another copy, apparently. I e-mailed back denying all knowledge and that was the end of our correspondence. I’ve stayed registered for the last six years (because I signed up by direct debit and don’t know where people find the energy to cancel direct debits) and in those six years I’ve had a grand total of three messages, until last month.
Each and every one of the messages I opened was
‘Delete the lot,’ said Scott, when I told him about the sudden influx of messages.
‘I haven’t finished reading them.’
‘Waste of time. They all want the same thing. Association. This happened to me when I got the record deal with X-treme. A zillion liggers wrote to remind me how we’d once been best mates, even my old German teacher, which was odd because I distinctly remember him saying that he hated the very sight of me and dreaded Tuesdays when he’d have to be in the same room as me.’
I deleted the messages.
There have been no messages from Jess. I miss her. It’s weird. I’m constantly surrounded by an endless trail of people. There are people to brush my hair, draw my bath, warm my towels, fix my makeup, drive me places, dress me, cook for me, do crosswords with me, whatever – but this crowd doesn’t stop me feeling… what? Lonely? Not quite lonely. That word is too strong. It’s just that while I’m vital to these people (their jobs are dependent on me) I sometimes get the strangest feeling – I feel they don’t see me. I’m invisible, and no amount of designer
I grab my phone and call Jess again before I think of a reason not to. The weeks of not speaking properly to one another have opened up a chasm, and I wonder if I can leap over it. I want to.
Amazingly she picks up. ‘Hey Jess.’ I gush excitedly. ‘Is this a good time to call? Or am I interrupting anything?’ My opener is pretty much an apology.
‘I’m in the supermarket.’
‘Oh. How are you?’
‘Good, the same. You know.’
She sounds a bit odd. Distracted. I tell myself she’s busy but I’m pretty sure she’s miffed. The odd thing is I’m not sure what I’ve done wrong besides become rich and famous, but how can that be wrong? I don’t know what to say next. She hasn’t asked how I am. If I volunteer the information I’ll risk sounding unbearable. What can I say? Oh your life’s ‘the same,’ is it? Well, mine has completely turned round and is so unbelievably fantastic I think I might explode with joy. Er, no, not right.
‘Did you get your invite?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, and the plane ticket. Thanks, very generous of you.’ Her tone is grudging. I hoped she’d be thrilled.
‘No, not at all. It’s the least I can do. I’m the one getting married bloody miles away, I can’t expect everyone to fork out for a flight.’ I try to down-play the three grand, Club Class ticket. It’s odd. I always imagined that one of
‘How’s Adam?’ I hadn’t planned to say that next. Or indeed ever. I just did it to fill in a conversational gap. I think Jess is as surprised as I am.
‘You said you’d call him.’
To say what? ‘I’ve been meaning to but things have been so hectic, you know.’
‘Well, you can talk to him now, if you like.’
‘He’s with you?’ I’d deliberately called Jess on her mobile and not at the flat to avoid this happening. What are they doing in the supermarket together?
‘He’s in the tinned food section, I’m in the pasta aisle. We take it in turns to cook for one another now and so it makes sense to shop together. It makes a dreary job more fun.’
Very cosy. ‘You take turns to cook for each other?’
‘Adam wasn’t eating. He needed looking after.’ She then whispers, ‘He’s been really floored by you leaving like this, Fern. You really should talk to him.’
‘OK, OK, put him on.’ I know I have to face him eventually. I was just hoping that eventually meant on my deathbed.
I imagine Jess hunting Adam down among the baked
After a moment Adam comes on to the phone.
‘Fern,’ he says gruffly and formally.
The formality, although probably appropriate, is strange and uncomfortable. My mouth feels dry; I could do with a drink. A large G&T might help. ‘How are you, Adam?’ I ask, stepping into the boxing ring.
‘Great.’
Not what I’ve heard, but what can I say? I try to sound bright and casual to counter his dark and serious tone. ‘So you’re cooking dinner for Jess tonight.’
‘So you are marrying Scottie Taylor next month.’
Whack. Blow straight between the eyes. ‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘You have no right to imply that I shouldn’t be cooking for Jess.’
‘I wasn’t implying that.’ Was I? No, I wasn’t because it doesn’t mean anything that they are shopping and cooking together. They’re just buddies, and besides even if it did mean something, it’s none of my business.
‘It doesn’t mean anything that we are shopping and cooking together. We’re just buddies, and besides even if it did mean something it’s none of your business,’ says Adam. When did he develop the ability to read my mind?
‘I know that, I’m just trying to be polite to take an interest in what you are doing with your free time.’
‘The implication being that I’ve had plenty of that recently,’ he says sarcastically.
‘Adam, don’t,’ I plead quietly.
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
‘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
‘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 fiance 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 fiance 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
