Love Lies

There’s a silence. It lasts for about a week and I’m beginning to think Jess has hung up; eventually she sighs and says, ‘So what’s he like then? Scott?’

‘Brilliant, amazing, beyond words,’ I garble; instantly grinning broadly.

‘And you’re sure of that, already?’

‘Everyone knows that much,’ I answer simply. I try to turn the conversation. ‘We’ve set a date.’

‘For the wedding?’

‘Yes. October second. It’s a Friday. And of course, it

‘This October? Jesus, Fern, what’s the rush?’

Jess’s tone suggests that marrying Scott in a hurry might not be a brilliant idea; which is awkward considering he’s listening. Maybe I should tell her that she’s on speakerphone.

‘I’m marrying Scott Taylor. Explanation enough, surely,’ I say confidently and then I blow Scott a kiss. There’s another silence; stupidly, I try to fill it. ‘I feel really rough today. We had such a big night last night. I think I peed pure champagne this morning.’ For lack of anything better to say – after all, I daren’t broach the subject of my new home and my chat about my new fiance was stonewalled – I add, ‘Just think, Jess, I can pee champagne every day of my life from now on, if I want to!’

‘Nice thought,’ she mumbles.

‘You should come here before the wedding. Have a holiday. Why don’t you?’

‘It isn’t a good time for me to do that.’

‘Is it the money? You needn’t worry about the money. Scott will buy you a ticket if I ask him to. He’s really ridiculously generous.’ I flash Scott a beam. I’m a little self-conscious about singing his praises in front of him, although he seems happy enough to listen. He nods encouragingly.

‘You do love the man don’t you, not just the money?’ Bloody hell. I really should have mentioned the speakerphone.

‘Yes, Jess, I do,’ I reply hotly and firmly. However understandable Jess’s question is, Scott must find it offensive. It’s offensive to me actually! I’m not a gold-digger or a star-fucker, Jess knows that. Doesn’t she? She’s known me for ever. I look at him while I speak to Jess. ‘He’s sensational. And he wants to marry me and have babies with me. It doesn’t get any better than this.’

‘If the papers are anything to go by, he’s quite a handful. He has so many demons and is constantly fighting his addictions. It’s not your scene at all.’ Jess sounds quite breathless, as though she’s rushing through a prepared speech. I’m beginning to think she might have been working on it all week. She carries on, ‘People in bands, they have breakdowns, do drug overdoses and do weird things during sex with oranges. It’s not for you, Fern.’

I struggle to simultaneously control my temper and hide my embarrassment. Behind his back, people probably say this sort of stuff about him all the time but that doesn’t mean he wants to listen to it. I take a deep breath. ‘He’s really special and special people are always complicated. I want to help Scott deal with the whole enormous adulation thing. Maybe he can be the pop exception and just come through as a normal human being. He’s clean, now,’ I insist.

I stare right at Scott as I deliver this speech defending his honour. I really want him to see that I’m innocent and hopeful and loyal. My views are different from Jess’s. I’m different.

‘He’s clean right now, maybe,’ says Jess.

Abruptly Scott gets up and walks away; he’s heard enough. Neither my best smile nor my pleading eyes can

Once he’s safely out of earshot I round on her. ‘Jess, despite the fact that he’s a ludicrously wealthy pop star, who has travelled the world, met interesting people and slept with them, and I’m a painfully skint florist, who has travelled Zone 1 and 2 by tube, met the same people again and again and slept with a few of them – we are a lot alike. I’ve never been happier. Why can’t you be happy for me?’

‘I don’t believe in fairy tales.’

‘I thought you did.’

‘No. I believe in dreams coming true. It’s a different thing.’

‘Being with Scott has reminded me that life is supposed to be utterly splendid. We’re meant to enjoy as much of life as we can.’

‘Yeah, without hurting anyone.’

‘Goes without saying.’

‘But as you’ve run off with Scott you’ve hurt Adam.’

‘Are you suggesting that I should have stayed with Adam to save his feelings? What sort of relationship is that? Adam had his chance. I wanted to marry Adam. I wanted to move things on to a more serious and committed level. I wanted him to propose. But he didn’t.’

‘What if he had? Would you still have left him for Scott Taylor then?’ demands Jess.

‘He didn’t,’ I reply firmly.

Suddenly my mouth tastes metallic; a taste I normally associate with waiting to see if my card will be rejected at the till point or going to the dentist – fear generally. That Buck’s Fizz I had earlier must have been off. What have I got to be afraid of? A third long silence stretches between me and my best hate – sorry, I mean best mate. But honestly! Couldn’t she have pretended to be happier for me? What would that have cost her? I can feel every one of the 5,456 miles that separates us. I want Scott to come back. I want him to put his arms around me; maybe then I’d have the guts to hang up on my old life, although there probably isn’t any need. If Jess’s reaction is anything to go by then I think my old life will hang up on me pretty damn soon. Why does it have to be like this?

‘You need to call Adam. You see it as a done deal.’

‘I told him it was a done deal.’

‘You were both drunk, he didn’t take you seriously. He thought it was a fight you’d get over by the next evening.’

‘Well, I’m sure he sees things differently now,’ I say with a frustrated sigh. ‘He does read the papers.’

‘You owe him a proper explanation, at least that much after four years. He’s a good guy. You know that.’

‘OK, OK, if I agree to call him will you agree to talk about something different? Like bridesmaids’ dresses for instance,’ I bargain.

‘I am not wearing pink.’

‘Fine, how about mauve?’

For a moment I think she might show an interest but my hopes are dashed when she says, ‘He’ll be back in a

He’s eating then. Not so heartbroken. I’ve had enough of this nonsense from Jess. She’s supposed to be my friend. Snippily I say, ‘He won’t want to have a big emotional talk and risk his pork chow mein going cold. Anyway, I’ve got to go now; I’m supposed to be somewhere else.’

I hang up. I don’t bother to explain to my naggy mate that my pressing engagement is dragging my sun-bed out of the shade (or watching someone else drag it, to be precise). Rolling on to my stomach, so that my back gets tanned, would probably seem like a flimsy excuse for not talking to my ex.

43. Scott

Straight after lunch Fern and I jump in my yellow Lamborghini Murcielago and speed off to Santa Monica pier. Fern’s really chuffed because we are alone; which – apart from Bob, who follows us in the Audi – we are. We don’t talk about her phone call with her mate. It’s a downer and I don’t want to do ‘down’ this afternoon; I want to do ‘tourist’.

The sun guarantees smiles as well as flip-flops and we wander hand in hand and on air. We cross a bridge above a busy, multi-lane road. The air smells of gasoline and hot tarmac but when I breathe deeply there is a hint of sea breeze, accentuated and made more convincing by the sound of seagulls. Fern reads a little plaque and tells