Page 33 of The Life We Almost Had

And I did know.

But could I really do it?

Chapter Eighteen

Anna

The alarm shrilled seven o’ clock. It felt like the middle of the night. Adam stumbled over to the window and yanked open the curtains but the dark winter sky outside did nothing to improve my mood. I had a raging headache from too many glasses of Malbec. The bitter taste of garlic lingering in my mouth.

‘I’ll go and make some tea.’ Adam whistled as he pulled on his slippers. His morning cheerfulness infuriated me.

‘Yeah, like tea’s going to help,’ I snapped.

‘Hangover? I told you not to have that last glass.’

It was precisely his telling me this that had led me to defiantly finish the bottle. Half the time I behaved like a rebellious teenager rather than a wife but I couldn’t seem to help it.

‘Yes, well, if you had bought milk like you promised, we wouldn’t have opened a bottle at all.’ I couldn’t seem to let anything go.

‘My fucking fault! I should have known. Everything is.’

‘Not everything.’

Most things.

He stormed out of the bedroom, swearing as he stubbed his toe against the flat-pack bookcase on the landing that had gathered a layer of dust as it waited to be built.We bought it six months ago. Our tiny house was full of half-finished projects and we argued about them endlessly, Adam insisting he would get around to things ‘in his own time’, but he never did. He’d rather spend his weekends ‘relaxing’ like he was the only one working full time. He was either sprawled on the sofa watching football on a Saturday afternoon or off playing it with Josh on a Sunday morning. After a match he would wallow in the bath, groaning each time he moved. It was me, of course, who washed his sweat-damp kit. Picked the clumps of mud up from the floor.

I had grown up and Adam hadn’t. Or perhaps we had just grown apart. Perhaps that was what happened when people got together in their early twenties. I had no idea at that age that one day I would enjoy meandering around art galleries, visiting stately homes. Longing for a garden I could landscape rather than the small, square box we had. I had no idea that Adam wouldn’t have developed any different interests to the ones he had when we met. Sport. Dreaming of all the places he had always wanted to visit but never had. Perhaps now never would. It had appeared incredibly romantic, him putting our relationship before his own ambition, but now I wondered if we were an all-too-convenient excuse for staying. Easier. Adam had never been good at arranging things.

That wasn’t quite true. On our first Valentine’s day he had a star named after me – I had laughed that he had called it Star – and that night we’d trudged up the hill, wellington-booted and huddled under layers, and he’d showed me, through a borrowed telescope, my gift.

‘How will I know which is mine?’ I had asked.

‘Because you always shine brighter than the rest.’

Was it wrong to have wanted life to continue like that, to have expected it?I knew it wasn’t about big romantic gestures, it was about the small things. But Adam didn’t seem to bother with those anymore either. His list of things to do pinned to the fridge had grown so long I had screwed it up and thrown it away in frustration, unable to bear looking at it anymore.

The clock glared 7.15. If I didn’t hurry, I’d be late. In the bathroom mirror, my hair was a matted mess. I’d been tempted to cut it over the years, tame my curls, but each time I suggested it, Adam was so upset that I’d kept it long. It was silly, but part of me felt that if I cut off my hair, I’d be cutting off some of his love for me. Shearing away more of the girl he fell in love with.

Grey morning light spilled in through the bedroom window as I sat at my dressing table, carefully selecting my make-up. I had taken more care over my appearance since the appointment of our new head teacher, Ross. He was young and dynamic and in his last post had turned a failing academy around. It was the thought of his deep blue eyes that studied me so intently that caused me to contour my cheeks. To cover my lashes with two coats of mascara rather than one. To blend my eye shadow, my blusher, so my look was natural. Barely there. It took ages.

Downstairs, I scooped last night’s curry-stained plates from the coffee table in the lounge; Adam had walked straight past them. On our wall was the framed map of my star. Every day I was tempted to take it down. It was a painful reminder of the way we used to be. But I knew if I removed the frame from the wall, I would see how the wallpaper had faded around it, the way the girl on a beach in Alircia, barefoot on golden sand, had faded away from me, and there was a part of me that wanted to cling on to her. Wanted to hold on to Adam – my boy from the bar – otherwise I’d have left by now, wouldn’t I?

After the final bell had rung and the kids had rushed outside, Ross sauntered into my classroom. Instinctively I smoothed my hair.

‘Are you rushing home?’ he asked. ‘Pub?’ We had progressed from sharing coffee breaks in the staff room to casual lunch-time paninis in the coffee shop near the school. We had grown close but this was the first time he had suggested something out of hours.

‘I’ve got a stack of marking to do.’ I patted the English books piled on my desk, aware I hadn’t answered the question. I busied myself tidying away my pens, straightening papers, my head and my heart battling. ‘A quick one won’t hurt.’ I didn’t know if I was trying to convince him or me.

The pub was quiet. I couldn’t help glancing around while Ross ordered at the bar, afraid I might see somebody I know. Guilt pulsed that I was doing something wrong, although strictly speaking I wasn’t. But over our lunches we had stopped talking about work and begun to talk about ourselves; we weren’t just colleagues now but something else. Friends? I was kidding myself. It was a slippery slope I was skidding down.

‘What shall we drink to?’ Ross poured from a bottle of Merlot.

‘Surviving another day?’ I raised my glass.

Ross laughed. ‘Yes, you know what they say about teaching?’

‘What?’

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