Love Lies

Fern?’

I’m humming to myself in an effort to block out his sarcasm and anger but it doesn’t work.

‘I miss it, actually,’ I confess. It’s only now, when I’m articulating this, that I realize it’s true.

‘What, working?’ Adam is incredulous, not surprisingly since he’s the person I used to grumble to most when I had to get up at 3 a.m. to go to the flower market every other day.

‘Well, yes. At least, I miss the shop and being surrounded by flowers. I really miss the flowers.’

‘Heart bleeds for you, Fern.’

Why does he keep calling me Fern in that cross and impersonal way? But then what did I expect? Who’d have thought I’d hanker after ‘Fern-girl’? Before I have to

Jess and I hug one another; it would have been an awkward hug anyway – even if she had let go of his arm.

‘Did Adam tell you his fabulous news?’ she gushes.

‘No.’ I smile and look at Adam expectantly.

‘Well, it’s not just your man who was desperate to hear the chart position today. Adam was too. His band is number forty-eight in the singles chart,’ squeals Jess. She jumps up and down and hugs Adam tightly. Her boobs squash against his arm – is that really necessary? He allows her to hug him for a moment or two before he gently disentangles himself and tries to shush and calm her.

‘Band?’ I ask, confused. ‘You’re not in a band.’

‘He’s managing a band. They’re called the Deputies. The hottest thing to come out of Wigan since, well, ever. Adam discovered this band and now he’s managing them!’ Jess

Adam is fighting a slight reddening of the cheeks – I don’t think it’s the sun.

Instantly I forget the sniping and griping and I’m just thoroughly, intensely, unequivocally pleased for him.

‘Really? Wow, that’s amazing!’ I fold Adam into a big hug too, just as Jess did. It’s freaky because my body seems to sort of remember his and smudges a fraction closer into him – a fraction closer than I was planning. I leap away quickly. My body shouldn’t be feeling like that. I shouldn’t be feeling like that.

But I am.

Oh God. I feel weak as my legs turn to liquid. This isn’t right. This isn’t good.

I rally. ‘Hey, but don’t you know the rules, though? All exes ought to have the good grace to be abject failures or at least not stunning successes.’ I make myself grin and then I add, ‘Seriously, this is brilliant news. Listening to all those demo tapes, knocking on all those closed doors of record companies has finally paid off. How fantastic,’ I gush. I mean it, this is amazing. I can’t actually believe that Adam is managing a band; organizing gigs and record contracts. This is Adam we’re talking about.

Adam shrugs; he’s trying to hide his jubilation. ‘Yeah,

Yes. The thought punches me in the gut. I can’t respond and I’m grateful when I discover he’s not expecting me to.

‘They are good guys. With a great sound. This first single of theirs is pretty much a statement of intent. It’s full of beautiful chiming guitars, pop sensibilities and a hint of their widescreen ambition. We’ve nearly finished the album, it’s going to need just a few more weeks, I think.’

‘My God, that’s brilliant, Adam. So will your boys be fighting Scott for the number one slot?’ I joke excitedly.

‘They won’t ever get to number one, you know. I’m saying that as their manager. I’m not being modest, I’m just being realistic. They’re not commercial in the right way, the way that sells at the moment. We’d be delighted to get to the top thirty and to see a few more gigs. They’ll have a year in the sunshine. They’ll have fun and it will be long enough for them to get some money together, you know, make a start in life.’

‘I can hardly believe you’re saying this, Adam. You, who used to make veiled references to a non-existent drug habit, in a desperate effort to appear more rock and roll.’

‘Yeah, well, I was stupid,’ he says, with a big easy grin which makes me think maybe it was not just him who was stupid. ‘I’ve decided I’m going to be the sort of manager who tells his bands to put their earnings into property, not to let them go up in smoke.’

‘Is that what you are going to do? Buy a house?’

‘Oh, Fern.’ Adam sighs. It seems as though I’ve irritated him by bringing up purchasing a property. Is he still so allergic to a commitment of any sort – even to a mortgage? That doesn’t make sense in light of what he’s advising his band members. I stare at him puzzled. He opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something more but then he snaps it shut again and shakes his head. After a pause he adds, ‘You know what? I’m going to care about my band. Radical, hey?’

Very.

‘Besides, looking around here today at all this, I’m not sure if this is what I’d want for them. They are all really young, I’m not sure they could handle it. I’m not sure anyone can and this is it in the end, isn’t it? This is rock and roll. This is success.’

I follow his gaze. It’s weird, everyone has been having a fabulous time for – I don’t know how long – hours? But suddenly the stylish and exciting party is morphing into something vaguely unpleasant and unwieldy under our gaze. Probably everyone should pack up and go home. I’ve only had a couple of cocktails but I’m dizzy and confused. Nothing seems clear-cut; nothing is as I thought it was.

I look around for my mum. Last time I saw her she was wandering around collecting over-full ashtrays and used glasses. I asked her to come and sit down and relax with me and told her we have people who do that stuff but she just replied that I’ll get a big bum if I sit on it all day. Now, I’m relieved to note that my mum and Scott’s mum have retreated into the kitchen; I think my mum is

It also comes to my attention that the fit semi-clad waiters are now wearing more clothes than pretty much anyone else. The roaring temperatures have encouraged models, groupies and desperate starlets to throw off sarongs, T-shirts and bikini tops. Near-naked bodies rub up against one another in a way that seems to me unnecessary and unseemly. I’m no prude but I want to ask people to get a room. There’s nothing remaining of the ice sculptures or the delicious chocolate fountains – except sticky, dark pools. The light is fading but the pink and purple all-weather light bulbs are casting vaguely menacing hues, not the lovely girly ones I expected. Someone is in the pool trying to have sex with one of the scarlet inflatable, giant ducks.

This is success.

Jess beams at me. ‘We’re going to go back to the hotel now. We might hit the bar and celebrate. We’d ask you along but no doubt you need an early night. Big day tomorrow, hey?’

‘Yes, big day.’ I plaster on my broadest smile. The Mondrian Sky Bar, in the hotel where they are staying, is stunning but I know my friends well. ‘You ought to go to the Standard if you’re peckish. They do the best fat chips ever,’ I advise.

‘Perfect, just what I fancy.’ Jess gently tugs on Adam’s arm and there’s a glint in her eye that makes me understand that chips aren’t just what she fancies.

We hug each other briefly and as Adam leans in to me he says, ‘For what it’s worth, I hope Scott stays sober and I hope you’re happy.’

I watch Adam and Jess weave through the drunken crowds. They make a really attractive couple. I take a deep breath but it’s like breathing in glass shards. I gasp and try to understand why Adam’s good wishes hurt more than any of his barbed comments or sullen monosyllabic answers. I guess he’s found closure if he can be so generous. Well, that’s good. Isn’t it? Surely. I don’t want him to fly into a jealous and angry rage. Surely.

Oh I do, I do, I do.

No I don’t, I don’t, I don’t.

I know what I need. Or rather who I need. I need Ben. If I ask him to, Ben will confirm that I was right in thinking Adam and I were treading water. Ben’ll remind me that I was fed up with Adam. That I left him because right now – and I’m sure that it’s the cocktails and wedding nerves – but suddenly I’m baffled as to how I could ever have thought Adam unchallenging and lacklustre. I’ve even started to look back at his magpie clutter with affection.

As I pick my way through writhing bodies I hope to