The Mad British (25 page)

“James, are you awake? I need you.”

The moonlight trickling into the bedroom casts a blue shade over the white sheets and her pale body. She straddles me, rocking slowly.

I close my eyes for a second, and when I open them again, I smile. I wait until her body stops shuddering before rolling her over and burying myself inside. I start slowly and then moving faster, aroused by the soft cries that she’s making, until everything goes black and my brain shuts off, and I come, hard, my face pressed into her neck. She stares at the ceiling as I collapse on her, trying to catch my breath.

We settle into the nest of covers and sheets and press our bodies together when sleep begins to overtake us again.

"Hey," I whisper.

Adelaide has her eyes shut. "Hmm?"

I pull her hand up to my face and kiss it. "I love you."

"I love you," she echoes.

"You okay? I mean today with. . .” My voice trails off.

Her eyes slowly open and focus on nothing in the dark room. "Yeah. I'm fine."

I pull her closer as she slowly relaxes and begins to succumb to her exhaustion. Sleep doesn’t come back so easily to me, and I lie awake after her breathing becomes rhythmic, thinking about what she had said.

She is not being truthful. I know this, because if she had, if she had been really fine, she would have listed all the reasons she was fine. Emphasizing the big ones, really hammering on the right one, well after her point is made.

She is never fine, this girl of mine. She is content, excited, elated, despondent, distressed, enraged.

But not just ‘fine’.

Never just ‘fine’.

I won’t stop until I fix her.

I MAKE THE call Monday morning while waiting in line, hoping my sister is awake. Jessica spots me at the end of the line and waves me to the side.

"What’re you doing today?" I say into the phone.

"Um, meeting with a friend, lunch with Mother, and then we're going shopping for Daddy's birthday present. You remember it's his birthday, right?"

Nope.

"Yes." Jessica slides a cup over to me and waves off the money I try to hand her—all part of our routine. I shove a twenty-pound note into the tip jar instead. She flips me off and I have to juggle my phone and cup to return the gesture, eliciting stares from the other customers. "Can you do me a favour?"

"Don't worry, I know you suck at this kind of thing. I planned on getting him something from you, too."

"Not for Dad, for Adelaide."

I can practically hear her eyes perking up. "Really? What's the occasion?"

I burn my tongue when I slide into the car. Jessica and I have differing ideas of what constitutes ‘extra-hot’. Apparently hers is the inside of a nuclear reactor.

"Her interview in The City."

"Oh that." Camilla is trying to be intentionally blasé. "I didn’t even read it that well, and we needed the paper for Luna's litter box, anyway."

"She's pretty upset about it, naturally. I want to—"

Camilla understands immediately. "Say no more. Why don't you take her on holiday or something? Preston took me to Venice after I missed my book release party."

"I can't. I have to go to Beijing next week and then I've got an account that needs—"

"Okay, fine, Senor Importante. What's the last thing you bought her? Besides an apartment."

"Uh. . . " I have to think for a moment. "Private health insurance."

"How romantic. Give me a baseline here."

I give her the lowdown and she squeals. "Oh my God. This is going to be so much fun. She is going to
die
."

"I hope not."

"Oh stop it, you know what I mean."

"Just don't get anything weird."

"My
God
, it's like you don't know me at all. I'm not going to do anything weird." I hear a door shut in the background. "Okay, wait, what's weird?"

"Nothing with logos."

"Duh. Next?"

"Nothing that comes out of a mine in Africa."

I have to pull the phone away from my ear as she loudly exhales into the receiver. "You are killing me here. You just eliminated like ninety per cent of what I had in mind."

"I don't make the rules about this. She does."

"Okay, I'll try and work with that, I guess." Camilla doesn’t sound too convinced. "Anything else?"

"Yeah." I fumble around for the Post-it. "I need a pair of shoes. Size four."

"You're a size thirteen, weirdo."

"Women's shoes."

A pause. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

I roll my eyes hard enough to change the polar axis of the Earth. "They’re for Chloe."

"Why are you buying shoes for Chloe?"

"Why are you asking so many goddamn questions?"

"Because it pisses you off."

I sigh. "Can you do this today or not? I want to give it to her tonight."

"Fine. Since you asked so nicely, I will work my magic and hopefully make your girlfriend so happy that she won't notice you're buying another woman new shoes." She takes a breath. "Weirdo."

"Oooh, what is that?" I stick my nose above the fragrant steam emitting from the skillet, and then hold my face up for a kiss.

James bends down and obliges. "I'm not sure. I just dumped whatever leftovers we had in the fridge—anything you didn’t feed to that spoiled greedy cat. Then I added garlic and oil." He nods to the test subject perched on the counter, licking a recently emptied plate. "The cat seems to like it."

"Cheshire will eat anything," I say, peering closer. "I saw him eat a snail once. Are those raisins in there?"

"Probably." He reaches for the bottle of Sriracha sauce and gives his concoction a generous squirt. "Needs more red."

I can’t hold back the laughter when I head toward the fridge. "That is either going to turn out to be incredible crap or absolute crap."

"I'd put my money on absolute crap." He smiles to himself. "You're in a good mood."

I pop open a bottle of beer and take a huge swallow. "Yep. Two really good reasons for that—actually, scratch that, three really good reasons for that. First, Chloe made me donate blood with her this morning and I've been lightheaded since then."

James reaches over and dumps a container of leftover spaghetti to the growing mass, which is starting to burn. He turns down the heat. "Then you're really going to have to eat this. What else?"

"Okay, I realised that, one stupid article isn't going to break me forever. I mean, like, Warhol and Apple got crucified for embracing market culture by better critics than whatshername, and they didn’t just roll over and die after that. So this is just going to have to be my crappy thing to carry until I put out another something fabulous that people can't ignore."

James adds raisins into the pasta and gives me a sideways glance. I relent under the pressure of his gaze. "
Okay
. Chloe threatened to cut off my finger if I didn’t ‘woman-up’. She even showed me the scissors she was going to use."

"Ah." I jump onto the counter and rub Cheshire’s face. "What's the last thing?"

I’m practically bouncing with excitement. "Actually, I need your help with this part. Next week is Steffen's birthday and you know how bummed out he's been since that stupid tattoo artist dumped him, so. . . I thought it would be like, fantastically awesome if we can throw him a party." I take a breath before continuing. "I mean, like here. At this place." My head tilts to get a better look at his expression. "What do you think?"

James puts a lid on the skillet. "Party hard, love."

"Really?" He nods. I squeal and leap off the counter and grab him. "Oh my God, thank you. Steffen's going to freaking lose it, he's been bugging me about having a party here for ages now. This is going to be fun, I swear."

He pulls me back, seeming to revel in my smile. "Give Camilla a call tomorrow. She has a really good event planner."

"Event planner? Why? We can just do it. I'll let you tend the bar," I tease. “Shirtless—with a bow tie, of course, because this will be a classy party.”

"Did Steffen ask you to make me the stripper?” I nod. “Dirty bastard. Tell him I’ll do it for his Christmas present to make up for not being here for his birthday. I have to go to Beijing, remember?"

My heart sinks. "Wait. . . really?"

"Yes. I told you before. I even wrote it down and stuck it to the fridge." Sure enough, a yellow Post-It is buried smack in the middle amongst a set of tea-party magnets that Camilla bought us. I pull it off.

"Crap." I crumple the paper in my fist. "Never mind, then."

"Why?"

"You're not going to be here."

"So?" James pulls the lid off the skillet and stirs. "I don't have to be here for you to have a party. It's your home, as well." I look at him. "What?" he says. "I'm serious. Do it. Have a good time. Get Steffen wasted, get him a stripper that
isn’t
me, or anyone that
looks
like me, and make sure no one steals anything. You'll have fun."

I sidle up and lean my head against his big, strong arm. "It won't be fun if you're not here."

"Obviously. Because I’m
the
man.”

I shake my head. “Such a big head.”

“Weren’t complaining about my big head
last night
.
” I giggle. “But you will have fun." He sticks in a finger and tastes his creation. "Want to
lick
my sauce?"

“Is everything an innuendo to you?” He nods. I poke a fork in and take a bite. "Oh my sweet Jesus."

"What?” I’m smiling and nodding.  “Is it good?"

I swallow. "No. In fact, it’s so freaking disgusting that it should be manufactured as a biological weapon. Not even Cheshire would eat it and he licks his own bum. But if you'll just move, please, and let me try something. . . "

Somehow adding brown sauce and a ton of different vegetables takes it from culinary horror show to mostly palatable.

We end up ordering in and James waits until we’ve finished our Indian takeaway to spring it on me. "I got you something."

"Really?" I’ve actually gotten him something too, but it’s just a sticker I filched from the blood bank. I plan to stick it to his forehead tonight while he sleeps. "What for?"

He avoids answering the question. "It's on the dresser."

I rush into the bedroom before James can catch up, and feel myself drawn to the bright-yellow box on the bed, almost magnetically attracted to what’s inside. I run my fingers down the glossy surface, savouring the newness of the edges before I tear it open. For the second time tonight, I squeal.

Shoes.

"Wow, they're incredible. Thank you so much, James."

"No, not on the bed, the dresser,” he grumbles, entering the bedroom. “Ugh, no wonder you didn’t see it. That bloody cat is sitting on it. He’s obliterating it with his fat arse.”

“Hey, he’s not fat. He’s just big boned.”

He tries to shove Cheshire aside. "Move it, you." But Cheshire is all bulk and all rebel. He won’t budge. It’s like watching two alphas fight.

I lower the beautifully tiered, cream-colored sandal with silk flowers into the box. "This isn't it?"

"Those are for Chloe. If this damn cat just moved I can show you.”

I have to wrestle Cheshire into my arms and finally settle him on the bed. He isn’t a happy cat.

I take the wooden box from James. It’s the size of a hardback book. "What is this?"

"Open it."

I push the lid forward. My first thought is that they’re fakes. They have to be, because I’ve never seen anything like this in my life, haven’t even entertained something like this existed. I mean, existed in real life, at least, outside of museums and pictures in coffee-table books. I run one finger down the line, touching briefly on each surface.

"Is this—" I stop myself before asking if they are real. Of course they are real. "For me?"

"Yes."

I look down at it again, the same tight feeling crawling through my body as when I’d seen the studio for the first time. "But, why?"

"Because." He sits next to me on the bed and takes the box from my hands. "Let me help."

The smooth orbs are cool against my skin, resting inches below my collarbone, and are a bit heavy, to tell the truth. I’ve only tried on my mother's strands when I was younger, and these are definitely not my mother's pearls. Each one is the size of a marble, and a deep gold of the hottest sunshine.

I get up and look in the mirror, not noticing my face is still frozen in shock. The pearls glow against my skin, picking up the golden tint in my complexion and contrast with the darkness of my eyes. It actually looks. . . magnificent.

James is watching me sceptically. "You don't like it?"

I angle my body toward him, but my face remains pointed at the mirror. "No. . .” My hand lifts into view again as I touch them. "I just don't understand. . . Why do you think money is the way to my heart?”

“I want to give you everything, Adelaide.”

He isn’t listening.

Or he doesn’t hear me.

Either way, I don’t think he realises how important this is to me. From the start, money has woven itself to the very fabric of our relationship. I can’t help but go back to how it had all started in a poker game. Yes, I need to get over that, I know, and I’m trying, but when he keeps insisting on throwing his money at me, it’s hard to forget.

“Do you hate it?” he asks, breaking me from my thoughts.

"No, I don't hate it, I just . . .” I trail off, unsure of how to best articulate what I’m feeling without revealing too much. I don’t know how to explain that everything he gives me makes me feel like another point goes in his favour. And between this, the apartment, the studio, everything—I will never catch up. He will always be ahead, and the further he is ahead, the less I count. The less he will need me.

What if Ethan was right?

Looking into his troubled eyes, I can’t say what I’m truly feeling. He may not understand. It could cause tension. And I can’t risk money being the reason we break up.

Not again.

Not with him.

"I like it, James,” I tell him. It isn’t a lie. “It’s beautiful."

It’s just a necklace, I tell myself.

* * *

"Shag me with a five-inch cactus."

I nearly smack my head against the edge of the table in The Coffee Hole. I’d been reaching down to pick up my dropped spoon when Steffen yelled loud enough to wake the dead.

He’s pointing at the back of my neck, where my hair has slid forward. "Okay, I'll admit it, at first I thought it was a piece of crappy plastic that you bought from a street vendor or something, and I was fully prepared to mock you for going so gaudy during a weekday, until I saw this." His hand darts to my neck and swivels the strand until the gold clasp is in front.

"Wait, what?" Jessica frowns.

Steffen slides his fingers under the clasp and holds it out, forcing me to lean forward over the table with him. "The clasp, honey, the clasp. Gold pave Italian clasp. They don't stick these on crap from Claire's. This means—"he lets out a short gasp"—these are real. Did James give you these?" I pull the gold pearls back, smoothing them into place, and nod. Steffen splutters. "What the bloody hell are you doing wearing them to coffee with us? Those should be worn to like, the opera, or Buckingham palace."

Steffen reaches for his bag and produces his laptop. "Let's Google the bugger."

Jessica is still staring at me with a befuddled expression. "Wait, you mean those are real?"

"Real deal, baby." Steffen waits for his computer to load. "Adelaide, please tell me you dropped to your knees and gave him a blowjob for the ages. Anything less and you should be publicly flogged."

I focus on the diminishing foam in my cooling coffee cup. "Actually, I was a little weird about it. . . which makes me feel bad because I know he just wanted to do something nice for me."

I can tell Jessica and Steffen are exchanging looks over my head, mentally saying the same things they always do. There is no way they will understand it. I’m not even sure if I understand it myself.

Steffen's eyes widen like saucers when he gawks at his laptop screen. "'Something nice' is the understatement of the year, honey." He turns the laptop so I can see. "You're wearing an average person’s yearly salary round your neck."

Jessica claps a hand to her mouth, and my heart kicks up a notch. I knew they were expensive, but not so completely out of this world. The gnawing pain is back in my stomach, because unlike the apartment, this is not something that is shared. James isn’t getting anything out of this. His only reward is making me happy, but it’s having the opposite effect.

They are not ‘just a necklace’ any more.

The rope of pearls feels like a chain round my neck.

Jessica finds her voice. "Are there really supposed to be that many zeros?"

Steffen nods slowly. "Adelaide, that's some goddamn fancy oyster spit you've got there. Please tell me you'll make nice and blow the poor fool before I do."