Authors: JS Taylor
Chapter
15
As we walk out of the pub, I feel as though a massive weight has been lifted from my shoulders.
Adam casts a quick look back at the scruffy pub-frontage, and then circles his arm around me.
“Come on,” he says, “I’ll take you to breakfast.”
My head is racing with what just happened, as we speed through London. I knew Adam had a past. But boy. That was some revelation.
He certainly knows how to handle himself. Do I even want to know where that came from?
The motorbike weaves through London, and I content myself with hunkering low against Adam’s broad back. With all the adrenalin still shooting through me, I don’t know if I can manage breakfast. But I definitely want a conversation.
I need to know what’s going on. How does Adam have gangster connections?
The bike slows along London Bridge, and Adam pulls up to the edge.
“Borough Market,” he explains, gesturing to a huge covered section to the west side of the Bridge. “Ever been here?”
“No,” I admit, “But I’ve heard about it.”
“Best place in London to get a breakfast martini,” says Adam. And without further explanation, he grabs my hand, and plunges me into the colourful stalls.
We pass artisan cheese and meat sellers, and fresh roasting coffee stalls, until we’re at the foot of a large glass door.
“This is Roast,” explains Adam pushing the door open. “We’ll have a bit of breakfast here.”
He seems so casual. As if nothing happened. I follow him, mystified. Can he really forget so quickly?
Ten minutes ago he was attacked with a knife. Now he’s taking me for breakfast as though it’s a normal day.
Adam walks me up a flight of stairs, and into an airy restaurant made of glass, which looks out over the market.
Ordinarily, I would be impressed by the views of the various stalls and traders. But all I can think about is how badly I need to understand what just happened.
Who was the Adam Morgan I just saw take out two gangsters? Where did he come from?
Adam settles us at a table, and the waiter brings us menus.
“So,” says Adam smiling, “what’s next for you Summer? How is your collaboration with Dev.as.station going?”
I stare at him in amazement.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I reply, incredulous.
Adam looks confused.
“What?” he opens his menu.
“What do you think?” I glare at him. “You just saved me from… Well, who knows who those men were. But I know they’re violent thugs. Probably gangsters. And then there’s my drugged up ex-boyfriend. Who you intimated with your… I don’t know. Gangster connections?”
“Oh that,” says Adam with an innocent smile. “All in a morning’s work for the average pop star.”
He closes the menu and summons the waiter.
Oh he’s maddening.
I narrow my eyes at him.
“You know
exactly
what I mean,” I say. “You…”
The waiter arrives, forcing me to suspend my angry retort for a moment.
“Two breakfast martinis please,” says Adam, “we’ll order food in a moment.”
The waiter nods and retreats.
I lower my voice to a hiss.
“You know exactly what I mean,” I repeat.
“Do I?”
“Yes,” I say, labouring the word. “You do.”
He doesn’t say anything beyond that infuriating smile, so I press on.
“I mean,” I say, “what the hell
was
that in there? One day you’re a singer, and the next you’re a superhero?”
“Ah. You mean my move with the knife?” asks Adam. “Good wasn’t it? I learned that as a little kid. Always useful. There were a lot of knives around in Belfast in my day.”
I’m about to reply, when the waiter glides up to the table with our drinks. Two martini glasses, beaded with frosty condensation are set before us. The liquid is golden hued, served with a curl of orange.
Adam thanks the waiter, picks up his drink and takes a sip. He sighs with pleasure.
“Mmmmm,” he says swallowing. “You should try it.”
“Adam!” I almost shout the word in frustration, and then lower my voice to a hiss. “This is serious!”
He grins at me, and raises a hand in protest.
“Ok, ok. I’m sorry,” he says. “I am taking this seriously. Why else would I be ordering martinis for breakfast?”
My eyes slide to the drink in front of me. It does look surprisingly appetising, given that it’s not yet 11am.
“Try it,” he says.
I hesitate.
“Summer,” says Adam, his voice harder now. “I am prepared to discuss this with you. But first you need to calm down. Drink your drink, and we’ll talk.”
I open my mouth and shut it again. Then, defeated, I pick up the drink.
“Isn’t it a bit early to be drinking?” I protest weakly.
“Absolutely not,” says Adam. “After the morning we’ve had, a breakfast martini is the perfect antidote. It’s a gin martini with a dash of fresh marmalade,” he explains, adding, “you’ll like it,” when he sees my expression.
“I guess I’d better,” I mutter, “cause I don’t think I’m going to be able to eat anything.”
“You’re not hungry?” he asks.
“Early morning meetings with violent lowlife
s don’t have the best effect on my appetite.”
Adam gestures with his glass.
“Drink it,” he commands. “You’ll feel differently.”
Based on the acid feeling still swirling in my stomach, I don’t believe him. But the drink does look appealing.
Adam picks his up and takes a long sip.
I sniff the glass, which does, admittedly, smell delicious. Like fresh oranges with a subtle herbal note. Then I take a tentative sip.
“It is good,” I concede, at the tangy liquid passes over my tongue. “Really good.”
I take another sip. It’s difficult to believe something alcohol
ic could be so refreshing. But as the alcohol hits my stomach, some of the adrenalin starts to drain away. I take another grateful gulp.
“Feel better?” he asks.
“Maybe a little,” I confess begrudgingly.
“I thought so.”
Adam sets down his drink, and folds his hands.
“Now that you’re a little calmer,” he says. “What would you like to ask me?”
I hesitate, sifting through the mountain of potential questions.
“Who is Paddy McGuire?” I ask, remembering Dez’s reaction. “Is he a gangster?”
Adam pauses.
“No,” he says after a moment. “Not exactly.”
He steeples his fingers and rests them against his mouth, as if searching for the right description.
“Paddy is a man who knows dangerous men,” Adam says eventually. “He’s not a dealer, and he’s not a gangster. But he’s respected by the highest ranking criminals in London. And he’s not a man to be messed with.”
I take a long draft of my martini. It’s really hitting the spot. I can feel my tensions uncoiling.
“How does that work?” I ask, “How does this… Paddy, get connections like that?”
“Paddy did time in prison,” says Adam, “He was what you might call a political prisoner, back in the eighties.”
“And what might others call him?” I ask, assessing this description. “A terrorist?”
My heart is beating a little faster. Does Adam have connections with the IRA?
Adam ponders this calmly.
“No,” he says eventually. “Not by my definition. He was never involved in bombs and violence. But he was active in helping men, who believed they were fighting for freedom.”
I say nothing to this, so Adam continues speaking.
“During the troubles in Ireland, Paddy was incarcerated in London. And during his spell in prison, he made friends with the right people. That was always a gift of his.”
Adam raises an eyebrow.
“You’re probably too young to remember,” he says, “but a few decades back, the English started locking up Irish men without trial. Under any suspicion of terrorism.”
“And Paddy was one of those men?”
“Yes he was,” says Adam. “And if you imprison innocent men with no trial,” he says, “you risk turning them into radicals. You also give them access to a dangerous criminal underclass. Not very smart. Particularly since us Irish have a knack for making friends. Paddy came out of prison more bitter and powerful than he went in.”
“And how do you know him?” I press.
Adam sits back a little, as though deciding how best to answer.
“Let’s just say he owes me a favour.”
I drain my glass frustrated. At least the alcohol is making it easier to be blunt with Adam.
“That’s not an answer,” I accuse.
“And you may never get an answer,” says Adam easily. “Because I don’t want you involved in all that side of me.”
“This… This past of yours,” I say. “You can’t just break out this hidden side of yourself and expect me not to ask questions.”
Adam’s face is serious.
“You know all you need to know,” he says. “I’ve told you. I grew up in a rough neighbourhood. We all had to deal with… situations. Some of us learned better than others. Those of us who are still alive in fact,” he adds with a thoughtful swig of martini. “Simple as that.”
“But it’s not as simple as that,” I say. “How do you end up pulling rank with a man who controls London gangsters?”
Adam shakes his head.
“Something happened, didn’t it?” I press. “To your family? Your brothers?”
I’m clutching at straws here. Remembering how his face darkens at the mention of his brothers. And the flicker on his face tells me I’ve hit the mark.
“Enough Summer,” he says. His voice is gentle, but I can tell by the tone, that this subject is over.
“I want to know all of you Adam,” I sigh, making one last ditch attempt to get to the bottom of this morning’s drama. “Not just the good stuff. The bad stuff as well.”
Adam eyes cloud over, like he’s a distance away.
“All you need to know about me,” he says. “Is that I can protect you. Simple as that.”
“I do know that,” I say with feeling. “But has it occurred to you, that I need to protect you too? In my own way?”
His face is total confusion.
“You don’t need to protect me Summer.”
“But I do,” I say, cutting him off. The martini has made me vocal. “Just not in the way you think.”
I hold his eyes, trying to make him understand.
“A man protects a woman from the outside world,” I explain carefully.
I lean across the table and touch his heart.
“But a woman protects her man here. On the inside.” I say, looking into his eyes.
Adam’s expression is hard to read.
Does he understand
?
“But I can’t protect you,” I conclude, “if you don’t tell me anything about yourself. Do you understand? I don’t want this mysterious Adam Morgan. I want you. Just you. All of you.”
I drop my hand to take his, and sit back on my chair.
Adam squeezes my hand slightly, and then very slowly he extracts his hand from my grip. For some reason, it feels as though my heart is breaking.
Then he speaks.
“Summer,” he says softly. “There are some things…” His eyes cast down, and then flick back up to mine. “I’m not saying I’d never tell you,” he says. “But this is hard for me.”
“Then maybe you just need time,” I say, touched by his honesty.
Adam looks uncertain.
I’m suddenly overwhelmed by him. The fact he rescued me. The hidden depths that he tries to hide.
Adam has done so much for me. Risked so much. The realisation bubbles up as a thick wave of love.
Right now, I don’t need to know about his past. I just flat out love him.
I take a breath, stunned by the strength of my feeling.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “Truly. You saved me back there. I’m very grateful for your hidden persona. Even it frightens me how little I seem to know about you,” I conclude with a rueful smile.
Adam smiles back slightly, and then we’re both lost in each other’s eyes.
We sit like that a long moment, like no-one else exists in the world.
Then Adam’s eyes flick away, and I see the waiter closing in.
“So how about that breakfast?” asks Adam as the waiter draws up at our table, “you hungry yet?”
I grin at him. “You know what? I am.”
“I told you that martini would do the trick,” he smiles.
“Yeah,” I concede scanning the menu. “You were right.” I turn to the waiter. “Can I get the savoury pancakes and poached eggs?”
The waiter nods and turns to Adam.
“I’ll have eggs benedict please,” Adam says, snapping his menu shut and handing it back. “Summer, you want a drink? Juice? Coffee?”