Love by the Book (33 page)

“Adrian?” I called. “Is that you?”

He turned the full wattage of his smile on me, the black frames of his glasses glinting in the sun. He was wearing a white button-down with a navy-blue knitted tie, trousers rolled up to the ankle to showcase some very yellow socks and a pair of newly shined brown leather oxfords. He looked like he'd fallen out of
Vice
. “It is indeed, Cunningham!” He bowed deeply and held out the pinwheel as I approached. “For my favorite American.”

I gave the pinwheel a spin and kissed him on the cheek. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I'm back!” he announced. “I left New York on Tuesday—for good. It's a lovely town and all, but so overrated. All that hustle and bustle, all that macho bravado . . . all anyone talks about is how amazing New York is! They all act as though it's the center of the bloody universe!”

“Well, I mean, it is one of the major cities in the world . . .”

“I had to get out of there, Cunningham. It was suffocating me. It's good to be back on the shores of Albion, enfolded in the comforting embrace of Mother London. Now, let's get you a drink and you can tell me how desperately you've missed me.”

We went to the Hoop & Toy and settled at a table at the back with a couple of pints.

I plucked a chip out of the open packet and popped it in my mouth, studying him intently from across the table. He was the same old Adrian, but there was something different about him. He looked a little smaller, somehow. A little deflated. “Okay, spill it,” I said, pushing the chips toward him. “What really happened in New York?”

He waved me away. “I told you, New York is dead! It's an anachronism! A fool's paradise!”

I folded my arms in front of me and narrowed my eyes.

“All right, all right. Jesus, you're like the bloody
KGB
! There was this little thing about me shagging the intern . . .”

I rolled my eyes. “I knew it.”

“It was just a dalliance, but you know how Americans are: so uptight. No fun at all. So I had a little fling with the intern—so what? It was nothing and I can assure you that she enjoyed herself very much—but then some little brown-noser grassed me up to the boss and suddenly it was all ‘misconduct in the workplace' and ‘constructive dismissal.'” He shrugged his shoulders. “Apparently it was a problem that she was eighteen, though that is technically over the age of consent so I don't see what all the fuss was about.” He picked up a coaster and flicked it across the table. “It's all water under the bridge. Now, let's talk about more important things, like what color underwear you're wearing.”

I brushed his wandering hand aside. “So what are you going to do now that you're back in London?”

He shrugged and took a long sip from his pint. “Something will turn up, I expect. I've had this screenplay in mind for a while, so I might give that a run. My mate has a pub in Peckham, so I can pick up a few shifts there. You know me, Cunningham: I always land on my feet.”

I nodded, but felt a little stab of pity for him. “Where are you staying?”

Adrian slumped down in his chair and started flicking another coaster around the table with his thumb and forefinger. “I'm at the old familial home in Wandsworth for now, but that's only temporary. My mate has a place in Brixton, so I might crash with him for a bit.” He flicked the coaster off the table. “Something will turn up.” For a minute, he looked like a lost little boy, but he recovered quickly and put on his most charming grin. “Now, enough questions about logistics and finances from you, Cunningham. I want you to tell me, in detail, the last filthy dream you had about me.”

I rolled my eyes. Normally, this sort of talk would have rendered me near-unconscious with pent-up sexual energy, but so far I was unmoved. “They all merge into one at some point.”

“I'm sure they do, you filthy thing. Now, what are you doing tomorrow?”

“Working,” I said, slightly exasperated. “Remember, I've got a job?”

“Not anymore you're not. We're going to spend the day together. I'll plan everything: just leave it to me.” He reached out and gave my knee a squeeze. “It'll be a scream.”

I considered for a moment. Work was pretty quiet, and that little card mix-up the other day proved that my head wasn't entirely in the game; I could probably do with a day off. But was spending an entire day with Adrian really the respite I needed?

Adrian saw my hesitation and pulled my hand to his lips. “Come along, Cunningham. Be a good sport. I really have missed you.”

He looked so earnest in that moment that I almost didn't recognize him. I nodded my head in assent. “Deal. But we'll have to keep clear of South Ken so I don't get caught out.”

He kissed my hand again and I felt a little flurry in my stomach. Maybe I wasn't so unmoved after all.

After I sent the requisite email to work (migraine, didn't sleep, will check emails later if I can), I started the day with Lucy bouncing up and down on my bed, making sweeping proclamations about true love. Obviously, I'd told her about Adrian's return.

“Oh, Lo, this is it! He's come back because he's finally realized that you're meant to be together!” She collapsed on the bed with a sigh. “It's so romantic.”

I threw a balled-up pair of socks at her. “He has not. Besides, I thought you hated Adrian! I thought you were convinced that Dylan was my destiny.”

She waved away the thought. “No, no, I was all wrong about that. I
did
think Adrian was a bit of a knobber, but that was because he was always disappointing you! But now he's come all the way back from America to tell you that he was a fool before and that he loves you deeply and that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you.” She sat up suddenly, eyes widening. “We could have a double wedding!” She lay back down and twisted around on her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows. “No, I want to have my own day. Sorry, babe. But you can get married straight after.”

I got out of bed and pulled my yellow robe over the oversized T-shirt I'd slept in. “Lucy, get a grip, will you? He's not back because he realized that he's in love with me, he's back because he fucked a teenage intern and got fired.”

She rolled her eyes. “Everything happens for a reason. Anyway, he's back now and the first thing he did was to come and find you, and he's spending the whole day with you! If that's not love, I don't know what is. And now you can stop following all these silly guides and just be with him!”

I flung another pair of socks at her and went off to the shower.

As I applied a conditioning mask to my hair, shaved my overgrown bikini line (there was no time for a wax) and buffed my entire body to a high shine with a fancy salt scrub, I thought about what Lucy had said. It was a little weird that he'd turned up like that. What if New York
had
changed him? What if he'd realized . . .

No. The whole thing was ridiculous. I dried myself off and slipped on the fancy underwear from my
Belle
de Jour
month. Lucy caught me agonizing over what to wear as she passed my open bedroom door on her way out.

“See?” she called as she ran out the door. “You think he loves you, too!”

“Fuck off!” I shouted down the hall. The door shut and I turned back to inspecting my wardrobe. Well, it didn't hurt to be prepared.

Adrian turned up at my door at eleven twenty-five, a full hour earlier than he was meant to. I was still in the process of getting ready and my hair was only half-dried. I accepted the lurid-green carnation he'd brought and sat him down on the couch while I finished drying my hair.

“You know, Cunningham,” he called from the living room, “this place isn't half bad after all.” Adrian had always mocked the Old Street flat (I think he referred to it as a dosshouse on several occasions) so this was a surprise. “I might crash here for a few weeks.”

I poked my head around the corner and found Adrian sprawled across the couch and flicking through the channels on the
TV
. “Uh, I think Lucy might object to that,” I said, grabbing my bag and pulling on my coat. “C'mon, let's go.”

He didn't budge. “Can't we watch telly for a bit?”

I glanced at the screen and saw Dickinson trying to get a Real Deal out of someone. “What do you want to sit around watching this for?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Just might be nice to chill out here for a bit.”

“Fine,” I said, sitting next to him with a huff. I wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea of spending my day off watching terrible daytime television, but it
was
with Adrian—he'd probably start ripping my clothes off soon.

“I'd kill for a cup of tea,” he said, looking at me expectantly.

I rolled my eyes and got up. “I'll put the kettle on. Anything else you want while I'm up?”

“Have you got any Jammie Dodger biscuits?” he said, spreading back out across the length of the couch. “That'd be lovely.”

And so, for the next seven hours, we sat on the couch together watching property shows and old episodes of
Nash Bridges
. At some point, Adrian ordered a curry, which I had to pay for. (“Sorry, Cunningham, a bit skint at the minute.”)

When six o'clock came around, I suggested we go to the pub, but he was reluctant.

“Why go all the way outside when we could just stay in?” he asked, holding out his mug for a refill.

“I don't have any booze in the flat,” I pointed out.

He dug around in his pocket and placed a pile of loose change on the table. “I could go to the shop?” he said, though he didn't make any move to get up.

I was desperate for an airing at that point, so I jumped at the chance. “I'll go,” I said, grabbing my coat. “What do you want?”

“A bottle of Sancerre would do me nicely,” he said, flicking over to
Wipeout
. “And maybe something for tea?”

He finally left at a quarter to midnight. I'd thrown together a spaghetti dinner, which we ate on plates balanced on knees while watching a Cassavetes movie marathon. We finished the two bottles of Sancerre I'd bought at great expense from the wine shop around the corner, and at some point during
She's So Lovely
, Adrian fell asleep and started snoring. When I woke him up and told him I was going to bed, he briefly started fumbling with my bra clasp.

I pushed away from him, suddenly angry. “Do you really think it's that easy? You turn up here, expect me to wait on you hand and foot, do precisely
nothing
that could be construed as attractive or endearing, and then expect me to sleep with you? Who do you think I am, exactly? Am I meant to be your girlfriend? Your mom? Or your little piece of ass?”

He reared back as if he'd been slapped, but quickly arranged his face in what he clearly thought was a charming manner. “Darling,” he said, reaching for my hand, “I would never want to put a label on what we have.”

I snatched my hand away. “You know what, Adrian? Go fuck yourself.” I stood up and handed him his coat. “For some stupid reason, I thought you were actually going to make an effort this time. Why did you send me those postcards? Why did you turn up at my work like that?”

“Because you're my filthy little Cunningham,” he said, “and I thought we understood each other.”

“No, we don't understand each other. It's pretty clear that we never have.”

He reached out and tried to pull me toward him. “Come on, let's not argue.”

I pushed him away. “Good-bye, Adrian.”

“Don't be a little spoilsport.” He made another grab for me.

I opened the door and waved him out. “Get out.”

He gave me a withering look as he walked out. “I thought you were cool, Cunningham,” he said, shaking his head.

“Out!”

After he left, I went out onto the balcony for a smoke.

I wasn't sure what had changed with Adrian, and why he'd sent me over the edge this time. It was like the man behind the curtain in the
Wizard o
f
Oz
; behind all the smoke and mirrors, he was really just a sad lost soul looking for someone to make him tea and clean up after him. A maid who he could occasionally fuck. I'd spent almost a year chasing an illusion, and now that the illusion had solidified in front of me, the magic had worn off.

I shook my head and took another drag. There was more to it than that. I hadn't really wanted Adrian to declare his undying love to me, because I didn't want to be with him. Not really. Deep down, I'd always known that Adrian was more trouble than he was worth: he was selfish, unreliable, immature . . . He was charming, sure, but he wasn't exactly someone you'd want to be responsible for.

I realized suddenly—and with intense clarity—that I'd fallen victim to that age-old dating guide principle: it's all about the chase. Adrian had, completely obliviously (or at least I assumed as much), been using
The Rules
on me all this time. And
The Game
. And the
1920
s guide. Hell, all of them. I'd fallen for it hook, line and sinker. And, it turns out, they were right: there's nothing more attractive than someone who's elusive . . . particularly when that someone is never going to remind you of the quiet, kind man back in Portland whose heart you broke.

I heard Lucy's key in the door and called out to say I was on the balcony. She joined me after a minute, cigarette already in hand.

“So?” she said expectantly. “How did it go? Is it true love?”

“He grossed me out,” I said. “We ended up having a huge fight and I made him leave.” I explained the details of the day to her while we smoked.

“Ugh, that's the worst,” she said, stubbing the butt out on an empty flowerpot. “Sounds like he's a bit of a sad sack now. And no one wants to fuck a sad sack.”