‘I haven’t cleaned for a bit,’ said Lily.
‘No.’
We both stayed standing.
‘That was our bed,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ I said, looking at it. I wanted to vomit.
‘I haven’t changed the sheets since he left. I can still smell him.’
‘Look,’ I said, with an effort, for I felt that I had walked into a terrible dream, and was trapped in it, ‘you said you had something urgent to tell me.’
‘You stole him from me,’ she continued, as if I hadn’t spoken. ‘He was mine and you came along and stole him from under my nose.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘No. He chose me. We chose each other. I’m sorry, Lily. I didn’t know about you, but anyway…’
‘You just smashed up my life without thinking of me,’ she looked around her disastrous flat. ‘You didn’t care about me.’ Her voice sank. ‘Now what?’ she said, in a kind of listless horror. ‘Now what am I supposed to do?’
‘Listen, I think I ought to just go,’ I said. ‘This doesn’t help either of us.’
‘Look,’ she said, and took off her T-shirt. She stood there, pale and slim. Her breasts were small, with large brownish nipples. I couldn’t make myself look away. Then she turned around. Livid weals striped her back. ‘He did that,’ she said triumphantly. ‘Now what do you say?’
‘I’ve got to go,’ I said, rooted to the spot.
‘To show how much he loved me. He branded me his. Has he done that to you? No? But he’s done it to me because I belong to him. He can’t just throw me off.’
I walked to the door.
‘That’s not all,’ she said.
‘We are marrying tomorrow.’ I opened the door.
‘That’s not all that he…’
A thought occurred to me. ‘Do you know where he lives?’
She looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Goodbye.’
I shut the door on her and ran back up the steps to the pavement. Even the exhaust fumes smelt clean after Lily’s flat.
We had a bath together, and washed each other meticulously. I shampooed his hair and he mine. Warm lather floated on the surface of the water and the air was steamy and fragrant. I shaved his face very carefully. He combed out my hair, holding it with one hand while he teased out little knots so as not to hurt me.
We dried each other. The mirror had fogged over, but he told me I did not need to look at my reflection this morning, except in his eyes. He wouldn’t let me put on any makeup. I put my dress on over my naked body and slipped on shoes. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt.
‘Ready?’ he asked.
‘Ready,’ I said.
‘You’re my wife now.’
‘Yes.’
‘Is this all right? Don’t flinch.’
‘Yes.’
‘And this?’
‘No – yes. Yes.’
‘Do you love me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Always?’
‘Always.’
‘Tell me if you want me to stop.’
‘Yes. Do you love me?’
‘Yes. Always.’
‘God, Adam, I’d die for you.’
Sixteen
‘How much further?’ I tried to keep my voice steady, but it came out in a raggedy gasp, and the effort of speaking hurt my chest.
‘Only about eight miles,’ said Adam, turning back towards me. ‘If you could manage to walk a bit faster we should get there before it begins to get dark.’ He looked down at me dispassionately, then unslung his backpack, in which he was carrying all my stuff as well as his, and took out a flask. ‘Have a cup of tea and some chocolate,’ he said.
‘Thanks. Some honeymoon, darling. I wanted a four-poster bed and champagne.’ I took the plastic cup of tea in my mittened hands. ‘Have we done most of the steep bit?’
‘Honey, this is a stroll. We’re going up there.’
I twisted my neck back to see where he was pointing. The wind bit into my face; my chin felt raw. ‘No,’ I said. ‘You might be. I’m not.’
‘Are you tired?’
‘Tired? Oh, no, not at all, I’m fit from all my walks to the underground station. I’ve got blisters under my new boots. My calves are burning. I’ve got this stitch in my side that feels like a knife jabbing at me. My nose is freezing cold. My fingers have gone numb. And I’m scared of fucking heights. I’m staying right here.’ I sat down in the thin covering of snow and pushed two squares of cold, hard chocolate into my mouth.
‘Here?’ Adam looked around us, at the lonely moorland rimmed with jagged hills. In the summer, apparently, quite a few walkers came this way – but not on this Saturday in late February, when all the grass was iced into spiky tufts, the few bare trees stooped against the wind, and our breath curled into the grey air.
‘All right. I’m not staying here, I’m just making a fuss.’
He sat down beside me and started to laugh. I think it was the first time I had heard him laugh properly. ‘I’ve married a wimp,’ he said, as if it were the funniest thing in the world. ‘I spend my life climbing mountains, and I’ve married a woman who can’t climb a gentle slope without getting a stitch.’
‘Yeah, and I’ve married a man who drags me into the wilderness and then laughs when I’m in difficulty and feeling embarrassed.’ I scowled at him.
Adam stood up and pulled me to my feet. He adjusted my mittens so there wasn’t a band of naked wrist between them and the sleeves of my jacket. He took a scarf out of the backpack and wrapped it around my neck. He tied my laces more tightly, so that my boots were not so loose on my feet. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘try and get into a rhythm. Don’t hurry yourself. Not that you have been. Just get into a stride and then keep going. Let your breathing come evenly. Don’t look ahead where we’re going, just one foot in front of the other until it feels like a meditation. Ready?’
‘Yes, Captain.’
We walked in single file along the track, which gradually became steeper until we were almost scrambling up it. Adam looked as if he were loitering, yet he drew ahead of me in seconds. I didn’t attempt to catch up with him, but tried to follow his instructions. Left, right; left, right. My nose was runny and my eyes were rheumy. My legs ached and felt like lead. I set myself some mental arithmetic. I tried to sing to myself an old song about the chemical elements that I had performed in a show at college. ‘There’s antimony, arsenic, aluminium, selenium…’ What came next? I didn’t have the breath for it anyway. Occasionally I stumbled over small rocks in the pathway, or snagged myself on thick brambles. It never quite got to feel like a meditation, but I kept going, and soon the stitch dulled to a mild ache and my hands warmed up, and the clean air felt fresh rather than harsh when I breathed in.
At the top of one rise, Adam made me stop and look around.
‘It’s as if we were all alone in the world,’ I said.
‘That’s the point.’
It was getting dark when we saw the cabin just below.
‘Who uses it?’ I asked, as we made our way down to it, shapes of huge boulders and stunted trees looming out of the dusk.
‘It’s a climbers’ and hikers’ hut. It belongs to the British Alpine Club. Members can stay. I’ve got the key here.’ And he patted the side pocket of his jacket.
It was freezing inside, and without obvious comforts. Adam lit a large gas lamp hanging from one of the beams, and I stared at the narrow wooden ledges round the room that were meant to be beds, at the empty fireplace, the small basin with a single cold tap over it.
‘This is it?’
‘Yep.’
‘Where’s the toilet?’