Three Steps Behind You. Amy Bird

      Adam looks at me.

      ‘No,’ I say again, more conclusively.

      ‘So it’s not relevant,’ he says. ‘And besides, it’s a spent conviction.’

      I nod. ‘That’s what I told them.’

      Adam flicks through some paperwork on his desk.

      ‘So, what else did you talk about?’ he asks, studying a bit of paper.

      ‘Jeremy Bond.’

      Adam looks up at that.

      ‘What about him?’

      ‘Loaning cars to him without proper paperwork, who he was, all that kind of stuff.’

      ‘You didn’t tell them anything?’

      ‘No,’ I say.

      Adam takes a breath. ‘Good,’ he says.

      It’s nice of him, always to be so concerned about me.

      He goes back to looking at his papers.

      ‘They’re keeping an eye on me, the police,’ I say. ‘They were at Narcissus Road. I think Nicole called them.’

      Adam frowns.

      ‘About last night? She said she wouldn’t.’

      I shake my head. ‘About Helen.’

      Adam stands up and thumps the table. The people in the glass boxes nearby look up. He sits down again.

      ‘Mate, you’ve got it wrong. Why would Nic do that?’

      ‘Are you saying I’m paranoid?’

      He doesn’t answer. I think about the red that followed me on the train. There was no way that could be paranoia.

      ‘She’s outside now, if you want,’ I say.

      ‘What? Where?’ asks Adam, looking around.

      ‘You won’t be able to see her,’ I warn him. ‘She’s hiding. Biding her time.’

      ‘Right.’ He nods. There is a pause. He does, he thinks I’m paranoid. ‘Well, I won’t disturb her now, but I’ll talk to her. Tell you what – we’ll go out to dinner, all three of us, start over. Lobster and champagne – our treat.’

      ‘Do you need me to do the kill?’ I ask.

      He looks at me blankly.

      ‘The lobster,’ I say. ‘Do you want me to kill it for you?’

      Adam laughs. ‘No, mate – the chef does that for you. Lobster halves, all nicely cut up, bit of mayo.’

      ‘Oh,’ I say. I thought I could have been of use. ‘I’ll get a suit.’

      ‘No need to dress up, mate, it’s just us.’

      ‘With the money,’ I say. ‘They offered me a settlement agreement.’

      ‘I’ll have my lawyer look over it,’ Adam offers.

      ‘One of those nice suits, in Moss Bross.’

      ‘You don’t want a suit, mate. Have one of my old ones – you’ll have to lose that gut though.’ He slaps my stomach. His hand pauses there. ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Seems you already have.’

      ‘I’ve been running,’ I say. ‘You can see if you like.’ I start to untuck my polo shirt under his hand.

      He jerks his hand away.

      ‘You’re in a glass box, mate – not the time to show off your abs!’

      I nod.

      ‘Maybe later,’ he says. ‘Show them off to me and Nic.’ He winks at me. I am beyond blushing. Instead, I think about how we can have a best torso competition. The loser has to eat lobster off the abs of the winner.

      ‘Anyway, mate, you don’t spend your cash on a suit,’ Adam tells me. ‘Live a little. Get something that makes your heart race.’

      I wonder if he knows what he’s inviting.

       Chapter 18

      The indecent assault thing didn’t make my heart race, back then. Or at least, not in the way Adam means. Mostly, I was just worried about us getting caught. We didn’t, but she told on us. So we got caught out. It was bad form, Adam said, to kiss and tell. Sometimes I want to do that, but I can’t, so I write it instead. But I can never publish. Unless of course I use a pseudonym. But that seems kind of dishonest. Plus the people I most want to know my story never will.

      Even though she was a slut, who, as Adam said, was asking for it, she never got ‘it’. It was just touching. Adam started it, when we were alone with her, in the common room. They let girls join our sixth-form. ‘It’s just for girls who want to shag through their A-levels,’ Adam told me. That was a bit odd, because they mostly just huddled in a group by themselves when we tried to talk to them. ‘They’re playing hard to get,’ Adam had said.

      So he suggested we ‘get’ one of them. We were in the common room, late, one winter evening – I’d been waiting for Adam to come back from football so we could walk home together. I’d been chatting to Olivia. She was in my English class. We were discussing Daphne du Maurier when Adam strode in, full of testosterone and sweat. He invited us to feel his shirt, so we did, flattered by the invitation. Then he said we should all feel each other’s shirts. Underneath. Olivia wasn’t keen, but she obliged, because that’s what you do when Adam asks you something. But then Adam wanted to be underneath everything. He said I had to as well, unless I was a faggot – how could I touch him and not her? He put my hand on her. In her. While he held her down.

      But that doesn’t really count, as experience. Which is annoying, given the months we had to pay for it. I tried to stop Adam having to pay for it, said it was my idea, my fault, but the girl told a different story.

      The time inside, with Adam, was not of itself a problem. But here’s the rub: Luke still needs experience.

      The alternative is this, which would not go well:

      Luke surveyed her lying on the bed. Finally, he had her here. So he unzipped his trousers, lifted her skirt, turned her over, and wondered what exactly he ought to do.

      No. So I need to find out, for Luke, what he ought to do, so that when he does it, with Nicole, he does it right. Because that time will really matter. For Luke and I both to experience the closeness that we need. And indeed, I need to test that he can do it at all. Because it’s not clear whether his heart will race, and his blood will pump, in the right way. And if that doesn’t work, he will not really get close, where it counts.

      I get the Tube to Moss Bros in Oxford Street first. Nicole is with me for the whole journey in the red of the Central Line. At first I think she hasn’t followed me out of the station but then, just as I get to Moss Bros, I am nearly hit by a red bus zooming up at me from behind. I shake my head as I hurry into the shop. Nicole really is out to get me.

      Inside the shop, there is no red. No femininity. Just suits for men. I decide to hire, not buy. That way, I will still have some cash left, for the other needs. I hire the best one they have – it even has tails.

      ‘You going to a wedding?’ asks the assistant.

      ‘No,’ I say. ‘Are you?’ I will need to practise small talk, for later.