Love Lies

‘I think you’re wrong,’ I say, struggling to sound calm.

Mark shrugs. I get the feeling he doesn’t much care

Where is Scott? It never crossed my mind to go and discuss my worries about this contract with him. That’s odd. That’s not right. I think it’s because he stayed absolutely silent when the lawyers presented the pre-nup. No matter what I asked him, he played dumb. So now I’ve come to Mark, hoping he can sort it out, explain it, tidy it away. After all, that’s what Mark does.

I was quickly made aware that there are a number of people who put themselves between Scott and me and I’ve co-operated when necessary, but I’d always assumed – hoped – they’d fade away as I settled into my life in LA. I realize the opposite has happened; their influence seems to have spread and stained – like billows of blood after a shark’s bite. It’s wrong. It’s all wrong.

‘And if I don’t agree to sign this?’ I ask.

‘Well, that’s your right,’ replies Mark. ‘You can say that you don’t want a pre-nup and that you want to go into this marriage with as much hope and as little chance as every other bride does.’ I nod, ferociously confirming this is indeed my wish. Mark shrugs, pauses and then adds, ‘But he might not go ahead. He might not want to marry you if he knows you can embarrass him in public, perhaps ruin him. He’s been damaged enough by the media. He might not want to take that risk.’

I feel as though I’ve just been dropped into a bag of spiders as every hair on my body stands up tall. I can’t lose him. I can’t. Scott has become my everything. His world is my world. I love it. I love him; everyone does. I

I look at Mark and try to weigh up whether he is a dependable conduit of communication or whether he’s as much good as the ‘telephones’ Fiona and I used to make as kids. We would tie a couple of paper cups together with a piece of string, run in opposite directions until the string was taut and then bellow to one another. The message never carried around corners and all subtleties were lost.

Mark smiles at me. I don’t respond. He shrugs at me; it seems a more truthful gesture.

‘OK, I’ll sign it,’ I say wearily.

What choice do I have? I just want to get out of the room.

58. Scott

Fern and I haven’t rowed but I’ve been on the receiving end of an inevitable low-grade sulk since Mark first introduced her to the lawyers. It’s to be expected, all very normal, all very predictable, but somehow, the fact that she is behaving as expected is disappointing to me. She’s not extraordinary then. She’s like all the other hundreds of women I’ve met. When I say this to Mark he sighs, ‘I hope to God you are right, son.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m counting on the fact that she’s as weak and malleable as every other bugger. The last thing we need now is an autonomous philosophy emerging; that could only lead to trouble. In fact, I think you need to go and apply a band-aid. Do a bit of fussing and soothing, make her feel better about everything. Loved up. The most important thing here is that she remains head over heels about you.’

‘I hope you’re not suggesting that’s in any doubt,’ I say huffily.

‘No lad, I’m not. She was half in love with you before she met you. You saw the postcard pinned to her staff- room wall. I spotted the photo of her with your waxwork when I was scouring her albums.’

Mark isn’t going to say what we both know; being half in love with the image of me is quite different from being real me. Pretty much everyone on the planet is the first; my mum is the only absolute definite in the second camp.

‘We don’t want to fuck this up, Scott, not when we’re so close and we’ve all worked so hard,’ adds Mark, warily.

‘OK, OK, I’ll go and sweet-talk her.’

I find her outside, stood near the pool. It’s getting dark but it’s still warm. I put my arms around her waist and kiss her neck. I feel the hairs on her body respond, confirming what we all need to know – I’m irresistible.

‘Hey, my beautiful wifie-to-be, what are you doing out here all on your own?’

‘Just thinking,’ says Fern. She doesn’t turn towards me but she does lean her head back to rest on my chest; she melts into me and we both silently watch the sunset. For about three and a half minutes. I can’t stay still for longer than that.

‘Did you have a chat with Ben today?’ I asked Ben to talk to Fern about the pre-nup stuff. To point out that he thinks it’s perfectly reasonable (which he does) and that she’s done the right thing by signing (which she has).

‘Yes.’

Well, that’s good, although her staunch silence suggests that I still have to put a bit more effort in. I don’t want to talk directly about the pre-nup; it’s a can of worms, so instead, I go tactical.

‘What is it you want, Fern?’ I ask with a sigh.

Clever this, for two reasons. One, by calling her Fern, instead of ‘Sweets’ or ‘Petal’ – my usual endearments – I’ll make her realize I’m being very serious, taking her very

‘I wanted the fairy tale,’ she murmurs. Her answer surprises me. It’s very honest.

‘That’s what you’ve got, Sweets,’ I say, tightening my hold around her, drawing her closer to my body. I start to think about having sex with her because then my cock will stiffen and women love that too. They all love to think I can’t restrain myself around them; that they’re irresistible to me. Nothing doing, so I start to think of having sex with her and Scarlett Johansson. That does it. Fern doesn’t say anything, so I’m forced to go where I wanted never to tread. ‘This stuff with the lawyers doesn’t mean you have any less of a fairy tale, you know.’ Of course, this isn’t strictly true. Let’s face it, when reading Cinderella no one has ever seen the page where a bunch of overpaid, over- educated arseholes divide up Prince Charming’s property, have they?

‘In a way I think it does,’ says Fern, insisting on remaining committed to telling me stuff as she sees it. ‘But, actually, that’s not what I’m thinking about.’

Really? I know curiosity killed the cat. Thing is, there are times when I can be really strong and other times I’m

‘Oh, Jess and stuff.’

‘Is she still acting all jealous and grumpy?’

‘Something like that.’

Problem is, Fern is so wrapped up in her new life she has no idea what the people left behind are feeling. This mate – all her mates – no doubt feel jealous, abandoned, resentful or just plain old-fashioned shy – I’ve seen it all in the people I left behind. And even if I’m wrong and this mate of hers is exceptional and is genuinely blissedout by Fern’s good fortune, she still won’t know how to handle herself; she won’t want to appear sycophantic or on the make so she’ll probably go too much the other way and be chilly. I’d have thought Fern would have a grip on this by now.

‘Still ignoring your calls?’

‘She seems to have a very active social life at the moment,’ says Fern with a sigh. ‘She still hasn’t given me her measurements. I’ve had her dress made up in a size eight and a ten. It seems extravagant to make two, as the dresses are costing over a grand each, but –’

‘Well, we can afford it so don’t worry about it,’ I say, turning her round and leaning her face into my chest. I kiss the top of her head; her hair smells great. ‘She can try them on when she gets here.’

‘Mmmm, I suppose,’ mumbles Fern. She still seems distracted.

‘So there’s nothing else you are worrying about, right? Everything is super cool.’

Fern tilts her head up to look at me. I see something play in her eyes and almost make it to her lips. I swoop down and kiss her. Silence her. To be honest, I’ve done my share of sensitive guy stuff for tonight. Above and beyond the line of duty, I’d say.

We stand there for ages just holding each other. Content just to do that. After a bit Ben comes to find us.