CHAPTER EIGHT

      One Friday afternoon, just before the first May bank holiday, Tess sat on the sofa, putting on her shoes and humming loudly so she couldn’t hear anything that might be going on in the bedroom upstairs. She had been teaching all morning and was on her way out to get some food for their picnic. She, Adam and Francesca were going to the beach the next day and the fridge at Easter Cottage had never been quite so denuded. Two sex-mad grown-ups ate a lot, Tess had discovered. It was like living with termites and a team of Sumo wrestlers.

      The noises that she had been pretending not to hear from upstairs grew unavoidably louder, a crescendo, and Tess banged her feet on the floor and started singing as she searched for her keys. Suddenly, almost abruptly, there was silence, and after a minute she heard footsteps on the narrow stairs, a slight stumble and then a muffled curse—as the owner of the feet narrowly avoided the stair with a missing chunk, especially hazardous without shoes.

      ‘Hey there, you!’ Adam called to her, still cheerful. ‘Coffee?’ Tess looked up at him, in disbelief, as he went into the kitchen. ‘Is that Francesca’s dressing gown?’ she said, watching Adam pull the Chinese silk carefully around him as he put the kettle on.

      ‘Why yes, and I think it’s just lovely,’ said Adam. He scratched his thick hair thoughtfully. ‘She’s given it to me.’

      ‘So I can hear,’ said Tess, unable to resist.

      ‘Ha ha,’ said Adam. ‘Very funny.’

      ‘It’s not that funny,’ said Tess, wishing she didn’t sound so grumpy. ‘Sitting down here listening to you two going at it hammer and tongs.’

      ‘Tess!’ Adam said mildly. ‘Mind your own business.’

      ‘My own business?’ Tess stood up and laughed shortly, swinging her bag over her shoulder. ‘Bloody hard to, when all I can hear is you two having sex when I’m trying to read in bed. I’ve had to buy earplugs!’

      ‘No, you haven’t,’ Adam said, but he looked a little fazed. ‘We’re having a great time. I really like her, what’s your problem?’

      There was something ridiculous about him, standing holding the kettle, with the thin silk clinging to his legs, his tall, broad frame, as his hair stuck up comically on his head. A wave of fury washed over her, that he thought it was OK. That they both did.

      ‘My problem?’ Tess yelled. She shook her head wildly. ‘My problem is I moved back here for some peace and quiet, and there’s no fucking coffee in the jar before you look, because you two bloody drank it all, and there’s no food in the fucking fridge because you’ve eaten it all, and when I’m trying to watch bloody Antiques Roadshow all I can here is you two, bellowing “Yes! Yes!” at each other, like you’re watching a football match!’

      Adam looked at her, as she took a deep breath and was silent, and he started laughing.

      ‘Or—anything,’ Tess said weakly, glad the tension was broken. She was being ridiculous. ‘You know. T4 and stuff. The Wire. Anyway, Antiques Roadshow is really good, I’ll have you know.’

      ‘Clearly,’ Adam said, shaking his head, still laughing.

      ‘Last week, they had a pensioner on it.’

      ‘No. Amazing.’

      ‘And she had a teapot Josiah Wedgwood designed himself. Himself.’ Tess nodded significantly. ‘It was worth over a thousand pounds. And that lady can now buy a new walk-in bath, for her husband Roger.’

      ‘To think you once played strip poker with the under-eighteens Hampshire cricket team,’ Adam said ruminatively.

      ‘Sshh.’ She drew a circle around her with her finger. ‘Remember. It’s in our—’

      ‘—circle of trust,’ he finished. ‘Sorry, I forgot about our circle of trust.’

      They were both silent for a moment, and then Adam said, again, ‘Antiques Roadshow.’ Tess watched him, arms folded. Adam had a big, deep laugh, that seemed to take him over completely.

      ‘Hey,’ he said, eventually. ‘I’m really sorry, Tess. I should have thought about you more in this. It’s just—she’s great.’ He smiled. ‘I really like her.’

      ‘I know you do,’ she said, pleased for him. ‘Look, I’m just popping out to get some food and stuff—’

      ‘I’ll come with you,’ said Adam. ‘Seriously,’ he added, as she looked at him in disbelief. ‘Francesca’s fast asleep and I need a new battery for the bike lamp, too. Give me five minutes. I’ll just jump in the shower.’

      ‘Er…OK,’ said Tess. Adam grinned.

      ‘Look pleased!’ he said. ‘I’ll give you street cred, Granny.’

      As they walked along the high street, Tess carried her wicker basket over her arm. Adam shook his head. ‘I worry about you. You’re turning into someone from Cranford. My godmother Diana doesn’t have one of those, and she’s…older than you. Plus they’re completely unwieldy.’

      ‘O tempora, o mores,’ Tess said tartly and then regretted it.

      ‘You think Cicero was saying we should give up plastic bags and use wicker baskets, do you?’ Adam asked, innocently. ‘Don’t show off your Latin with me, Tess. You know you’ll lose.’

      Adam’s brain was a source of mystery to Tess; he never forgot anything, a quote, a story, an obscure piece of syntax. She taught Latin and Greek, and she often couldn’t remember the word for ‘ship’ in either language. But she could remember what happened one summer ten years ago as if it were yesterday, or Stephanie’s wedding, or Will’s face as he told her he loved her for the first time…Adam, she knew, had trouble remembering his own birthday.

      It was curious, that tension that existed within him. She looked at him sideways as they walked along the street, he whistling, his hands stuck deep into his pockets. It was Roman, she supposed. Brilliant, practical, organized, neat—and yet chaotic, hopeless, romantic, kind at the same time. It was strange, she thought, that she, Tess, was now her teacher, and Adam, with all his brilliance—Adam was…what was he? She blinked, recalling herself to