Love Lies

‘Don’t they,’ he says.

There’s a long pause. I should probably hang up.

‘Well, I’ll see you in two weeks then,’ I mutter.

‘Yeah, looking forward to it. Jess showed me those photos you e-mailed over. His gaff is like a set from a James Bond movie.’ That should be a compliment but somehow I know it isn’t.

I decide the way forward with Adam is to be determinedly upbeat. It can’t be so hard after all. Not under the circumstances – I’m marrying Scott Taylor in a fortnight. ‘Well, doesn’t every man secretly harbour a desire to be James Bond?’ I ask pleasantly.

‘Not me. You know, I’ve always been happy with simply stuff. It makes a man pretty damned attractive. Pretty damned likeable.’

This is not the first time I’ve been forced into defending my relationship with Scott, and I doubt it will be the last; but it’s not a position I wanted to be in with Adam. I really don’t want to be drawn into these dangerous waters. Doesn’t he realize that the decent thing for an ex to do is stick to polite small talk about the weather? What makes him think he can be this direct?

Four years’ intimacy?

Polite small talk is not an option. ‘I’m not in it for the stuff. There’s much more to Scott than his stuff,’ I argue.

‘Like?’

‘He’s luminously, intensely creative but exposed. He’s stunningly desirable and modish yet quite charmingly open,’ I say.

‘Have you been practising that?’ asks Adam.

Well, yes, I have. I’ve started to write my wedding speech and I’d thought that was a pretty good opener but I’m not going to admit as much to Adam. I hoped my declaration would sound spontaneous.

Adam sighs, ‘You sound like a fan, not a wife. But maybe that’s no bad thing. I mean, you need to be a big fan to stomach hearing him go on about himself all the time, in that way he does.’

I don’t bother pretending that Scott doesn’t talk about himself; the truth is, he is rather self-focused but that’s

‘It’s not like he goes on about himself all the time out of vanity. It’s just he’s never met anyone more interesting than he is,’ I say. I’m disappointed that my tone is more defensive than upbeat.

‘The man met Nelson Mandela!’ points out Adam, snappily. ‘I can imagine that conversation, can’t you? Er, Nel, mate, did I tell you about the time when I shagged a couple of Scandi twins?’ Adam does an impressive impression of Scott’s northern accent; in other circumstances I’d be tempted to laugh. ‘I’ve just read this interview in Dazed and Confused; all he talked about was sex – all he joked about was sex,’ says Adam.

‘Well, sex is funny if you think about it for long enough,’ I defend. And I should know, as sex has been all theory to me for weeks now. Obviously, I’d rather strap raw steak to my body and stroll into the lions’ den at London Zoo than admit as much to Adam. Instead I concentrate on shielding Scott. ‘That interview took place before we got engaged.’

‘Oh yeah, ages ago,’ says Adam mockingly.

I’m sorely tempted to point out that not everybody needs four years to decide precisely nothing at all. There is such a thing as love at first sight and whirlwind romance but I sense that Adam would only scoff more, so instead I try to explain why the Dazed and Confused interview was so graphic. Truthfully, when I read it, I had been a little surprised that Scott mentioned the nun he deflowered and defrocked.

‘It’s not like he goes on about sex all the time out of

‘Whatever you say. You’re the one who knows him.’

‘I am,’ I say hotly.

‘You’re the one who’s marrying him.’

‘That’s right.’ I need to draw this conversation to a halt. I hate it that Adam can rile me. I wish I was in a place where I was impervious to his digs. I should be. Why does he care so much anyhow? He has Jess now. And I have Scott. We’re not an ‘us’ any more. It’s none of his business.

‘Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you here.’

‘You will. Jess and I will be there supporting you every step of the way.’ His sarcasm is loud and clear, which is irritating, and more irritating still, he manages to hang up first, leaving me with nothing but the buzz of a dead line.

61. Fern

Suddenly, with the wedding now just ten days away I find myself with a free afternoon. Following a call from Colleen, who confirms her final decision with regard to which toiletries we ought to have in the portaloos (Huiles & Baumes, ‘being organic and eco aware is so important’), I decide to hop in the car and surprise Scott at the studio.

I visited the studio once when I first arrived in LA so I recognize the producer, the engineer and the assistant, plus there’s a delightful, unexpected bonus – Ben.

‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, giving him a big smacker of a kiss on his cheek.

‘I come here when I’m not playing with you.’

Really, since when? He’s never mentioned it. I feel a little guilty that I’ve been so caught up in wedding preparations that I haven’t made more time to come down to the studio to listen to Scott’s new work.

Scott is thrilled to see me now. He rips off his bulky earphones and rushes out from behind the glass wall to meet me. ‘Sweets, perfect timing. We are just wrapping this up. You can tell me what you think of it. Ben loves it, don’t you Ben?’

‘Wait until you hear this album. The man is a genius,’ says Ben excitedly. ‘There are at least half a dozen number ones. This album is going to grab America by the throat! know they want yet.’

Scott signals to the producer and suddenly the room is bursting with his growly, irresistible voice.

Ben’s right; this is an amazing album. In the past all Scott’s lyrics have read like a tabloid story; raw, open, apologetic and angry. To understand his songs is to know what it feels like to have nothing and feel everything. The lyrics in Wedding Album hold on to his trademark honesty but they are much more idealistic and celebratory. The album perfectly encapsulates just how dazzlingly astonishing it is to fall in love.

I listen carefully and know with an absolute certainty that these songs will be the songs a generation falls in love to: men and women will choose them for their first husband and wife dance; these tracks are the sort of tracks that will play in the background as teenagers lose their virginity and disappointed women throw their drinks over betraying lovers. They are seminal, decisive and romantic.

The songs are buffed to perfection. On each and every track, before the chorus even runs for a second time, everyone in the room is humming along; that sort of reaction guarantees this is going to be an album that enjoys buckets full of air time.

‘Oh my God, did that lyric just say, Fern, you make me burn?’ I ask excitedly.

Scott grins at me. I dash to him and plant an enormous kiss on his mouth. If we were alone I might have tried to persuade him to forget the chastity vow.

‘I can’t believe you wrote a song about me!’

‘Three,’ he says with obvious pride. ‘You’re named in three.’

I listen to the rest of the album even more carefully. Sure enough my name pops up in two more songs; one about making his head turn and another all about how he yearns. Out of context these lines sound pretty corny, but believe me, when he sings them accompanied by the irresistible beat as part of a love ballad, they work. I’m overwhelmed. I beam at Scott, thrilled to be the inspiration behind this immense work. The album is the utterly perfect tribute to our love affair.

‘The Americans are going to adore this!’ says Ben again. He actually can’t resist jumping up and down on the