I wish I could believe that. It must be nice to be like Fern. She believes in all the good stuff. That must be great. I’m a pessimist and even so I find that being proven right isn’t as much fun as it should be. She moves to kiss me but I can’t be doing with that at the moment. Anything sexual with Fern is the last thing on my mind right now. I move first and give her an affectionate peck on the nose. I’m sure that instead of the sexless little kiss on the snout she’d prefer it if I was taking down her knickers with my teeth. But before she has a chance to voice her thoughts, Mark and a cast of thousands burst into the room.
‘Son, son, here you are! Hiding, I might have known.’ My body turns to slop. I’m unsure if my legs are holding me up. Maybe I’m a puddle on the floor. Someone might step on me. Come on Mark, spill. Shut the fuck up, Mark, I don’t want bad news. Both thoughts explode into my being simultaneously. I hardly dare breathe. ‘Well, step into the limelight, lad, I have the chart position.’ Mark is
I must stand up from the couch in a hurry because I’m vaguely aware that my haste topples Fern. She slides away from me and clumsily lands on the floor. I mean to hold a hand out to help her up but I can’t tear my eyes away from Mark. All eyes are on him, actually.
‘Fuck,’ I say, because I don’t want to hear it, yet I’m aching to hear it. I pull my hands through my hair with such force I might yank out a chunk.
‘Hey, calm down. Can you imagine the wedding photos if you’ve pulled out lumps of hair?’ says Fern. She doesn’t understand. Poor thing. Lucky thing. This is it. This is what it’s all about. This is what it’s all for. I’m twitching and jittering. I can’t stay still; I look like I’m auditioning for a part in
‘Fuck mate, don’t mess. Just tell me. Top fifteen? That would be good on the first week’s sales, hey? That would be respectable? I mean we haven’t had that much air time yet. The Americans are always cautious.’
I’m justifying my failure before I even know the results. I look at Fern; she pours back an expression of pure sympathy but she can’t wrap me in cotton wool, no one can. I want this so much. I want this more than anything.
‘Number eight, son. Number fucking eight. In your first week. You’ve made it. You’ve bloody made it!’ yells Mark.
I don’t remember how I reacted, no one waited for my reaction. This is gold. I’m swallowed by a mass of screaming and jumping bodies.
64. Fern
When Scott’s chart position is announced to the guests, the party suddenly hikes up a notch in hysteria and intensity. People fling themselves into the pool and into the arms of strangers. I had no idea my friends and family could party so hard. The mojitos and Alabama slammers have taken effect and my nearest and dearest are no longer in awe of the movie and rock stars. They’ve emerged from the safety of their tight, peripheral clusters and are now sprawled among the cool people. In fact, now that the cool people are beery and leery, smudged and shining, it’s pretty difficult to distinguish them from the other guests. Alcohol and sunshine are great levellers.
‘I guess it’s been parties like this every night, hey?’
I recognize his voice before I have to turn. I recognize it despite the fact there’s something unusually hard and sneering in his tone. It sounds as though he thinks parties are a sin, which is definitely not the case; I know he likes a party.
I can’t look at Adam, I don’t know how to greet him. In Hollywood everyone double air kisses but that wouldn’t seem right – just because it’s so over-used – but a handshake would be ludicrous. In the end I settle for staring resolutely at my feet.
‘No, actually. This is the first party we’ve had. We’re more likely to go out for dinner and to bars but even
‘Of course, Scottie is sober at the moment. Well, don’t worry, things will liven up when he falls off the wagon.’
‘That’s really not very kind, Adam.’
Adam takes a deep breath and looks out across the scene. ‘No. It’s not, is it.’ He sighs and adds, ‘I apologize.’
I finally force myself to look up at him. It’s a peculiar thing, I’ve been full of trepidation at the thought of seeing him but now he’s stood in front of me I feel strangely relaxed, almost happy – despite his sarcasm. I suppose it’s because we’ve been friends for so long, well, more than friends – obviously. We never had a chaste or platonic stage in
‘So, you and Jess, are you an item now?’ I want to sound breezy but the words catch in my throat. I hope Adam doesn’t think that means something; that it means anything. He glances at me in surprise. Doesn’t he think I have the right to ask?
‘What makes you ask that?’
‘Well, you are here together. Why else would she ask you to come?’
‘I have no idea. Maybe she thought the place would be full of coked-up wankers and she needed my company.’
Fair point. But it’s notable he hasn’t answered my questions. He’s neatly side-stepped in a way Scott would be proud of. It’s frustrating. I just need to know for sure. One way or the other. There’s a horrible silence that sits between us like a bad smell. I push on.
‘I mean not that it’s any of my business.’
‘No.’
‘I was just thinking about the seating plan for tomorrow.’
‘Right.’
‘I mean should I sit you with a bevvy of young lovelies and Jess with a throng of butch blokes or should I seat you together?’
‘I see.’
‘And that’s the only reason I asked, really.’
‘Right.’
‘I mean it must be pretty intense, since you live together.’
‘We’ve always lived together.’
‘Yes, but before it was with me too. You haven’t got anyone else in the flat apart from you two now.’
‘And where exactly would that third person sleep, Fern? With me? With Jess? In the cupboard with the cornflakes?’ Adam sighs impatiently.
Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. I’d forgotten how small the flat is. I fall silent and consider what he’s just said. A third person could have moved in, if Jess had moved into the double room with Adam but that is clearly not the case. Hurrah. Somewhere deep inside I’m singing and dancing an entire tap routine. Jess hasn’t moved in with Adam!
Yet.
Music and dancing stop abruptly. Obviously that could change at any moment and, I remind myself, why shouldn’t it?
‘Oh well, at least my share of the rent will tide you over. Will you move?’ I ask.
Adam looks exasperated. Funny thing is I’ve always thought of him as eternally laid back – too laid back. Vexation and frustration were not part of his repertoire, except when the batteries ran out in the remote control and he had to get out of his chair to change channels – that always caused him to huff and puff. But now he’s snapping and sighing at me as though he’s some sort of enormous steam-powered crocodile. He’s changed.
‘We haven’t cashed your cheque, Fern. Although that was clearly a point of principle that has gone unnoticed so I’m beginning to regret it now. Especially as it’s clear that for you coughing up the dough for a few months’ rent is the equivalent to handing over the loose change you find down the back of the sofa. But we don’t need your help, thank you, we’re managing our money. We’re both working a little bit longer and harder, remember that,
