Free The Innocents by Francesca Segal Page B

song, honey.” Rachel was waiting for him on Hampstead Way as he parked, with her parents’ ancient retriever, Schnitzel, collapsed at her feet. “She’s the One” had been a good choice—he had awoken that morning to a long and grateful e-mail. “ They’re always so different that I know how much thought you must put into choosing them ,” she’d written, “ and I’m marrying the sweetest man in the world .” He had made up for the ground he’d lost over the Akon “I Wanna Fuck You” debacle (the lines about bouncing titties had gone down particularly badly), which she had found “just so insulting to be honest, Ads, did you press the wrong thing?” But today all was harmonious, and her face had lit up when she’d seen him. She and Schnitzel had bounded over to the car with equal spring in their steps.
    “Hey, Pumpkin, hello, Schnitzel. My two favorite girls.” He patted Schnitzel’s hollow blond flank. “Now you see, that’s a real dog. Who wants one of those rats when you could have a proper animal?”
    Rachel handed him the lead and slipped her arm through his, and pushing past the nettle bushes, they crossed into the Heath Extension. Once they were safely on the grass Adam unclipped the dog, who continued to plod along beside them as if still tethered. The appeal of gamboling had worn off; these days she was happy to meander along at the pace of her human companions.
    “Did you see the attachment to my e-mail?” Rachel asked.
    “No, I read it on my phone. What was it?”
    “Ads! I wanted you to tell me today if you liked it. It was a photo of the function rooms at the Berkeley. They’ve still got one Sunday slot free next August, but they have to know tomorrow.”
    “But I don’t want to get married in August.”
    He realized that this sounded petulant and he was about to neutralize it with a more playful statement but then stopped himself. Until now, setting the date had been a point on which they teased one another. But he had begun to feel faintly emasculated by his own lack of control, and increasingly irritated that not Rachel, or Jaffa, or even his own mother had taken a second to listen to his thoughts on the subject. Whenever the wedding was discussed, the women treated him as if he were a small child clamoring for adult attention, whose conversational contributions were to be indulged and then ignored.
    They had reached the bridle path that bisected the Heath Extension, the chips of black bark beneath their feet rimed gray with frost. At the children’s play area he stopped and leaned against the wooden fence. Schnitzel flopped to her belly beside him, already grateful for the pause.
    “I don’t want to wait that long,” he continued, rocking back and forth on his heels. “I don’t understand why planning a party has to take nearly a year,” and then, knowing that the trivializing word party might have put him under threat, went on quickly, “I want you to be my wife, Pumpkin, that’s why I proposed to you in the first place. I want us to be married, I want us to live together, I want to get on with our life together as a married couple. And if it’s the hotel and the guest list and the caterers that are holding it all up and takes all that time, then why do we need that stuff?”
    She cocked her head and regarded him for a moment before reaching out to touch his hand. “We don’t need that stuff, Ads, but we’ll only do this once, and isn’t it more romantic to do it properly?”
    “No!” He was shouting now, taking full advantage of their isolation. So often when they talked he had to be careful, unconsciously modulating his tones to avoid anyone overhearing. At Rachel’s flat, Tanya was usually padding around with her ears pricked for gossip, and in the restaurants they frequented Rachel was always convinced—not without reason—that they were likely to be sitting within earshot of someone they knew. To be able to raise his voice was a rare luxury. It felt