Together Apart (8 page)

10.

C
laire Collins: Happy belated birthday, Grunge Head! Hope you’re okay and not feeling too bad. It’s always hard this time of year :-( How’s things?

Sent 17/10 09:54 a.m.

Sarah Collins: You know I hate it when you call me that! Thanks. You too. Things are crap. I’m hung-over. Got wasted last night, puked all over. Feel like death.

Sent 17/10 10:01 a.m.

Claire Collins: Hung-over? You’re drinking again? ? WTF ?!

Sent 17/10 10:02 a.m.

Sarah Collins: No, I’m not ‘drinking again’. It was a thing for my birthday with work. I didn’t even want to go.

Sent 17/10 10:07 a.m.

Claire Collins: You should have just called me. Please don’t start all that again.

Sent 17/10 10:08 a.m.

Promise me.

Sent 17/10 10:08 a.m.

? ? ?

Sent 17/10 10:20 a.m.

Sarah Collins: I already told you, I’m not starting anything. What would calling you have done anyway? ? ?

Sent 17/10 10:23 a.m.

Claire Collins: It would have been better than getting wasted! Are you still up for dinner next week? Spoke to Mum. She misses you. She wants to know when you’re gonna go up?

Sent 17/10 10:25 a.m.

Sarah Collins: Yeah, dinner is fine. I dunno when I’ll go. Soon, maybe. I’m going back to bed. x

Sent 17/10 10:30 a.m.

Claire Collins: Okies. Hope you feel better. Will call next week with proper plans. Love you. xxx

Sent 17/10 10:33 a.m.

Sarah Collins: Thanks. Sorry for being moody, I just feel like hell. Speak soon xx

Sent 17/10 10:33 a.m.

11.

A
dam stepped into the garage, holding two Styrofoam cups in his hand. The smell of motor oil hung heavy in the air. He stifled a yawn. Sarah’s diary had made his brain frazzle, and he’d barely slept. Aside from finding out about Claire, which he still couldn’t get his head around, he hadn’t read anything more than the ramblings of a teenage girl, and he ended up speed-reading the endless pages about how ‘cool’ and ‘gorgeous’ this Richard was. The last thing he’d wanted to do was get up early to get his car inspected, but he’d left it to the last minute, and Carl had opened up a spot for him.

‘So, what happened the other night?’ Carl wiped his hands on a rag, leaving a smear of oil behind, and took one of the cups from Adam.

‘Sarah was wasted. It was one of her workmates who called to let me know. She was completely out of it. Threw up in the cab and everything.’

‘Nice.’

‘I think she was acting out at me a bit.’

Carl pulled a face. ‘Why? She’s the one who dumped you.’

‘I don’t know.’ Adam shrugged. ‘If this had been a week ago, I wouldn’t think anything of it.’

‘So, add it to the list of things about her that don’t make sense, and move on. It’s not like it really matters anyway, does it?’ Carl handed Adam his car keys and MOT certificate.

‘Thanks for this.’ Adam shoved them into his back pocket and took a sip of his Americano.

‘Standard, mate, don’t mention it. So, are you still banging that blonde chick you pulled the other night?’ Carl winked.

Adam frowned. There it was. That horrible, guilty feeling he’d carried around since shagging Tamsin to get back at Sarah.

He shrugged. ‘Nah.’

‘Why not? She was hot, and for a rebound lay you could have done much worse.’

‘I dunno. Just wasn’t feeling it, I guess.’ Adam rubbed his
forehead
.

Carl put his cup on the roof of the Peugeot 206 in the middle of the garage and walked round to the bonnet. ‘Listen. I know you loved Sarah. She was a nice girl, and you seemed like a golden couple, but, mate, it’s finished. You can’t go around moping all yo
ur life.’

‘I’m not moping. I’ve got enough on my plate with work to keep me in the office for hours on end. I haven’t got time to mope.’

‘Screw work. You’re single now. You can’t waste your life working and sleeping. You need to get back out there. Shit happens, but when you fall off a horse, you get straight back on again.’ He disappeared behind the bonnet. ‘Forget Sarah. And I’m being blunt to give you a kick up the arse. If she doesn’t want to be with you, then you’re just wasting your time.’

‘But she does,’ Adam muttered into his cup.

‘She turned you down and has barely spoken to you since. It doesn’t sound like she’s falling over herself to be with you.’ Carl looked up at Adam and frowned. ‘What happened? Don’t tell me you shagged her?’

‘Of course not. She was paralytic.’

‘All you’ve been saying since you split is that she turned cold on you. Something must have happened for you to think she wants you now.’

Adam scratched his cheek and leaned against the exposed brick wall. It vibrated as a train sped along the tracks above. Tinny music played from the portable radio on the desk cluttered with paperwork. Carl was so tidy at home, but his garage was a mess.

‘She told me she loved me.’

‘So? She was wasted. It was probably the drink talking.’

Adam sighed. Carl wouldn’t judge him for reading her diary, but having to say it out loud made the whole thing sound sleazy.

‘I read her diary.’

‘Deep. What did it say?’

‘In a nutshell?’ Adam raised an eyebrow. ‘She never wanted to split up, but for some unknown reason, she had no choice.’

Carl straightened up and grimaced. ‘That’s a bit fucked up.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘So, what are you going to do?’

‘What
can
I do? I can’t tell her I read it. She’d go nuts.’

No way was he going to tell him about Claire. Carl might be his best mate, but he was also brutally honest, and he’d been the first to tell Adam to pull himself together after their break-up. He didn’t want his friends to know the extent of her secrecy because he d
idn’t wa
nt to hear them telling him to run for the hills. Especially when, if the roles were reversed, it was exactly what he’d advise himself.

What was he going to do when he uncovered her secret, anyway? He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it could be, and the only clue from her current diary was that it involved some guy. But that made no sense. She would have been what – fourteen? Fifteen? It was hard to believe she would still be pining over someone all these years later. Although it
would
explain why she’d turned him down – if she was in love with someone else. One thing he’d realised was just how little he really knew about her. What was to say that she’d never really loved him? Adam’s stomach turned at the acrid aftertaste of the coffee.

It sounded a lot more dramatic than a case of lost love, anyway. It sounded like someone had died or something. Had she killed someone? It was a ridiculously absurd thought, but it was the only thing he could think of where she would be utterly terrified to tell anyone. And it would have implications for her job and her family, like she’d written.

Was she really capable of killing another human being, even accidentally? The cold air of the garage wound its way into his jacket collar. He didn’t know – that was the honest answer. It was completely at odds with her personality. She hardly even raised her voice when she was angry, let alone displayed signs of violence. But then she seemed to be very skilled at keeping secrets and only revealing the parts of herself that she wanted to. The revelation about Claire was a perfect case in point.

Was he really thinking about this? Sarah – a murderer? The awful thing was, it wasn’t outside the realms of possibility. She could be a sociopath or a psychopath or whatever it was called.

He shook his head. He had to stop thinking like this. He was tired, and his mind was overreacting. It just wasn’t possible for her to have done something that heinous. Of that he was sure.

12.

A
couple of hours later, Adam joined the queue in the shop down the road from his street. He was supposed to be visiting his parents for Sunday lunch, but he couldn’t face it. He’d told h
is old
er brother about the break-up, and within minutes of getting off the phone with him, their mum had called. He
usually
popped in to see them on a regular basis, but he hadn’t been once since he got back from Santorini. There was no doubt they meant well, but he simply couldn’t deal with a barrage of questions. Besides, he was shattered after having to get up so early for Carl to MOT his car, and he planned to sink into the sofa with a stash of junk food and a film.

The person in front of him left the shop, and Adam emptied the small basket onto the counter. His dentist would have a heart attack if he saw Adam’s load – chocolate bars, toffee popcorn, nachos and dip and a litre bottle of Coke. Adam told himself that the smile on the shopkeeper’s face was a friendly one instead of a knowing one, one that said he’d seen countless other guys in the same position – newly single, angry, confused, fed up and tired.

As he opened his wallet, a flash of brown hair in the corner of his vision caught his eye. He handed the ten pound note to the shopkeeper as he looked towards the back of the shop with his heart choking his throat. It was Sarah – he was certain of it. He could recognise her corkscrew curls anywhere. She hadn’t seen him, or if she had, she’d chosen to ignore him. A wave of uncertainty hit him. If it were anyone else, he’d go over and say hello, but it wasn’t anyone else. She’d holed herself up in her room since coming home drunk, and anyone would think it had never happened: that he hadn’t sponged her down in the bathroom, that he hadn’t read her diary. That she hadn’t said she still loved him. He swallowed and quickly looked back in her direction. She was engrossed in the label on a jar of something. Nobody could read a label for so long. The familiar rush of humiliation hit him as he grabbed the plastic bag from the counter and left the shop.

He swore to himself as he walked away. How many times was he going to feel like this? Why was he the one avoiding her anyway? If anyone should be feeling embarrassed and humiliated, it was Sarah. She’d acted like a total stranger since Santorini and come home steaming drunk. He’d cut his night short to help her out, and she hadn’t even acknowledged it. He stopped walking and stood in the middle of the pavement. She’d hidden her twin sister from him, for God’s sake. Why the hell was he still being so nice?

Adam looked back towards the shop before leaning against the low wall of someone’s front garden. They’d been skirting around each other in what could only be called an attempt at civility to make their messed-up living arrangement bearable and he w
as tired of
it. He was tired of feeling guilty for sleeping with Tamsin, tired of
trying
to second-guess Sarah, tired of trying to pretend she hadn’t hurt him. Maybe it was time she felt some of the awkwardness he was feeling too.

He waited for her, watching a pigeon peck at a half-eaten chocolate bar. The way it pecked away at it was so simple, and he sat engrossed watching it, admiring its determination. If only everything in life were as simple to deal with. The faint bell of the shop door opening and closing made him look up, and he saw Sarah step out. When she saw him, she momentarily hesitated, but it wasn’t as if she could turn and walk in the opposite direction. Adam stood as she approached, and he plastered something like a smile onto h
is face.

‘You stocking up too?’ he asked, looking at her bag. Through the thin plastic, he could see that she’d gone for a similar selection to his. Of course she had. Pig-out Sundays were something they used to do together all the time.

‘Yeah,’ she replied, holding it up.

A few seconds passed as they stood on the pavement looking at each other. How could it be so awkward between them when they’d been together for so long? Adam had to remind himself that he didn’t really know her, and he was sure her diaries would reveal a whole lot more than a secret twin.

‘I saw you inside, so I thought I’d wait.’

Sarah had the good grace to blush, and he knew then that he’d been right. She had seen him, and he took a small bite of satisfaction, knowing that she must have been a little embarrassed about ignoring him.

‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, and they started walking back to t
he flat.

The instinct to hold her hand almost took over as they walked side by side. It would have been the natural thing to do, but instead, Adam gripped his bag with one hand and stuffed the other into his pocket.

‘So,’ he said, ‘how are you feeling?’

She looked up at him, momentarily confused before a visible cringe passed across her face. She looked straight ahead and nodded.

‘Better. I meant to say thanks. For looking after me.’

‘No problem,’ Adam replied. At least she’d said thanks. ‘That was some state you got yourself into. Was it like a birthday treat?’

‘No.’ Her voice was sharp, as if he’d said something he shouldn’t. ‘I don’t do birthday treats.’

‘It’s just as well. Last year you had the flu; this year you got wasted,’ Adam said as they approached their building. ‘Not having much luck on the birthday front.’

‘I don’t really celebrate it. I told you that, remember?’

He did remember. Last year, he’d planned to take her to the theatre and a posh dinner, but she’d fallen ill the night before her birthday and cancelled. She wouldn’t even let him come over to the flat she was living in at the time, saying she preferred to be alone instead. And there he was, thinking she was uncomplicated. He held in the bitter laugh bubbling in his throat as he unlocked t
he commu
nal door.

‘There’s always next year,’ he said, following her up the stairs. Based on the last two birthdays she’d had, he dreaded to think what would happen on the next one.

‘Yeah. There is.’

He frowned as she unlocked the door to their flat. By the tone of her voice, anyone would think he’d suggested she jump from a plane without a parachute. He’d clearly said something wrong, but before he even had a chance to think about what it might be, she went straight into her room and closed the door.

Adam shrugged his jacket off and shook his head. Getting any information from her was like trying to have a conversation with a lamp post. He went into his room, shut the door behind him and reached for the box of diaries under the bed. They didn’t need to talk. He was certain her diaries would tell him everything he needed to know.