Free The Sick Rose by Erin Kelly

something to fall back on would be to admit the failure of his musical career before it had begun. That was also why he couldn’t take a job. These last were just two of the many reasons why he hadn’t seen his parents for over four years.
    ‘Do you miss them?’
    ‘I miss her, I suppose,’ he said. ‘Or I think I do, and then I talk to her and she’s all in my face and I cant wait to get rid of her. Anyway, he’s made it quite clear that I’m not welcome until I clean up my act, and the only person she worships more than me is him, so . . .’
    Louisa wondered what was dirty about his act and hoped she wouldn’t remain in ignorance for long.
    ‘Four years is a long time not to see your mother. I see mine every day, I still live with her.’
    ‘Does that mean I can’t take you home?’ he said. It was the only change of subject she wanted; she felt like punching the air.
    ‘No, they’re cool.’ She parted the bangles on her wrist, found the watch face. It was half past eleven. ‘Anyway, if we go now, they won’t even know you’re there.’
    They passed no one. After ten, these streets were as deserted as any suburban close. Even though she was the one who knew the way, she got the impression that he was leading her. When she opened the gate to the mews, he actually whistled.
    ‘I suppose I’m used to it,’ she said.
    The daily had been and there was a clean white sheet on her bed like a blank canvas. The light stayed on. They undressed with neither kissing nor inhibition. She noticed that he wore a silver ring on his left thumb, a four-piece, three-dimensional puzzle. He saw her looking at it.
    ‘I only take it off when I’m in bed with someone,’ he said. It fell onto her bedside table with a chime. Seeing his naked thumb was almost more intimate than seeing the rest of him. Suddenly, from nowhere, she was nervous.
    ‘I’ve seen these before, Elvira sells them. It’s a Turkish wedding ring. If you take it off, it falls apart, and there’s a secret way of putting it back together again, so the men knew if their wives had been unfaithful while they were away because they wouldn’t be wearing their ring any more.’ She was prattling; he wasn’t laughing at her yet but he would if she continued. ‘Stage fright,’ she admitted. She wrung her hands, wishing that she had a ring of her own to twist. Adam backed away and sat down on her bed.
    ‘Louisa, I had no idea,’ he said. ‘God, I’m so sorry, I thought you’d done this before.’
    Her laughter broke the ice. ‘Oh, once or twice,’ she said, and came towards him.
    It was like throwing petrol over fire. In the first ten seconds they managed to strip the bed of the sheets, move it two feet across the room and upend a jug of water. The sun was rising by the time he rolled away from her, begging for mercy and sleep. She gave him neither.
    ‘Listen, the other day . . . at the Borderline. You were with a girl.’
    He opened his eyes halfway. ‘Mmn.’
    ‘Who is she? What’s her name?’
    ‘No one.’
    ‘Because I just wanted to let you know . . . I won’t be someone’s . . .’ She searched for words that didn’t make her sound prim. ‘Mistress’ was formal and Victorian, ‘bit on the side’ too Ealing comedy. ‘I’m not the kind of girl to be the other woman .’ Immediately she wished she could take it back. It was supposed to have been ironic but she just came over as desperate.
    ‘She’s history,’ said Adam. Did that mean he was ending a relationship or that he had never intended to see the other girl again? Either way, she had won. A shiver of triumph overrode a twinge of misgiving at a man who could dismiss any woman so coolly.
    While Adam slept, she inhaled the thick oily skin between his shoulder blades where he smelt most like himself. If you could distil and bottle the essence of a human being, if you could crush skin like petals, then she would do this with Adam Glasslake. The vetiver scent was faint now but his