Love Lies (26 page)

He cuts straight to the chase. ‘You shouldn’t marry him, Fern. He’s a mistake.’

Ah, round two already, I didn’t even hear the bell. I take a deep breath and try for a measured reaction; I must not let Adam rile me.

‘You’re wrong, Adam. He’s the biggest thing that ever happened to me.’

‘Yeah, the biggest mistake you’ll ever make. I worked with him. I know what he’s like.’

‘You worked with him for a few days, you don’t know him.’

‘He has a reputation. He’s an addict. He’s a man trampled by regret and torn with choices. He’s angry and unreliable. You should keep away from him.’

This is why I didn’t want to ring Adam. Of course he’s not completely incorrect. I’d be a fool to try to pretend to Adam that I think a relationship with Scott is going to be all plain sailing; it would be easier fooling myself. Scott does have some problems, he’s the first to admit it, but we love each other and that will be enough to get us through anything, won’t it? Yes it will. I’m shocked that a flicker of doubt entered my mind even for a split second. Where did that come from? I snuff out the doubt as quickly as I can. Of course our love is strong enough to get us through. We’ve had a blast so far. Really good fun, nothing but laughs. We’re amazing. We’re different. Sod Adam for rocking my boat.

‘I’ll be able to sort it all out, smooth it all over,’ I insist.

‘You’d need to be his mother, wife, counsellor, doctor, best mate. There isn’t enough of you to go round to patch him up.’ Adam pauses; I think his attack is over. Hurrah, I can run back to the corner of the ring, relatively unscathed, but then he relaunches. ‘Look, I don’t want to shock you but he’s awash with rumours. He sleeps with everyone that moves.’

In a way it’s quite sweet that Adam, my lover of four years, thinks I might be somehow shocked to hear that my pop star fiancé is not a virgin. If Adam had any idea of the level of detail Scott has gone into when revealing his past, his hair would curl. Sometimes, I do wish Scott would keep a tiny bit back. It might have been nice if he’d been as delicate as Adam is trying to be. It’s hard not to have nightmares about the endless breasts Scott’s caressed, the legs that have wrapped around him, the lips he’s known, the sound of their moans as they’ve come. Especially since I’ve yet to have that pleasure. Adam interrupts my horrid thoughts, or rather, in some ghoulish telepathic way, he elaborates on my horrid thoughts.

‘Scott just goes from one conquest to the next. He’s incapable of commitment.’

And yet Scott’s the one who proposed. A timely reminder.

‘Well, it takes one to know one,’ I say sharply.

I wonder if this is the moment to remind Adam that I’m with Scott because Adam couldn’t commit. Wouldn’t commit. He had his chance and he didn’t want to grab it. What is he doing now? Has he turned into one of those men who doesn’t want me for himself but doesn’t want me to be happy with anyone else either? How mean! How dare he talk about my fiancé like this? What right does he have? I’ve had enough. I know Jess wants me to go easy on Adam but why the hell should I? He’s not being easy on me. I summon my dignity.

Calmly I say, ‘Adam, Scott’s told me all about his past. He’s been really honest. He told me everything. You can’t shock me. You can’t ruin this. Scott’s already dished his own dirt. But he’s clean now.’

‘And what are you? Part of his recovery plan?’

‘I would be if he needed me to be,’ I say firmly.

Adam sighs. I can hear his despair across the ocean. He must know I’m not going to listen to him and yet he carries on. I wonder why he’s bothering.

‘He’s unstable and he’s an actor. You’ll never know when he’s for real. Like, when he does that overwhelmed shrug thing to the audience, like he’s just amazed. He did that on all three nights of the concert.’

‘He was overwhelmed.’ I’m fed up with this now.

‘I’ve been watching the DVD of his Wembley gig, Fern, over and over again. The man can’t be trusted.’ It’s official, Adam has turned into a psycho. What is he doing watching Scott’s DVD over and over? ‘Do you remember he’d act all nervous and he’d beg the audience not to believe the stuff that was written in the tabloids? He’d be practically crying and then in an instant he’d be as hard as nails again. It’s an act and you don’t want to be part of that.’

‘How do you know what I want to be part of?’

‘I know you,’ he says confidently.

I swallow an elephant. That’s the first thing Adam has said that I can agree with. He does know me. Or at least did. I’m different now. Or at least things are different now. Suddenly I feel tense and anxious. I had a massage only this morning, there’s no reason for me to feel uptight. I was dreading this conversation but I didn’t expect it to be this upsetting.

‘Look, thanks for your concern, can you give the phone back to Jess now,’ I say wearily.

‘How did it go?’ asks Jess. ‘I didn’t listen in, I wanted to give you some privacy so I skulked around the yogurt section for a bit. Have you two cleared the air?’

‘You could say that.’ Or you could say that my ex is a lunatic. A vengeful, cruel lunatic. I don’t think there’s any point in saying this to Jess. It’s clear her sympathies lie with Adam and she’s not in the frame of mind to hear it from my point of view. Instead I just add, ‘Yeah, we’re all sorted now.’

‘Good, you’ll both feel better for it. Now you can both move on.’ Jess’s tone is considerably brighter than I’ve heard from her in a long time.

‘I’ve already moved on,’ I tell her haughtily. Adam’s words, inaccurate and spiteful, have had a much bigger effect than they deserve; I feel irrationally narky. ‘I moved on weeks ago.’

‘Yes. Yes, you did and that’s why I hope you’ll have a think about what I want to ask you.’

‘What?’

‘Well, you know the invite to your wedding said plus one.’

‘Yeah.’ Please God, don’t let her ask that. Let me be wrong about what I’m sure is coming next.

‘Do you mind if I bring Adam?’ God, are you listening?

‘Bring Adam as your date?’ I ask, stunned.

‘No, no, no nothing like that. Adam isn’t ready to date, but bring him to help him get closure.’

If Adam were ready to date, is that what she’s hoping for? Jess wants to date Adam? I remember the first gig at Wembley, Jess turned up done up to the eyeballs. Lisa said Jess was hoping for a brief encounter with Scott, seems like we had that all wrong. Could she have been interested in Adam all along? How long? When we were all living together? Is that possible? I mull it over. It would explain why Jess has so suddenly and decisively distanced herself from me and why she’s been so keen for him to have closure. I distinctly remember her saying she wasn’t averse to sloppy seconds.

I feel terrible. Sick to the pit of my stomach. I don’t understand why. It’s not like I’m one of those people who doesn’t want someone but doesn’t want anyone else to have them either. It’s mean. It’s not possible that I still want him for myself. Why would I want that? I have Scott. Scottie Taylor. I have all of this. I cast my eyes around the manicured gardens; all’s quiet right now except for the sound of birds singing and the gentle whiz as the sprinklers discreetly do their job. The grass is lush and green, the sky is a vivid, vital blue; pretty soon I’ll see Scott drop from the sky in a helicopter – he’s just popped over to Mexico, as he’s buying a racehorse. While he’s there he will no doubt pick up shoes, bags and other treats for me. But. But I feel terrible.

I know why. For one thing I’d lose Jess’s friendship if she and Adam dated. Irretrievably. And for a second, well, it would be weird! Adam kissing Jess’s body. Adam meeting Jess from work. Adam patiently sitting outside the changing-room while Jess tried on dozens of tops in H&M. Adam and Jess doing all that everyday stuff that Adam and I used to do. That would be so weird.

‘I thought the phone call was for closure,’ I stutter.

‘Well, let’s hope it is.’

‘I’m not sure Scott would like Adam coming to the wedding,’ I stall.

‘But the church will be half full of his exes. How could he possibly mind?’

How indeed? And how could I? I take a deep breath, one from far down in my flip-flops. ‘Great, yes, invite Adam.’ He won’t come anyway. Will he? Why would he want to come? Other than for a free holiday in LA, with Jess.

Oh. My. God.

52. Scott

In absence of actual sex Fern and I turn each other on with our thoughts and words. We often talk through the night until the sun comes up. Ben joins us more often than not but that’s OK, he’s a great chaperone, and happily his presence doesn’t take anything away from the intimacy. We’re busy all day, doing our separate thing, but we come together at dusk like tired snow cranes flocking to watch the sunset. We three lie next to one another, outside in the hammocks or on the sun-beds, Fern and I holding hands across the gap. We listen to the sounds of Beverly Hills and watch the black sky turn purple, then red, then orange and finally a bright morning blue. I love studying the colours as they unfold. Ben says it’s like watching a bunch of flowers uncurl and bloom; Fern got that – they have this flower thing going on between them. I need to get into flowers more, maybe.

I sometimes read them the lyrics from Wedding Album. They both love everything I’ve written and Ben keeps begging me to let him come to the studio to listen to the recording. He’s so full of enthusiasm, Ben is. When I read to them he sits up, mind wide open and legs swinging, leaning towards me. If he likes something particularly, he can’t stop his hands gesticulating wildly to make a point; he’s like some jacked-up windmill. When Fern likes something she’s very still, she treats me to a slow, wide, face-splitting smile. I’m beginning to appreciate stillness a bit more. It’s not something I have hope to be but it’s restful to be around. Very pleasant.

There’s always a stage in the night, sometimes two or three occasions, when the atmosphere, already thick with cigarette smoke, becomes denser still with palpable longing. As I open and shut my mouth I gulp in oxygen and want, and soon I don’t know which I need the most. I expel ideas and yearning; both are lapped up.

Inevitably we begin to fidget and struggle in our hammocks; uptight and edgy as we imagine banging out our need on each other’s bodies. I ache to pull at her clothes hungrily, to repeatedly and insistently grab, bite, lick, kiss and consume her. I’d like it deep and fast in illicit places, long and slow on one of the many beds.

I’d have it any old way. Then I think, screw stillness.

Why do I make these things so hard for myself? Mark is right, I should probably just fuck her and get it over with.

I can hear Fern and Ben heading my way; they’re in the corridor debating which champagnes they prefer.

‘I think I’m a Taittinger man, on reflection, it has a crispness to it that I appreciate. Bollinger and Moët are more yeasty,’ says Ben seriously.

‘Can you really tell the difference between all these champagnes?’ Fern asks. She sounds impressed.

‘Yes. Can’t you?’

‘Not really.’

‘Then don’t touch the Cristal, leave that for me,’ says Ben. The man has taste. Cristal costs upward of a hundred quid per bottle. I have stuff in my cellar that cost three thousand.

I’m so glad Fern has Ben to play with while I’m busy. He’s good to have around. I liked him on first impression when he helped me fit out his shop with those flowers Fern likes. Frankly, I couldn’t have done it without him. He sourced the flowers, arranged delivery, sourced the vases and buckets and arranged the flowers. I paid. It was clear to me from the moment I first set eyes on him that he would do anything for her, and me, of course; but then everyone will do anything for me. It’s turned out that he’s a natural Los Angel. He is polite, polished, upfront and unapologetic. He’s becoming more camp by the second and when he’s not playing Professor Higgins to Fern’s Eliza Doolittle he’s at the gym or the tanning shop or the beauty parlour. Somehow he still manages to squeeze in almost daily calls to his florist shop back in the UK to check that his business is thriving.

They come into the den. ‘What have you two been up to today?’ I ask.

‘I’ve just picked up some zero fat frozen yogurts and a re-supply of E-boost dietary supplement from the bagel café,’ says Ben. Gone are the days when any of us would buy curry or a pickled egg at the chippie.

‘And now we’re meeting Colleen to talk about the wedding,’ says Fern. Of course they are.

I’ve been so busy in the studio that I haven’t been involved in the planning at all. Too many cooks spoil the broth and all that. But Mark says I have to show I’m supportive and interested. ‘How’s it all coming together?’

Fern looks delighted I’ve asked. She flips open her Smythson leather-bound wedding planning notebook. ‘Colleen gave me an updated status list this morning. Should I take it from the top?’

‘Go for it.’

‘Well, we’ve chosen the diamonds for my jewellery and for the bridesmaids’ presents.’

‘All very sparkly,’ chips in Ben.

‘We’ve confirmed the venue, menu, wines and champagne,’ Fern adds.

‘All very yummy,’ encourages Ben.

‘The booklets for the service are at the printers.’

‘We’ve ordered three thousand candles.’

‘Four hundred ornate birdcages.’

‘Packed with silk butterflies.’

I raise my eyebrows ‘For?’

‘For the tables.’

‘Right,’ I nod.

‘Yesterday we earnestly discussed feathers, tea-light holders, baubles and the exact shade of icing for heart-shaped biscuits for ten consecutive hours. We all agreed it was a great Hollywood moment and Colleen opened the champagne,’ says Fern with a full-on laugh.

Ben puts his hand on Fern’s shoulders and starts to lead her out of the door. ‘Speaking of Colleen, we’re supposed to be meeting her right about now and Mark sent us to find you, Scott. He wants you to come too.’

Mark has an A-list quota he’s keen to meet and is fanatically monitoring the replies as they come in.

‘But you can’t see the dress designs,’ says Fern, looking concerned. ‘It’s unlucky.’

‘It’s unlucky for the groom to see the bride in the actual dress,’ I correct.

‘Just stay by the door,’ insists Ben.