘He just . . . doesn’t understand,’ I said, between sobs.

‘Come on now,’ soothed Seb. ‘Stay here tonight and everything will feel better in the morning. I promise.’

‘I can’t . . . I’ve got to go home . . .’ I stuttered. I would have given anything to stay in Seb’s embrace – it felt safe – but I had to go home. Adam was right.

Two days have since passed, and I still haven’t had the guts to say anything. Not because I’m worried I’m wrong, or I’m scared of Pammie finding out, but I just can’t call which way Adam is going to go on this. How crazy is that? That I honestly don’t know how the man I love, more than life itself, is going to react. And therein lies the problem: however long I’ve known him and however much I love him, I’ll never be able to compete with his own mother. They have a bond like no other, one that simply cannot be broken or even tampered with.

‘Emily, Emily.’ I could hear her calling but needed to take one more deep breath before I answered.

‘Yes, Pammie?’

‘Be a love and pop the kettle on. I’m parched.’

I’d literally just walked through the front door. I was still in my coat, drenched from the sudden downpour that had started the minute I got off the train. She must have heard me as I struggled with the lock. I’d have to get the landlord to take a look at it before it seized up altogether.

I counted to ten and walked into the kitchen. All I wanted to do was pull out every sodding piece of crockery and smash it all over the floor. But, instead, I carefully placed her favourite cup onto the granite worktop and silently wondered how easy it would be to administer cyanide.

‘Oh, you are a dear,’ she said, shuffling in, much slower than I’m sure she was capable of.

‘How’s your day been?’ she asked, but I didn’t have time to answer. ‘You’ll see I did the washing up that was left from last night,’ she went on, picking up a cloth and wiping down the spotless surfaces. ‘If you leave that sort of thing lying around for too long, you’ll end up with all kinds of pests, and I doubt your landlord would be too happy with that. He’s probably got enough on his plate with that Italian restaurant downstairs. The mess and rubbish they leave out back is shocking. They’ll have rats running amok all over the place.’

I gave her a fixed grin. It had been a long day, and all I wanted to do was have a bath, get my pyjamas on, and chill out on the sofa with a box set. Sex with my fiancé, for the first time in almost a week – in fact, since he’d proposed – would have been high on my to-do list as well, but seeing as he was out on a work do, and we had the devil incarnate sleeping in our bed, the chance of any intimacy was highly unlikely.

‘Oh, you’ve got your hair different,’ she said, as if seeing me for the first time. ‘What have you done to it? Ooh no, I don’t like that. I prefer it the other way. The way you usually have it.’

‘I just got caught in the rain,’ I said wearily. ‘It goes a lot curlier when it’s wet.’

She gave a little snigger. ‘Don’t be letting Adam see you like that. He’ll wonder what on earth he’s let himself in for.’

My coat still on, I poured myself a glass of wine from the fridge and headed to the bathroom.

‘It’s a bit early for that, isn’t it?’ was the last thing I heard before I slammed the door shut.





14

I waited up for Adam. His mother and I had spent the entire evening in a power struggle of the pettiest nature. From what we were having for tea, to who was in charge of the remote – anything that required a decision had us both vying for control. It was pathetic, and took me back to when I was a girl on the cusp of puberty, battling against the iron will of my ten-year-old brother.

‘But you promised,’ Stuart would whine, as I flicked over to Blue Peter. ‘You said I could watch Byker Grove tonight. You pinkie-promised.’

‘Did no such thing,’ I’d snarl.

‘Yes, you did. You watched Blue Peter yesterday. It’s my turn today.’

I’d glare back at him. I glared a lot during those years. A sullen look seemed to garner a far better response than the confused vocabulary that often spilled out of my mouth. The thoughts I had in my head rarely had any correlation to how they were voiced.