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Kitabı oku: «How to Fall in Love», sayfa 4
6
How to Quiet Your Mind and Get Some Sleep
I couldn’t sleep. That wasn’t unusual, I’d practically been an insomniac for the last four months, ever since it had occurred to me that I wanted my marriage to end. It wasn’t a helpful thought. I had been searching for ways to find happiness, fulfilment, feelings of positivity, ways in which to rescue my marriage – not ways out. But as soon as I had the thought Escape, it wouldn’t go away, especially at night when I didn’t have anybody else’s problems to distract me from my own. Usually I ended up following my nightstand read, 42 Tips on How to Beat Insomnia, and as a result I’d tried soaking in warm baths, cleaning out my fridge, painting my nails, doing yoga – sometimes doing two or three simultaneously – at all hours of the morning, in hope of finding respite. Other times I’d settle for simply reading the book until my eyes got too sore and had to close. I never seemed to drift away as the book declared I’d be able to do; there was no such thing as the lightless and feathery feeling of drifting. I was either awake frustrated and exhausted, or I was asleep frustrated and exhausted, and I’d yet to experience that pleasant glide from one world to the next.
Though I had realised I wanted my marriage to end I never thought about actually ending it. For a long time I spent my nights worrying how I was going to live with my unhappiness, until eventually it occurred to me that I didn’t have to; the advice I gave to friends could actually apply to me. After that, I spent countless nights fantasising about a life with somebody else, somebody I truly loved, someone who truly loved me; we’d be one of those couples who seemed to have electricity sparking between them with every look and touch. Then I fantasised about me and just about every man I was attracted to, which became most men that were in any way kind to me. Including Leo Arnold – a client whose appointments I particularly enjoyed. Leo had become the subject of many of my fantasies, which caused me to become rosy-cheeked every time he stepped into my office.
Beneath it all, I recognise now, there was an underlying panic; panic that it was all too much for me to deal with, but now that I’d acknowledged it there was no making it go away. Each little problem between us was magnified till it became one more sign that we were doomed. Like when he finished before me in bed, again; when he slept with his socks on because his feet were always cold; and when he left his toenail clippings in a small bowl in the bathroom and never remembered to empty it in the bin. The way we barely kissed any more; those once-full kisses had been reduced to familiar pecks on the cheek. How bored I’d become with his stories, fed up with listening to him retell the same old rugby tales. If I were to judge my life in colours, which I’d learned to do from a book, our relationship had gone from a vibrant hue – at least, that’s how it was for a while, when we were dating – to a dull, monotonous grey. I wasn’t stupid enough to think that the flame would for ever burn brightly in a marriage, but I did think there should be at least a flicker remaining after less than a year of married life. Looking back, I think I fell in love with being in love. And now my love affair with the dream was over.
That night as I lay awake in the penthouse of the Gresham Hotel, all my worries started to pile up. The worry of having left Barry; the money woes that followed; what people thought of me; the fear of never meeting anyone ever again and being lonely for the rest of my life; Simon Conway … and now Adam, whose surname I didn’t know, who twenty-four hours ago had attempted to take his own life and was lying in the room next to mine on the couch beside a balcony with an impressive drop, beside a full mini-bar, and who was waiting for me to deliver on my promise of fixing his life before his thirty-fifth birthday in two weeks’ time or else he’d attempt to kill himself again.
Feeling nauseous at the prospect, I got out of bed and checked on him again. The TV was muted and the colours flickered and changed and danced through the room. I could see his chest lifting up and down. There were a number of options available to me, according to 42 Tips, to quiet my mind and get some sleep, but all I could manage while listening out for Adam was to drink camomile tea. I flicked the switch on the kettle for the fourth time.
‘Jesus, do you never sleep?’ he called.
‘Sorry, am I disturbing you?’
‘No, but the steam engine in there with you is.’
I pushed the door open. ‘You want a cuppa? Oh. I see you have enough to drink.’ Three small empty bottles of Jack Daniel’s sat on the coffee table.
‘I wouldn’t say enough,’ he said. ‘You can’t watch me twenty-four hours a day. Sooner or later you’re going to have to sleep.’ He finally opened his eyes and looked up at me. He didn’t look remotely tired. Or drunk. Merely beautiful. Perfect.
I didn’t want to tell him the real reason, or reasons, for my insomnia.
‘I’d prefer it if I could sleep in here with you,’ I said.
‘Cosy. But it’s a bit too soon after my break-up, so if you don’t mind, I’ll pass.’
I sat down on the couch anyway.
‘I’m not going to jump off the balcony,’ he said.
‘But you’ve thought about it?’
‘Of course. I’ve thought about the plethora of ways I could kill myself in this room. It’s what I do. I could have set myself on fire.’
‘There’s a fire extinguisher, I’d have put you out.’
‘I could have used my razor in the bathroom.’
‘I hid it.’
‘Drowned in the bath, or taken a bath with the hairdryer.’
‘I’d watch you in the bath, and nobody can find hairdryers in hotels.’
‘I’d have used the kettle.’
‘It can barely heat water, it couldn’t electrocute a mouse. It’s all noise and no action.’
He laughed lightly.
‘And that cutlery can barely cut through an apple, never mind a vein,’ I said.
He looked at the cutlery beside the fruit bowl. ‘Thought I’d keep that one to myself.’
‘You think about killing yourself a lot?’ I tucked my legs up under me and snuggled into the corner of the couch.
He dropped the act. ‘I can’t seem to stop myself. You were right, what you said on the bridge: it’s become like a really sick hobby.’
‘I didn’t quite say that. But you know there’s probably nothing wrong with you thinking about it, as long as you don’t act on it.’
‘Thank you. At least you won’t take my thoughts away from me.’
‘Thinking about it comforts you, it’s your crutch. I’m not going to take your crutch away, but it shouldn’t be your only way of coping. Did you ever talk to anyone about it?’
‘Yeah, sure, it’s the number one topic for speed-dating. What do you think?’
‘Have you thought about therapy?’
‘I’ve just had a night and day of it.’
‘I think you could do with more than a night and day.’
‘Therapy’s not for me.’
‘It’s probably the way to go at the moment.’
‘I thought you were the way to go.’ He looked at me. ‘Isn’t that what you said? Stick with me and I’ll show you how wonderful life can be?’
Again panic rose that he was placing all this trust in me.
‘And I’ll do that. I just wondered …’ I swallowed. ‘Did your girlfriend know how you were feeling?’
‘Maria? I don’t know. She kept saying I’d changed. I was distracted. Withdrawn. I wasn’t the same. But no, I never told her what I was thinking.’
‘You’ve been depressed.’
‘If that’s what you call it. It doesn’t help when you’re trying your best to be jolly and someone keeps saying you’re not the same, you’re down, you’re not exciting, you’re not spontaneous. Jesus, I mean, what else could I do? I was trying to keep my own bloody head above water.’ He sighed. ‘She thought it was to do with my father. And the job.’
‘It wasn’t those things?’
‘Ah, I don’t know.’
‘But they haven’t helped?’ I offered.
‘No. They haven’t.’
‘So tell me about the job that’s worrying you.’
‘This feels like a therapy session, me lying here, you sitting there.’ He stared up at the ceiling. ‘I was given leave by my job to go and help run my father’s company while he was sick. I hate it, but it was fine because it was temporary. Then Father got sicker, so I had to stay longer. It was hard to convince my job to extend the leave and now the doctor says Father’s not getting any better. It’s terminal. Then I found out last week that work are letting me go: they can’t afford for me to spend any more time away.’
‘So you lose your dad and your job. And your girlfriend. And your best friend,’ I summarised for him. ‘All in one week.’
‘Why, thank you so much for saying that all out loud for me.’
‘I have fourteen days to fix you, I don’t have time for tiptoeing,’ I said lightly.
‘Actually, it’s thirteen.’
‘When your dad passes away, you’re not expected to keep the position, are you?’
‘That’s the problem: it’s a family business. My grandfather left the company to my father, next it falls to me, and so on and so on.’
The tension was building just talking about it. Realising I needed to tread carefully, I asked, ‘Have you spoken to your father about not wanting the job?’
He laughed lightly, bitterly. ‘You clearly don’t know my family. It doesn’t matter what I tell him; the job is mine whether I like it or not. My grandfather’s will states that the company is my father’s for life, then it falls to my father’s children, and if I don’t join the business, then it reverts to my uncle’s son and his family inherit it.’
‘Surely that saves you.’
He buried his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes with frustration. ‘It screws me even more. Look, I appreciate you trying, but you don’t understand the situation. It’s too complicated for me to explain, but let’s just say it involves years and years of family shit and I’m smack bang in the middle of it.’
His fingers were trembling. He rubbed them on his jeans, up and down, up and down. He probably wasn’t even aware that he was doing it. Time to lift the mood.
‘Tell me about your job, the job you love.’
He looked at me, a rare playful look in his eye. ‘What do you think it is that I do?’
I studied him. ‘A model?’
He swung his legs off the couch and sat up. It was so quick I thought he was going to dive on me; instead he looked at me in shock. ‘Are you kidding?’
‘You’re not a model?’
‘Why the hell would you say that?’
‘Because …’
‘Because what?’
He was flabbergasted. It was the first time I’d seen him so animated.
‘Don’t tell me no one has ever said that to you before?’
He shook his head. ‘No. No way.’
‘Oh. Even your girlfriend?’
‘No!’ He laughed quickly, and it was beautiful, a beautiful sound that I wanted to hear again. ‘You’re pulling my leg.’ Then he laid down again, feet up, the smile and the laugh gone.
‘I’m not. You happen to be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen and so I thought you might be a model,’ I explained rationally. ‘I wasn’t making it up!’
He looked at me then, his face softer, a little embarrassed, as he tried to figure out whether I was joking. But I wasn’t joking. If anything, I was mortified; I hadn’t meant it to come out like that. I had meant to say he was handsome, but it came out wrong because it came out right.
‘So what do you do?’ I changed the subject, picking imaginary fluff from my jeans to avoid looking at him.
‘You’ll enjoy this.’
‘Go on.’
‘A stripogram. One of those Chippendales. Because I’m so handsome and all.’
I rolled my eyes and sat back.
‘Ah, I’m only messing. I’m a helicopter pilot for the Irish Coast Guard.’
My mouth dropped.
‘See, I told you you’d enjoy it.’ He studied me.
‘You rescue people,’ I said.
‘We have so much in common, you and I.’
There was no way Adam could go back to that job with him being in this frame of mind. I wouldn’t let him, I couldn’t let him, they wouldn’t let him.
‘You said the family company falls to your father’s children after his death. Do you have any siblings?’
‘I have an older sister. She’s next in line, but she moved to Boston. She had to leg it over there when it came out that her husband had stolen millions from his friends in a Ponzi scheme. He was supposed to invest it for them but spent it instead. Took quite a bit from me too. Took a whole lot from my dad.’
‘Your poor sister.’
‘Lavinia? She was probably the brains behind it. It’s not just that, there are other complications. The company should have passed to my uncle, who was the eldest brother, but he’s a selfish prick and my grandfather knew he’d run the company into the ground if it was left to him, so instead it went to Father. As a result, the family was split between those who sympathised with Uncle Liam and those who took my father’s side. So if I don’t take over and it falls to my cousin … It’s difficult to explain to someone who isn’t part of the family. You can’t know how hard it is to turn your back on something, even though you despise it, because there’s loyalty involved.’
‘I left my husband last week,’ I blurted out. Just like that, I said it. My heart was hammering in my chest; it must have been the first time I’d said it to anyone, out loud. For so long I’d wanted to leave him, but couldn’t because I wanted to be the loyal wife who followed through on my vows. I knew exactly the loyalty Adam was talking about.
He looked at me, surprised. For a moment he studied me, as if questioning whether my claim was authentic. ‘What did he do?’
‘He’s an electrician, why?’
‘No. Why did you leave him? What did he do wrong?’
I swallowed, examined my nails. ‘He didn’t do anything wrong really. He … I wasn’t happy.’
He blew air out of his nose, unamused. ‘So you find your own happiness at his expense.’
I knew he was thinking about his girlfriend.
‘It’s not a philosophy I like to preach.’
‘But you practise it.’
‘You can’t know how hard it is to leave someone,’ I echoed his earlier words.
‘Touché.’
‘You have to weigh up the risks,’ I said. ‘Together we would have both been miserable for the rest of our lives. He’ll get over me. He’ll get over me a lot quicker than he thinks.’
‘And what if he doesn’t?’
I didn’t know how to respond. The thought had never occurred to me. I was sure Barry would get over me. He would have to.
Adam disappeared after that. He stayed in the room but vanished into his mind, no doubt pondering the future for him and his girlfriend. Getting over her wasn’t an option; he wanted her back. And if his girlfriend felt for Adam the way I felt for Barry, they hadn’t a hope in hell.
‘So what do you do?’ he asked, as if suddenly realising he knew nothing about the woman who was intent on saving his life.
‘What do you think I do?’ I played his game.
He didn’t think for very long. ‘Work in a charity shop?’
I had to laugh. ‘That’s random.’ I looked down at my clothes, wondering if he thought my jeans, denim shirt and Converse trainers had come from a charity shop. They may have been casual but they were all brand new, and double denim was back in.
He smiled. ‘I don’t mean your clothes. It’s more … you seem the caring type. Maybe a vet, or something to do with rescued animals?’ He shrugged. ‘Am I close?’
I cleared my throat. ‘I’m in recruitment.’
His smile faded. His disappointment was palpable, his concern even more so. And he didn’t try to cover it up.
In a few hours I would have twelve days left. And so far I had achieved nothing.
7
How to Build Friendships and Develop Trust
I would have sworn to anyone who’d listen that I hadn’t slept all night, because I was sure I hadn’t, but instead of the realisation that morning had finally come upon me, it was the sound of running water that forced me out of sleep mode. Confused that I’d been asleep, it took me a moment to remember where I was. I was wide awake and immediately alert; I didn’t do groggy. When I discovered the couch where Adam had been lying was empty I immediately jumped up, rushed into the bedroom, banging my knee on the coffee table and my elbow on the doorframe, not fully thinking things through, and barged into the bathroom where I was faced with a bare, very pert and muscular bottom which hadn’t seen the sun for a long time. Adam twisted his upper body around, his blond curls flattened and darkened and dripping down along his face. I couldn’t stop staring.
‘Don’t worry, I’m alive,’ he said, amused again.
I quickly backed out of the bathroom, closed the door suppressing an awkward giggle, and hurried to the guest toilet to make myself look presentable after a night in double denim. When I emerged from the living room, the water continued to fall in the bathroom. After ten minutes it was still falling. I paced the bedroom wondering what to do. Walking in on him once was a mistake, a second time would be plain creepy but I wasn’t sure I could afford to be worried about my integrity when two nights ago he had attempted to kill himself, though apart from shrinking himself to death I wasn’t sure he could harm himself in there. I had removed the glasses from the sink area so he couldn’t hurt himself and I hadn’t heard any mirrors smash. I was about to push the bathroom door open again when I heard the sound. It was quiet at first, then it sounded choked, so full of hurt, so deep and longing I let go of the handle and rested my head against the door, wanting so much to comfort him. Feeling helpless, I listened to his sobs.
Then I remembered the suicide note. If I didn’t get my hands on it before he got out of the shower, I’d never see it. I looked around the room and saw his clothes discarded in the corner, his jeans strewn on top of his travel bag. I felt my way around each pocket and finally found the folded piece of paper. I opened it, hoping to gain more insight into the reasons for his attempted suicide, but instead found a series of scribbles, some crossed out, others underlined and I quickly learned that it wasn’t a suicide note at all; it was his proposal to Maria, practised over and over, rewritten until it was perfect.
A vibration from Adam’s phone stole my attention away. It was beside the fresh clothes he’d laid out to wear that day. The phone stopped ringing and the screen revealed seventeen missed calls. It rang again. Maria. I made a quick decision, one that didn’t involve much thinking through. I answered it.
I was mid-conversation with her when I realised the shower had stopped running; in fact, I hadn’t heard it in a while. I turned around, his phone still to my ear. Adam was standing at the bathroom door, as if he’d been there for a while, towel wrapped around his waist, his skin bone dry, anger on his face. I quickly made my excuses and ended the call. I spoke before he had the chance to attack me.
‘You had seventeen missed calls on your phone. I thought it might be important so I answered. Also, if this is going to work between us, then I need total access to your life. No holds barred. No secrets.’
I stopped to make sure he understood. He didn’t object.
‘That was Maria. She was worried about you. She was afraid you’d hurt yourself after last night, or worse. She’s been worried about you for a year now, extremely worried for nine months. She felt she wasn’t getting through to you so she went to Sean for help, so they could figure out what to do. She fought how she felt for him, but she fell for Sean. They didn’t want to hurt you. They’ve been together for six weeks. She didn’t know how to tell you. She thought your behaviour was down to your sister leaving Ireland, then you having to leave your job, and your father being sick. She said every time she wanted to talk to you, something bad happened. She wanted to tell you about her and Sean, but then the news about your father’s illness being terminal came. She said she’d arranged to meet with you last week to tell you finally, and instead you told her about being let go from your job. She wished you hadn’t found out the way you did.’
I watched as he took all of this in. He was seething, the anger bubbling beneath his skin, but I could see the hurt too. He was really so fragile, so delicate, so heartbroken, a whisper away from breaking.
I continued: ‘She seemed put out that I answered the phone, upset, almost angry with me that she didn’t know who I was. She said in the six years you were together she thought she knew all of your friends. She was jealous.’
The anger seemed to lessen then, with thoughts of her jealousy of him and another woman like water over his burning rage.
I felt hesitant about adding the rest but took a gamble that I thought would pay off. ‘She said she doesn’t recognise you any more. That you used to be fun – funny and spontaneous. She said you’ve lost your spark.’
His eyes filled a little and he coughed and shook his head, macho man back.
‘We’re going to get you back to that way again, Adam, I promise. Who knows, maybe she’ll recognise the man she fell in love with and she’ll fall in love with him all over again. We’ll rediscover your spark.’
I gave him space to think about that and waited in the living room, nervously biting my nails. Twenty long minutes later he appeared in the doorway, fully dressed, eyes clear and hiding any proof of his despair.
‘Breakfast?’
The dining-room buffet had quite an array of food to choose from and customers went back and forth several times to avail of the all-you-can-eat menu. We sat with our backs to the display with cups of black coffee and empty placemats.
‘So you don’t eat, you don’t really sleep and we both like to rescue people. What else do we have in common?’ Adam said.
I had lost my appetite three months ago, the same time I’d realised I was not happy in my marriage. As a result of losing my appetite, I’d lost a lot of weight, though I was working on it through my How to Get Your Appetite Back One Bite at a Time book.
‘Broken relationships,’ I offered.
‘You left yours. I was left. Doesn’t count.’
‘Don’t take my leaving my husband personally.’
‘I can if I want.’
I sighed. ‘So tell me about you. Maria said you’d lost your spark over a year ago, which was a comment that has really stayed with me.’
‘Yeah, that has stayed with me too,’ he interrupted, with false animation. ‘I’m wondering if she’d realised that before or after she fucked my best friend, or perhaps it was during. Now wouldn’t that be a fine thing?’
I didn’t respond to that, allowed him to have his moment. ‘What were you like when your mother passed away? How did you behave?’
Maria had also revealed that detail over the phone, disclosing much of Adam’s life and his problems as though I was a long and trusted friend who knew all of this information anyway. I’m sure she would have been far more careful with her words had she known the real situation, but she didn’t, it wasn’t her business, and so I’d let her talk; her rant an attempt to justify her actions and also a way for me to be enlightened on aspects of Adam’s life that perhaps he wouldn’t have shared with me himself.
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s helpful to me.’
‘Will it be helpful to me?’
‘Your mother passed away, your sister moved away, your father is sick, your girlfriend has met someone else. I think that your girlfriend leaving you was the trigger. Perhaps you can’t deal with people leaving. Perhaps you feel abandoned. You know, if you can recognise your triggers, it can help with being aware of those negative thoughts before you drop into the downward spiral. Maybe when someone leaves you now, you connect with how you felt when you were five years old.’
I was impressed with myself but I seemed to be the only one.
‘I think you should stop playing therapist.’
‘I think you should go and see a real one, but for some reason you won’t and I’m the best you’ve got.’
He was silenced by that. Whatever his reasons, that didn’t seem to be an option. Still, I was hoping I’d get him there eventually.
Adam sighed and sat back in the chair, looking up at the chandelier as if it was that which had asked him the question. ‘I was five years old, Lavinia was ten. Mum had cancer. It was all very sad for everyone, though I didn’t really understand. I didn’t feel sad, I only knew that it was. I didn’t know she had cancer, or if I did I didn’t know what it was. I just knew she was sick. There was a room downstairs in the house where she stayed that we weren’t allowed to go into. It was for a few weeks or a few months, I can’t really remember. It felt like for ever. We had to be very quiet around the door. Men would go in and out with their doctor’s bags, ruffle my hair as they passed. Father would rarely go in. Then one day the door to that room was open. I went in; it had a bed in it that never used to be there before. The bed was empty but apart from that the room looked exactly the same as it used to. The doctor who used to tap me on the head told me my mother was gone. I asked him where; he said Heaven. So I knew she wasn’t coming back. That’s where my grandfather went one day and he never came back. I thought it must have been a fun place to go to never want to come back. We went to the funeral. Everybody was very sad. I stayed with my aunt for a few days. Then I was packed off to boarding school.’ He spoke of it all devoid of emotion, totally disconnected as his defence mechanism kicked in to block out the overwhelming pain. I guessed for him to connect, to feel the pain, felt too much to bear. He seemed isolated and disengaged and I believed every word he said.
‘Your father didn’t discuss what was happening to your mother?’
‘My father doesn’t do emotion. After they told him he had weeks to live he asked for a fax machine to be put in his hospital room.’
‘Was your sister communicative? Could you talk about it together, in order to understand?’
‘She was sent to a boarding school in Kildare and we saw each other for a few days each holiday. The first summer we were back at the house from boarding school she set up a stall in town and sold my mother’s shoes, bags, fur coats and jewellery and whatever else was of any value and made herself a fortune. Every single thing was sold and couldn’t be bought back by the time anyone realised what she’d done a few weeks later. She’d spent most of the money already. She was practically a stranger to me and even more so after that. She’s made of the same stuff my father is. She’s more intelligent than me, it’s just a pity she didn’t put her brains to better use. She should be taking Father’s place, not me.’
‘Did you make good friends at boarding school?’ I was hoping for some kind of circle where little Adam had love and friendship. I wanted a happy ending somewhere.
‘That’s where I met Sean.’
Which wasn’t the happy ending I was hoping for, as that trusted person had betrayed him. I couldn’t help myself, I reached out and placed my hand over his. The movement made him stiffen and so I quickly removed it.
He folded his arms. ‘So how about we drop all this mumbo jumbo talk and get straight to the problem?’
‘This isn’t mumbo jumbo. I think that your mother passing away when you were five years old is significant. It affects your past and current behaviour, your emotions, how you deal with things.’ That’s what the book said and I personally knew it to be true.
‘Unless your mother died when you were five years old, then I think it’s something you can’t learn from a book. I’m grand, let’s move on.’
‘She did.’
‘What?’
‘My mum died when I was four.’
He looked at me, surprised. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Thanks.’
‘So how did it affect you?’ he asked gently.
‘I think I’m not the one who wants to kill myself on my thirty-fifth birthday, so let’s move on,’ I snapped, wanting to get back to talking about him. I could tell from his surprised expression that I had sounded a lot angrier than I had intended. I composed myself. ‘Sorry. What I meant was, if you don’t want to talk, what do you want from me, Adam? How do you expect me to help you?’
He leaned forward, lowered his voice, jabbed his finger on the table to emphasise each point. ‘It’s my thirty-fifth birthday on Saturday week. I don’t particularly want to have a party but for some reason that’s what’s being arranged for me by the family – and by family I do not mean my sister Lavinia, because the only way she can appear in Ireland without getting handcuffs slapped on her wrists is on Skype. I mean the company family. The party is in City Hall in Dublin, a big do, and I would rather not be there but I kind of have to be because the board have chosen that day to announce to everyone that I’m taking over the company while my father is alive, kind of like being given the seal of approval. That’s twelve days away. Because he’s so ill, they had a meeting last week to see if my birthday party could be moved forward. I told them it’s not happening. Firstly, I don’t want the job. I haven’t worked out how to fix it yet, but I’ll be announcing somebody else as the new head that night. And if I have to walk into that bloody room, I want Maria back, by my side, holding my hand the way it should be.’ His voice cracked and he took a moment to compose himself. ‘I thought about it and I understand. I changed. I wasn’t there for her when she needed me. She was worried, she went to Sean and Sean took advantage of her. I went to Benidorm with him when we finished our Leaving Cert, and I’ve partied with him every weekend since I was thirteen – believe me, I know what he can be like with women. She doesn’t.’
I opened my mouth to protest, but Adam lifted a finger in warning and continued.
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