It was like I’d accidentally wandered into a convention organised by some culty pyramid scheme, only the product everyone was trying to promote was Adam.
At first I thought it was weird, because usually what strangers wanted to talk to me about when they found out I was a pub cook was food: what their favourite restaurants were and whether I’d been to them (generally I hadn’t), what my best secret recipe was (as if I’d tell them, if I had one, because then it wouldn’t be a secret any more) and why I hadn’t mentioned being a vegan in the first five seconds of us talking, because that’s what vegans do, right?
Then I started thinking it was sweet, really, that Adam had so many friends who thought he was wonderful, and it made me question how I hadn’t known this, and why I’d assumed that he was some kind of hermit, spending every night alone in his flat drawing treasure maps for our D&D game, and I began to wonder if I had underestimated him.
And then I thought, Hold on, are they trying to tell me something? Me specifically? Are they trying to get me to like Adam? Not as a friend – I was totally open to that, of course – but as… well, more than a friend? And if so, did it mean that Adam had said something to one of them, or more than one of them, about wanting to be more than a friend to me?
While I was circulating, being introduced to one person after another, having my glass of prosecco filled up over and over, being brought a plate of food by Robbie, who asked if I was sure I didn’t want to sit down after being on my feet all day, like I was his nan or something, I noticed that Adam stayed in one place, by the bar, in the spot where Fat Don usually sat. (He’d turned up as usual in the morning, claiming to have forgotten the pub was closed for a private function, and stood mournfully outside the door like a cat waiting to be let in.) Adam didn’t have to circulate; people were coming up to him, chatting to him, probably thanking him for the party. He was almost as much the centre of attention as Tansy and Josh were.
And I noticed another thing. Whenever anyone came over to chat to Adam, they glanced around the room and their eyes found me. And once I’d noticed it, I couldn’t un-notice it – all those curious glances in my direction, those little smiles and nods. I felt like I was being assessed – in a perfectly nice way, but assessed all the same.
It was getting late now; Robbie had stopped bringing out plates of food and the speed with which Alice was opening bottles of prosecco had slowed down a bit. But no one was showing any signs of leaving just yet. Adam leaned over the bar and said something to Alice, and she smiled, then dimmed the lights a bit, and someone turned the music up.
The Ginger Cat wasn’t really a pub designed for dancing. There were tables and chairs in the way, and we’d signed a pledge to be considerate of our neighbours and not play loud music. But it was loud enough to bring couples and groups to their feet, awkward and shuffling at first, then more enthusiastic as they started to get into it, carried away by the Arctic Monkeys singing about how they bet we looked good on the dance floor.
I didn’t make a conscious decision to put my glass down and join in. I just did it. My feet, tired from being in the kitchen all day and clumsy in my trainers, seemed to have a will of their own. I pulled the curly telephone-wire tie out of my hair and let it loose down my back, not caring that it probably smelled of frying and was almost certainly frizzing like a bastard.
I watched Tansy and Josh together, a golden couple, tall and tanned and happy to be home among their friends. I saw Alice, looking less tired than she had for ages, laughing and wiping the top of the bar in time to the music. I saw Joe push open the door, raise his eyebrows in surprise, then burst into a huge grin and go over to give Alice a hug and a kiss, and it didn’t even hurt any more, seeing them together.
But then I stopped noticing anything else, because Adam came over to me and started to dance.
I was so used to seeing him still, only his hands and his eyes moving, that for a second he seemed like a stranger. He wasn’t stooped over any more, the way he often seemed to be, as if he didn’t know what to do with his long legs and arms and his shoulders that were so broad and lean he looked like he’d left the coat hanger in his shirt.
He didn’t look like that now. He was moving quickly, fluidly, confidently. I realised I’d never seen him smile so much – his teeth were bright white against his beard and his blue eyes were sparkling. I felt an answering smile spread over my face as I moved towards him.
Let me be clear about this: I’m a crap dancer. Compared to Adam, I had none of the moves. But I didn’t actually care – I was having fun, just being in my body the way I was in the gym, enjoying the feeling of being strong and happy and alive. The track changed and I paused, expecting him to move away, but he didn’t and so I didn’t either. We just carried on, grinning at each other like loons and throwing shapes, on and on through that song and the next and the ones after that. He wasn’t taking himself seriously and nor was I (which was just as well, because I’d have looked like someone about to be kicked off Strictly Come Dancing if I’d tried), and I cracked up completely when at one point he dropped down to the floor and did a full-on worm.
We carried on until Alice turned the music down, saying apologetically that it was eleven thirty and we didn’t want to upset the neighbours, and Adam threw one final floss and stopped dancing.
People started to leave after that, drifting off into the night in little clusters to go into town to a club or back to someone’s house to carry on drinking there, or just home to bed. Alice was moving around the bar, clearing up for the night as she always did, but I noticed that she was almost rocking on her feet with tiredness.
‘Go home,’ I said to her. ‘Freddie and I will clear up. It’s fine.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’ll help,’ Adam said. ‘I kind of feel like this is my mess too, and I should own it.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Alice said. ‘You’re a paying customer.’
‘Doesn’t mean I’m not part of the team,’ Adam argued.
‘You… Okay. That’s really kind. Thank you.’
Alice gathered up her things and moved towards the door, hesitating there for a second and looking protectively around at her pub. But then she broke into a huge yawn that just about split her face in half, and reluctantly pushed open the door and headed for home.
I’d have expected Adam to get in the way, ask annoying questions about what he was meant to do and where things were supposed to go, or just sit down and watch Freddie and me while we worked. But he didn’t. He moved around the room methodically, piling glasses up on the bar, bussing plates through to the kitchen, bagging up cans and bottles ready for the recycling.
‘Aren’t you full of surprises?’ I said. ‘You’re an ace Dungeon Master, a fab dancer and you can tidy a pub like you’ve been doing it for years.’
‘Tidying’s not exactly rocket science, is it?’ Adam asked, his hands full of glasses that he was holding between his fingers by their stems.
‘You probably do rocket science as well.’
‘That’s not exactly complex either, to be honest. It’s just mechanical engineering with a bit of extra calculus. Not like cooking – that’s hard.’