The Other Woman(37)

I had to laugh. He was right, it did make me sound pathetically insecure and immature, and I am not that person. I am someone who can hold my own in any situation, fight my own battles, give as good as I get. Aren’t I?

‘So, do you promise you’ll give her a chance?’ he asked. ‘For me?’

I looked up at him and nodded.

‘Adam?’ I said softly. He looked at me then, really looked at me. I could feel the intensity of his eyes as they bored into me. My stomach flipped and I felt a rush of heat, reminding me of our first time, when my senses were so overwhelmed it felt like a massive bundle of nerves had pooled in the pit of my tummy. A million and one scenarios had whirred around my brain then, each contradicting the one before.

I thought all those things again as he stared at me, except now it felt like there was a lot more to lose if I got it wrong. These weren’t the heady days when one love affair merged into another, without risk. This was my future, our future, and it needed to be handled carefully.

The corners of his mouth turned up, ever so slightly, giving me all the indication I needed.

I stood up, leant across the table to kiss him on the lips and, without saying a word, walked out of the room.

He mumbled something but I didn’t want to hear his excuses. I wanted him to make love to me. I needed him to make love to me.

By the time he came into the bedroom, I was undressed, bar the black-lace lingerie set he’d bought me from Agent Provocateur the previous Christmas. He either grinned or grimaced, I’m not sure which, as I walked towards him, the light from the solitary bedside lamp casting a warm glow across the room.

My heart raced and was thumping out of my chest, like an inexperienced young girl being intimate for the first time. I felt like I was moving in slow motion, as if my body was preparing itself for fight or flight, ready to take the knock-back as it came hurtling towards me. But would we be able to come back from this if he rebuffed me again? I almost didn’t want to take the chance, yet, at the same time, my brain was screaming at me to keep going, to find out if we were going to be able to move forward, to become the couple we once were.

He came towards me, slowly, and, as we stood facing each other, I took his face in my hands, his soft stubble tickling my palms as I stared at him intently.

‘Are we okay?’ I whispered.

He nodded. ‘I hope so. I just don’t know if—’

I put my finger to his lips. I kissed him, softly at first, but then more deeply as I responded to his urgency. We fell onto the bed, and I could feel him as I pulled at his trousers, desperately trying to undo the buttons. So many thoughts cluttered my head, making it a much bigger deal than it should have been – I was desperate to close the gaping chasm that had appeared in our once perfect relationship. Sex wasn’t everything, I knew that, but having lost that closeness, it highlighted so many other insecurities. I’d questioned my own attractiveness, my ability to turn him on, whether he was seeing someone else. I needed this for me, and I needed it for him, so that we both knew that it was going to be okay.

He knew before me that it wasn’t going to happen.

‘Leave it,’ he said, pushing me away with his hand.

‘Just relax,’ I offered, determined to continue.

‘I said, leave it.’ His frustration was shared by us both.

I wanted to ask what I was doing wrong, but that seemed like something an actress would say in some B-rated coming-of-age movie. I needed to appear confident, even if I didn’t feel it.

I moved towards him again. ‘Do you want me to try—’

‘For fuck’s sake, Em,’ he snapped. ‘How clear do I have to make it? It’s not going to happen.’

Inside, I crumbled, all thoughts of myself as an attractive, sexual woman broken into a million tiny pieces. I’d failed. It had always been so easy before, we were so in tune with each other and both knew what to do and when to do it. Nobody had ever made me feel like Adam did, and he said the same of me, so how had it all gone so wrong? I had to make this okay.

In one last attempt, I straddled him.

‘Jesus Christ,’ he yelled, pushing me off and jumping up from the bed before hastily pulling on his boxer shorts. ‘What bit are you not understanding?’

I sat up, stock-still.

‘Just relax . . . Do you want me to try . . .’ he mimicked. He was pacing up and down across the room.

‘But we just need to—’

‘We don’t need to do anything,’ he spat. ‘It’s not your problem. It’s mine. So, quit telling me what we need to do and what we ought to try.’

His spit was hitting my face and I pulled back. I’d never seen him like this before.

I shook my head numbly. ‘I’m only trying to help,’ I said, my voice barely audible.

‘Well, I don’t need your help. I need a fucking miracle.’ He walked out of the room and slammed the door so violently that the architrave broke away from its fixings.

I sat there, dumbstruck. My eyes stung and I chastised myself for being so selfish. This wasn’t about me. This was about him.

I thought back to the last time we’d attempted to be intimate, albeit briefly, when his mother had been staying over. I remembered him recoiling away from me in horror as she called out his name, like a teacher telling off a naughty schoolboy. ‘Adam! What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ she’d cried.